Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 42
Jax’s eyes darken. “Yes. I know the words to says for each curse. But there is more.”
Atticus squeezes my hand so tight I feel my bones shift beneath his grasp. “What else do you need?” Atticus asks through gritted teeth as his patience thins.
“Blood,” Jax replies, “given by me during the reversal of the lycan curse. Ever your servant—until my Lord Vrana deems otherwise—I shall willingly give it. Additionally, I will need a wolf spirit for the lycan curse to be performed correctly and a soulmark.”
A deep chill settles over my bones as the crowd behind us begins to chatter excitedly. Something tugs at my memory as Atticus begins to ask more questions. Jax doesn’t respond, and his eyes do not stray from me.
I have a feeling there is an element to our efforts we have forgotten. But I cannot fathom what….
We need a direct bloodline….
Soul sacrifices are powerful things, whether done willingly or not….
“The wolf spirit and the soulmark,” I speak softly, breaking into whatever one-sided conversation Atticus is having the Jax. I lift my eyes to Jax. “They need to be sacrificed, don’t they?”
Atticus looks to me sharply. “What?”
“We need a sacrifice,” I repeat, unable to look away from the grim truth hiding behind hazel eyes. “Don’t we? The aunts said the necklace contained three soul sacrifices. The witch’s soul sacrifice to conceal the curses in the necklace, and a sacrifice for each hex. A wolf… and a soulmark. Isn’t that right?”
Jax nods. The gesture is given in small measure so as to keep his eyes locked on me. “It isn’t just some components that must be recreated for the spell. It is all of them, though some must be adjusted to steer the course of the reversal. The moon, the tree, and the blood remain the same. The words of the counterspells are composed of the original hex along with nullifying incantations. As for the wolf and soulmark sacrifice, they must be given willingly.”
We three stand silent as the crowd behind us swells with eagerness for whatever is to come. The promise of our curses’ end blinding them to what will need to be done. Sacrifices… willingly given. I swallow thickly when I note the tightness around Jax’s eyes.
“What aren’t you saying?”
An ear-splitting howl interjects at the tail of my question. It captures the attention of Atticus, who turns to look out into the forest stretched out ahead of us.
Jax tilts up his chin. “These sacrifices also adhere to a blood stipulation.”
“What does that mean?” Atticus asks, tearing his eyes away from the forest line. He sports a callous frown, unlike any I’ve seen before, and his blue eyes rage with a storm. Through the bond, I feel his ire rising and force myself to retain some modicum of calm to tide the swell of his emotions.
“It means the wolf spirit sacrifice and the soulmark sacrifice must be of a certain blood… Blanc blood, to be specific,” Jax explains patiently. He does not spare Atticus a glance, even as my husband’s answering growl cuts through the air like lightning. Jax only has eyes for me.
A disturbing hush culls the crowd of any more commentary. Even I find myself struck mute at the revelation.
“Anything else?” I ask, the words rolling thick off my tongue.
Jax twists his head from side to side.
“Exactly how do these sacrifices work?” Atticus demands roughly, earning back the sorcerer’s regard.
Jax hikes up one brow. “I thought it obvious,” he remarks far too casually for the situation at hand.
Another howl pierces through the air, this one closer than the last. Unsettled murmurs break out among the wolves behind us.
“The first sacrifice will remove the wolf spirit from its human counterpart. The second will require aid in the form of a knife to remove the soulmark from the skin and offer it as sacrifice,” Jax tells Atticus, his voice full of condescension. “Does that clear things up for you?”
A surge of protest rises from the crowd. Jax rolls his eyes to the heavens and looks out to them.
“Now, now, do calm down. None of you will have to sacrifice your wolf spirit or soulmark tonight.” Jax returns his gaze to me. “After all, I do believe I stated the sacrifice must come from a Blanc.”
“Take Malcolm!” someone shouts.
“Yes! Let’s get, Malcolm.”
