Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 7
I hear Emma move to the other corner to change and am grateful that she takes my words to heart. She makes quick work of her clothes because it isn't long until the telltale cracking and shifting of bones fills the room. Emma groans, but that groan swiftly turns to a snarl. I don't flinch at the animalistic sound, but I'm tempted.
Shifting is not a lovely process and one that I have always found to be painful. A soft thud sounds from the corner, then a whine as Emma enters the last phases of her transformation. My turn.
A sigh of relief brushes past my lips as I revel in the short moment of tranquility.
Then, with a deep breath to fill my lungs, I will my wolf forward and call upon the moon's favor to see to my request. As always, the Goddess answers, and the very breath I've just taken is stolen from my lungs.
A surge of power and fire races through my veins as the change settles over me. It burns from the inside out. My ligaments stretch. My insides rearrange. I gasp, tilting downward and landing on all fours. A wracking body shudder works its way from head to toe, the wolf stepping forward into its rightful place under the moon's full face.
I pant with the exertion of the final repositioning of my bones and shiver at the odd sensation of fur covering my naked body. I take a moment to adjust to my lycan-heightened senses. The world comes to me now in far more vivid detail and color. A quick scenting of the air reveals the heavy perfume of damp, cold earth and pack amongst what's left of the forest's greenery.
Outside the pack chatters happily—no, excitedly. My keen hearing picks up on every nuance of noise, and I slink out from behind the screen. Emma's soft tread follows behind my own, and looking back I see the small she-wolf. Her fur is a dark sandy color, with patches of brown on her chest and back.
It's a stark contrast to my own coloring: pure white. Like my descendants before me, I retain our namesake as my wolf's coat. Our pack, derived from the northern reach of Canada, are known for our white coats to better camouflage our presence in the Arctic climate.
Emma keeps her head low—submissive—and shuffles a few steps forward before dropping down onto her belly. She releases a soft whine and stretches out onto her side, so both neck and belly are bare to me. I pause before changing course and walking to her. I press my nose into the thick ring of fur around her neck and sniff, taking her scent to memory.
When I begin to pull back, she licks the underside of my jaw in excitement. Her tail wags happily as she scrambles to a stand when I step away. Her playfulness is infectious and reminds me of June's when we are in our wolf forms. I butt Emma with the flat of my head before trotting off outside where the others await.
"Welcome," Xander says, his voice carrying over the excited clamor of the pack in attendance. "Take your time and go down the line to meet your new pack mates."
The alpha takes a knee, and the rest of the pack mirrors his gesture. Everyone wears matching smiles, and through the pack bonds their elation and eagerness slip over me. My tail wags with growing anticipation as I approach first, as is my right by rank.
My ears flatten to the side of my head as I reach out to sniff the side of Xander's outstretched neck. His scent isn't as strong as it would be in wolf form, but the