Panic hits me full force as the wolves behind me cave to their raging emotions. The full moon only intensifies their reaction and lust for blood. My eyes shutter closed for one scintillating moment to block out the roar of the crowd and allow my wolf to come to the forefront of my mind.
My throat tightens inexplicably.
We have only just begun our lives together, I think with great sorrow as my heart is cut and torn to pieces inside my chest.
Every journey must end, sister, the wolf’s voice whispers back.
A sense of peace overcomes the wolf as it acknowledges and accepts our fate. Our farewells ring in my mind against the noisy crowd as my eyes flutter open.
“No,” I say aloud. My lashes are already dampened from the tears that have gathered in my sights. “No!” I say louder. Firmer.
It catches the crowd off guard as I turn to them; I know my eyes to be a brilliant gold.
“Winter….” Atticus’s voice is but a shadow at my ear. The urgency in his tone leaves little to the imagination of what he wishes to say, but my decision—our decision—has already been made. The wolf softly snarls its agreement.
“The sacrifice must be willing. Who among you believes my parents to be capable of such a feat?” None answer, and I feel the shift of their anger into one of dread and sorrow. “As the last of the Blanc line, it is my honor”—the word cracks on my tongue—"to end the curse that has plagued our kind and our pack for so long.”
“Winter, no!” Atticus shouts, yanking me back around. I place my hands on his leather-bound chest.
Tears rush down both our flushed faces. “Atticus….” My voice trails off brokenly at the pure tragedy of his expression. The lines of his face are in shadows thanks to the light of the moon, but I see every crease and line wrought with grief and anger.
“I just got you," he says.
Worn leather caves to the insistent curl of my fingers. Our bodies collide in equal urgency. Hands paw at my hips, locking on to the slim plane as if they alone can keep me from doing what I must.
“If not me, then who?” I whisper back. “I know my father, Atticus. I know him. He would rather damn our kind and this pack than relinquish the power he’s accumulated. The same goes for my mother.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to,” he growls back.
I run a hand up his chest and hook it around his neck. Chin trembling, I answer. “Yes, it does, baby.” The sad whine that breaks free from his throat says otherwise. I rush on to quell whatever pleas he might make. “I’m the only Blanc left. If I don’t do this, the curse will never be broken. For the rest of time, our kind will be bound to the moon’s whim, and the Blanc pack will never know what it is to bring a child into this world with their soulmark.”
He shakes his head, cupping my face and bringing our lips together in a desperate kiss. My small sob breaks the intimate moment and draws a rough cry from Atticus as well.
“Why?” he questions. “Why would you sacrifice yourself for them? Why sacrifice our bond? What have they ever done for you?”
I tilt my gaze to my old pack mates, watching as they bow their heads with guilt. True, they had never questioned the methods my father and mother took to raise me “appropriately.” Even more so, several of the women here had challenged my rank and slandered my name… but what had I done for them? My parents’ cold and cruel behavior hadn’t only been directed my way, and when their sights had been set upon them, I’d done nothing to stop it.
“I want a clean slate,” I admit and muster a small smile. “A real, new beginning. And none of this means I won’t still be your wife, Atticus. And I might no longer be a lycan—” I suck in a harsh breath, my wolf howling a mournful song in my mind. “—but I’ll still be pack.”
Atticus stays silent a moment as his lips thin in his regard of me. “I could order you not to,” he tells me quietly, his voice hard. I flinch back, shaking my head and letting my hurt flood the bond between us. Atticus groans and dashes away his tears with his jacket sleeve. “No, I couldn’t, could I?”
“Just promise to still love me after,” I ask.
His mouth slants over mine in a bruising kiss, one to which I willingly submit.
I take this time and ingrain it into my memory. The coarse stubble that peppers his jawline. The purposeful stroke of his tongue along mine. His lips and how they mold perfectly over mine. The way his hands hold me with reverence.
Someone will die by your hand, Aunt Mo's voice whispers in my head. I weak smile flickers onto my lips. How was I to ever guess it would be my wolf spirit?
“Ahem,” Jax says rather loudly. “I don’t mean to break up this precious moment, but time is of the essence. Winter, if you are willing to sacrifice your wolf spirit and soulmark, then come with me.”
Taking a wobbly step back, I marvel at the fact that this—leaving the safety of his embrace—won’t be the hardest thing I do tonight. It is these steps I take toward my fate.
A sound like drums beats inside my head and with the sound of paws racing across the earth from generations ago. My ancestors—all of our ancestors—coming to welcome my wolf home. I know this only through the rippling anticipation of my wolf.
It will proudly lay down its life for our kind. For the greater good of the pack.
There is no greater honor than this, my wolf assures me as the beating grows louder in tandem with my racing heart.
Jax leads me to the base of the tree, guiding me so my back is to the birch's trunk. I lean against it for much-needed support, my breath coming out in soft pants.
“I need to ask you once more,” Jax says seriously, his voice low. “Are you willing, Winter? This spell will strip you of your wolf spirit and your soulmark. I cannot guarantee that either sacrifice will see you still standing at the end… The original wolf sacrifice ended in death. If you do survive, the bond you have with Atticus will be severed. I need not tell you what pain that will cause both of you.”
His words shake me to my core, but still I nod.
I spy Atticus around Jax’s shoulder and see his solemn nod. His lips move slowly, mouthing two words: Together. Always.
“Yes, I’m willing,” I whisper, refusing to take my eyes from Atticus.
He slips a small knife from his pocket into my hand. "You will know when the first spell is complete. This is for the soulmark counterspell. You will need to—"
“I know what to do,” I tell him, my gray eyes turning to him. The Blanc pack has been removing soulmarks for decades. But placed on my lower back as it is, the process will be precarious at best.
I bite my lip and nod once more to Jax. He responds with a curt nod of his own and walks back several feet, sweeping his staff out around him. The snow on the ground begins to melt instantly and steam rises from the ground as Jax inhales deeply. From afar, the sound of angry snarls breaks the night air.
“I require absolute concentration,” Jax says, his gaze steadfast on me, but his words address the wolves behind him. “Am I understood?”
A rumble of agreement comes from the lycans at his back. Their eyes light up like brilliant golden flames as they advance to guard the tree and us.
“Hear me!” Jax bellows once the last lycan has taken their post at his six: Atticus. His eyes burn as brightly as the others as they watch me. “By all that is powerful and just—hear my blood claim!”
Jax draws the diamond-shaped head of his bo staff across his palm. Red pools in his palm and spills over his hand in copious amount. He pays the loss no mind and thrusts his palm forward and begins to chant.
“Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios.
Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios.”
With each line I find myself simultaneously pulled forward and yanked back. The push and pull become more intense with each grating line. But it isn’t just me being pulled forward; it’s not me at all, I realize. It’s the wolf.
“Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios.
Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios.”
My hands claw at the tree bark, desperate to find purchase as I lurch forward then dive backward. Air rushes from my lungs at the impact, my scream of pain quenched by the loss of breath and my wolf’s mournful cry of pain.
“Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios!
Tov mal sintave!”
Pain racks my body. Every vein inside me is fit to burst as something so ingrained in my bones and blood begins to seep away. My cries are but a distant chorus of the wolf’s soft whine and the pounding of the ancestors' paws. Until, with a shuddering gasp, it ends.
I slump against the tree, wide-eyed and hysterical as my mind and body reel from the loss. A hand claws at the side of my head, searching desperately for what was once there—a hand that cannot possibly be my own.
“No, no, no,” I hear myself muttering as I lose myself to my grief.
Foreign words tumble past me on the wind, whipping around me and standing me upright.
A delirious moan crawls up my throat. Everything hurts, and there is a piercing pain in my heart as if a stiletto knife has sailed straight through it. I look to the circle of wolves with reluctance, expecting to find sympathetic faces or ones of firm resolve. But I see none. I see no one but her.
She limps forward, a woman in a sullied gown with dirt and muck embedded in her wild hair. I inhale sharply, the bark cutting into my back as I pitch away from her wretched form. She is wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Wolf instincts or not, my very soul shudders at her unholy presence.
A startled scream jostles the winter fog rising around us. My scream, I think with panic. Because one moment she is over there and now she is here, mere feet in front of me with her stained teeth and haggard face glowering at me. The knife falls from my hand.
“Who dares claim themselves worthy of sacrifice? Who dares attempt to reverse my claim of fault?”
Her mangled lips move, but the words do not sound from her mouth. It vibrates through the tree and slithers among the fog. My painfully human hearing can barely keep up.
“I do,” I say with a quiver taking over my voice. I am unable to tear my eyes away from the hag's flat, dark stare.
“Your name.”
A searing pain, much like claws, scores down my back. My jaw drops, a scream on my lips as the horrible torment begins again.
“Your name,” the hag hisses again.
“Winter,” I pant, my consciousness beginning to fail. “Winter Blanc.”
She screams and pitches herself backward. “You,” she bellows. “Your blood is tainted! You’re—”
“Veratum! Mai ovræ playus outum e capasus natas!
Viest ne tocrum o sath vorce.
Sacrum vol colorus, alst om duay cultost, nallem!"
The hag whirls at the haunting overture. Her wild eyes careen this way and that as she begins to foam at the mouth.
“This is not to be born!” she seethes and lunges magically forward again. First there, then here. She is inches away from my face and breathing rot into my nostrils.
“Your hate cannot live forever.” I gasp, back arching as an unseen force cuts at my lower back savagely. “I am a willing sacrifice.”
Her vile breath pants across my cheek as I grope blindly at my soulmark. The area is slick with something wet and sticky—not sweat, but blood. I release a desperate cry, allowing my hand to fall away as I begin to sag against the tree.
“I am a willing sacrifice,” I gasp again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the hag’s mouth opens wide. Her stained teeth are broken and ragged, and for a tenuous moment, I’m sure she means to eat me alive. Body, mind, and spirit. What’s left of them, anyway.
“Enough.”
I freeze at the addition of the new voice. As does everything else, even the hag.
“Enough,” the soft, feminine voice repeats.
The suffocating pain that digs its jagged edges into my body begins to recede. I slump further as the hag staggers back. She throws her head this way and that, searching out the voice and letting out a tormented sound.
And then the hag is gone, and I am alone.
My eyes slip closed in defeat as I suck in ragged breaths to fill the empty space inside me. I feel… incomplete. Lost. Abandoned. Alone… so terribly alone.
“My dear girl,” the feminine voice coos from nearby, “you are not alone.”
Howls rise in a symphony around me, and when I open my eyes, the most beautiful woman stands before me. Her skin is opalescent, with hair and eyes as dark as night. She wears a lilting smile, and around her stand dozens of wolves. One of them circles calmly around the ethereal woman in her Romanesque silver gown. Its coat is a brilliant white.
When the wolf meets my eyes, I am struck with recognition and fall to my knees.
My wolf. Mine.
“And now she is mine,” the woman says. “Oh, my dear, sweet, Winter. I’ve been waiting for a heart like yours for a very long time to set my children free.”
“You’re….”
The Goddess of the Moon inclines her head. “Merida’s hex was born of true hate. Even those of my kind cannot intervene when such offerings are interwoven into hexes such as hers. And so I waited, just as all my children did, for the willing one to step forward and set them free.”
“It worked?”
My mouth is dry. My throat is raw. And though my question is coarse and unrefined, she smiles genially at me. A yip from one of the many wolves sounds behind the goddess. And then another, and another. Until the lot are barking and yipping in excitement.
“You cannot feel it because your wolf spirit is part of my pack now, but yes. Your sacrifice—both of yours—have set your brothers and sisters free.”
Atticus squeezes my hand so tight I feel my bones shift beneath his grasp. “What else do you need?” Atticus asks through gritted teeth as his patience thins.
“Blood,” Jax replies, “given by me during the reversal of the lycan curse. Ever your servant—until my Lord Vrana deems otherwise—I shall willingly give it. Additionally, I will need a wolf spirit for the lycan curse to be performed correctly and a soulmark.”
A deep chill settles over my bones as the crowd behind us begins to chatter excitedly. Something tugs at my memory as Atticus begins to ask more questions. Jax doesn’t respond, and his eyes do not stray from me.
I have a feeling there is an element to our efforts we have forgotten. But I cannot fathom what….
We need a direct bloodline….
Soul sacrifices are powerful things, whether done willingly or not….
“The wolf spirit and the soulmark,” I speak softly, breaking into whatever one-sided conversation Atticus is having the Jax. I lift my eyes to Jax. “They need to be sacrificed, don’t they?”
Atticus looks to me sharply. “What?”
“We need a sacrifice,” I repeat, unable to look away from the grim truth hiding behind hazel eyes. “Don’t we? The aunts said the necklace contained three soul sacrifices. The witch’s soul sacrifice to conceal the curses in the necklace, and a sacrifice for each hex. A wolf… and a soulmark. Isn’t that right?”
Jax nods. The gesture is given in small measure so as to keep his eyes locked on me. “It isn’t just some components that must be recreated for the spell. It is all of them, though some must be adjusted to steer the course of the reversal. The moon, the tree, and the blood remain the same. The words of the counterspells are composed of the original hex along with nullifying incantations. As for the wolf and soulmark sacrifice, they must be given willingly.”
We three stand silent as the crowd behind us swells with eagerness for whatever is to come. The promise of our curses’ end blinding them to what will need to be done. Sacrifices… willingly given. I swallow thickly when I note the tightness around Jax’s eyes.
“What aren’t you saying?”
An ear-splitting howl interjects at the tail of my question. It captures the attention of Atticus, who turns to look out into the forest stretched out ahead of us.
Jax tilts up his chin. “These sacrifices also adhere to a blood stipulation.”
“What does that mean?” Atticus asks, tearing his eyes away from the forest line. He sports a callous frown, unlike any I’ve seen before, and his blue eyes rage with a storm. Through the bond, I feel his ire rising and force myself to retain some modicum of calm to tide the swell of his emotions.
“It means the wolf spirit sacrifice and the soulmark sacrifice must be of a certain blood… Blanc blood, to be specific,” Jax explains patiently. He does not spare Atticus a glance, even as my husband’s answering growl cuts through the air like lightning. Jax only has eyes for me.
A disturbing hush culls the crowd of any more commentary. Even I find myself struck mute at the revelation.
“Anything else?” I ask, the words rolling thick off my tongue.
Jax twists his head from side to side.
“Exactly how do these sacrifices work?” Atticus demands roughly, earning back the sorcerer’s regard.
Jax hikes up one brow. “I thought it obvious,” he remarks far too casually for the situation at hand.
Another howl pierces through the air, this one closer than the last. Unsettled murmurs break out among the wolves behind us.
“The first sacrifice will remove the wolf spirit from its human counterpart. The second will require aid in the form of a knife to remove the soulmark from the skin and offer it as sacrifice,” Jax tells Atticus, his voice full of condescension. “Does that clear things up for you?”
A surge of protest rises from the crowd. Jax rolls his eyes to the heavens and looks out to them.
“Now, now, do calm down. None of you will have to sacrifice your wolf spirit or soulmark tonight.” Jax returns his gaze to me. “After all, I do believe I stated the sacrifice must come from a Blanc.”
“Take Malcolm!” someone shouts.
“Yes! Let’s get, Malcolm.”
Panic hits me full force as the wolves behind me cave to their raging emotions. The full moon only intensifies their reaction and lust for blood. My eyes shutter closed for one scintillating moment to block out the roar of the crowd and allow my wolf to come to the forefront of my mind.
My throat tightens inexplicably.
We have only just begun our lives together, I think with great sorrow as my heart is cut and torn to pieces inside my chest.
Every journey must end, sister, the wolf’s voice whispers back.
A sense of peace overcomes the wolf as it acknowledges and accepts our fate. Our farewells ring in my mind against the noisy crowd as my eyes flutter open.
“No,” I say aloud. My lashes are already dampened from the tears that have gathered in my sights. “No!” I say louder. Firmer.
It catches the crowd off guard as I turn to them; I know my eyes to be a brilliant gold.
“Winter….” Atticus’s voice is but a shadow at my ear. The urgency in his tone leaves little to the imagination of what he wishes to say, but my decision—our decision—has already been made. The wolf softly snarls its agreement.
“The sacrifice must be willing. Who among you believes my parents to be capable of such a feat?” None answer, and I feel the shift of their anger into one of dread and sorrow. “As the last of the Blanc line, it is my honor”—the word cracks on my tongue—"to end the curse that has plagued our kind and our pack for so long.”
“Winter, no!” Atticus shouts, yanking me back around. I place my hands on his leather-bound chest.
Tears rush down both our flushed faces. “Atticus….” My voice trails off brokenly at the pure tragedy of his expression. The lines of his face are in shadows thanks to the light of the moon, but I see every crease and line wrought with grief and anger.
“I just got you," he says.
Worn leather caves to the insistent curl of my fingers. Our bodies collide in equal urgency. Hands paw at my hips, locking on to the slim plane as if they alone can keep me from doing what I must.
“If not me, then who?” I whisper back. “I know my father, Atticus. I know him. He would rather damn our kind and this pack than relinquish the power he’s accumulated. The same goes for my mother.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to,” he growls back.
I run a hand up his chest and hook it around his neck. Chin trembling, I answer. “Yes, it does, baby.” The sad whine that breaks free from his throat says otherwise. I rush on to quell whatever pleas he might make. “I’m the only Blanc left. If I don’t do this, the curse will never be broken. For the rest of time, our kind will be bound to the moon’s whim, and the Blanc pack will never know what it is to bring a child into this world with their soulmark.”
He shakes his head, cupping my face and bringing our lips together in a desperate kiss. My small sob breaks the intimate moment and draws a rough cry from Atticus as well.
“Why?” he questions. “Why would you sacrifice yourself for them? Why sacrifice our bond? What have they ever done for you?”
I tilt my gaze to my old pack mates, watching as they bow their heads with guilt. True, they had never questioned the methods my father and mother took to raise me “appropriately.” Even more so, several of the women here had challenged my rank and slandered my name… but what had I done for them? My parents’ cold and cruel behavior hadn’t only been directed my way, and when their sights had been set upon them, I’d done nothing to stop it.
“I want a clean slate,” I admit and muster a small smile. “A real, new beginning. And none of this means I won’t still be your wife, Atticus. And I might no longer be a lycan—” I suck in a harsh breath, my wolf howling a mournful song in my mind. “—but I’ll still be pack.”
Atticus stays silent a moment as his lips thin in his regard of me. “I could order you not to,” he tells me quietly, his voice hard. I flinch back, shaking my head and letting my hurt flood the bond between us. Atticus groans and dashes away his tears with his jacket sleeve. “No, I couldn’t, could I?”
“Just promise to still love me after,” I ask.
His mouth slants over mine in a bruising kiss, one to which I willingly submit.
I take this time and ingrain it into my memory. The coarse stubble that peppers his jawline. The purposeful stroke of his tongue along mine. His lips and how they mold perfectly over mine. The way his hands hold me with reverence.
Someone will die by your hand, Aunt Mo's voice whispers in my head. I weak smile flickers onto my lips. How was I to ever guess it would be my wolf spirit?
“Ahem,” Jax says rather loudly. “I don’t mean to break up this precious moment, but time is of the essence. Winter, if you are willing to sacrifice your wolf spirit and soulmark, then come with me.”
Taking a wobbly step back, I marvel at the fact that this—leaving the safety of his embrace—won’t be the hardest thing I do tonight. It is these steps I take toward my fate.
A sound like drums beats inside my head and with the sound of paws racing across the earth from generations ago. My ancestors—all of our ancestors—coming to welcome my wolf home. I know this only through the rippling anticipation of my wolf.
It will proudly lay down its life for our kind. For the greater good of the pack.
There is no greater honor than this, my wolf assures me as the beating grows louder in tandem with my racing heart.
Jax leads me to the base of the tree, guiding me so my back is to the birch's trunk. I lean against it for much-needed support, my breath coming out in soft pants.
“I need to ask you once more,” Jax says seriously, his voice low. “Are you willing, Winter? This spell will strip you of your wolf spirit and your soulmark. I cannot guarantee that either sacrifice will see you still standing at the end… The original wolf sacrifice ended in death. If you do survive, the bond you have with Atticus will be severed. I need not tell you what pain that will cause both of you.”
His words shake me to my core, but still I nod.
I spy Atticus around Jax’s shoulder and see his solemn nod. His lips move slowly, mouthing two words: Together. Always.
“Yes, I’m willing,” I whisper, refusing to take my eyes from Atticus.
He slips a small knife from his pocket into my hand. "You will know when the first spell is complete. This is for the soulmark counterspell. You will need to—"
“I know what to do,” I tell him, my gray eyes turning to him. The Blanc pack has been removing soulmarks for decades. But placed on my lower back as it is, the process will be precarious at best.
I bite my lip and nod once more to Jax. He responds with a curt nod of his own and walks back several feet, sweeping his staff out around him. The snow on the ground begins to melt instantly and steam rises from the ground as Jax inhales deeply. From afar, the sound of angry snarls breaks the night air.
“I require absolute concentration,” Jax says, his gaze steadfast on me, but his words address the wolves behind him. “Am I understood?”
A rumble of agreement comes from the lycans at his back. Their eyes light up like brilliant golden flames as they advance to guard the tree and us.
“Hear me!” Jax bellows once the last lycan has taken their post at his six: Atticus. His eyes burn as brightly as the others as they watch me. “By all that is powerful and just—hear my blood claim!”
Jax draws the diamond-shaped head of his bo staff across his palm. Red pools in his palm and spills over his hand in copious amount. He pays the loss no mind and thrusts his palm forward and begins to chant.
“Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios.
Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios.”
With each line I find myself simultaneously pulled forward and yanked back. The push and pull become more intense with each grating line. But it isn’t just me being pulled forward; it’s not me at all, I realize. It’s the wolf.
“Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios.
Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios.”
My hands claw at the tree bark, desperate to find purchase as I lurch forward then dive backward. Air rushes from my lungs at the impact, my scream of pain quenched by the loss of breath and my wolf’s mournful cry of pain.
“Brious macab aos sole ave;
Folle d’astalle ne lios!
Tov mal sintave!”
Pain racks my body. Every vein inside me is fit to burst as something so ingrained in my bones and blood begins to seep away. My cries are but a distant chorus of the wolf’s soft whine and the pounding of the ancestors' paws. Until, with a shuddering gasp, it ends.
I slump against the tree, wide-eyed and hysterical as my mind and body reel from the loss. A hand claws at the side of my head, searching desperately for what was once there—a hand that cannot possibly be my own.
“No, no, no,” I hear myself muttering as I lose myself to my grief.
Foreign words tumble past me on the wind, whipping around me and standing me upright.
A delirious moan crawls up my throat. Everything hurts, and there is a piercing pain in my heart as if a stiletto knife has sailed straight through it. I look to the circle of wolves with reluctance, expecting to find sympathetic faces or ones of firm resolve. But I see none. I see no one but her.
She limps forward, a woman in a sullied gown with dirt and muck embedded in her wild hair. I inhale sharply, the bark cutting into my back as I pitch away from her wretched form. She is wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Wolf instincts or not, my very soul shudders at her unholy presence.
A startled scream jostles the winter fog rising around us. My scream, I think with panic. Because one moment she is over there and now she is here, mere feet in front of me with her stained teeth and haggard face glowering at me. The knife falls from my hand.
“Who dares claim themselves worthy of sacrifice? Who dares attempt to reverse my claim of fault?”
Her mangled lips move, but the words do not sound from her mouth. It vibrates through the tree and slithers among the fog. My painfully human hearing can barely keep up.
“I do,” I say with a quiver taking over my voice. I am unable to tear my eyes away from the hag's flat, dark stare.
“Your name.”
A searing pain, much like claws, scores down my back. My jaw drops, a scream on my lips as the horrible torment begins again.
“Your name,” the hag hisses again.
“Winter,” I pant, my consciousness beginning to fail. “Winter Blanc.”
She screams and pitches herself backward. “You,” she bellows. “Your blood is tainted! You’re—”
“Veratum! Mai ovræ playus outum e capasus natas!
Viest ne tocrum o sath vorce.
Sacrum vol colorus, alst om duay cultost, nallem!"
The hag whirls at the haunting overture. Her wild eyes careen this way and that as she begins to foam at the mouth.
“This is not to be born!” she seethes and lunges magically forward again. First there, then here. She is inches away from my face and breathing rot into my nostrils.
“Your hate cannot live forever.” I gasp, back arching as an unseen force cuts at my lower back savagely. “I am a willing sacrifice.”
Her vile breath pants across my cheek as I grope blindly at my soulmark. The area is slick with something wet and sticky—not sweat, but blood. I release a desperate cry, allowing my hand to fall away as I begin to sag against the tree.
“I am a willing sacrifice,” I gasp again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the hag’s mouth opens wide. Her stained teeth are broken and ragged, and for a tenuous moment, I’m sure she means to eat me alive. Body, mind, and spirit. What’s left of them, anyway.
“Enough.”
I freeze at the addition of the new voice. As does everything else, even the hag.
“Enough,” the soft, feminine voice repeats.
The suffocating pain that digs its jagged edges into my body begins to recede. I slump further as the hag staggers back. She throws her head this way and that, searching out the voice and letting out a tormented sound.
And then the hag is gone, and I am alone.
My eyes slip closed in defeat as I suck in ragged breaths to fill the empty space inside me. I feel… incomplete. Lost. Abandoned. Alone… so terribly alone.
“My dear girl,” the feminine voice coos from nearby, “you are not alone.”
Howls rise in a symphony around me, and when I open my eyes, the most beautiful woman stands before me. Her skin is opalescent, with hair and eyes as dark as night. She wears a lilting smile, and around her stand dozens of wolves. One of them circles calmly around the ethereal woman in her Romanesque silver gown. Its coat is a brilliant white.
When the wolf meets my eyes, I am struck with recognition and fall to my knees.
My wolf. Mine.
“And now she is mine,” the woman says. “Oh, my dear, sweet, Winter. I’ve been waiting for a heart like yours for a very long time to set my children free.”
“You’re….”
The Goddess of the Moon inclines her head. “Merida’s hex was born of true hate. Even those of my kind cannot intervene when such offerings are interwoven into hexes such as hers. And so I waited, just as all my children did, for the willing one to step forward and set them free.”
“It worked?”
My mouth is dry. My throat is raw. And though my question is coarse and unrefined, she smiles genially at me. A yip from one of the many wolves sounds behind the goddess. And then another, and another. Until the lot are barking and yipping in excitement.
“You cannot feel it because your wolf spirit is part of my pack now, but yes. Your sacrifice—both of yours—have set your brothers and sisters free.”
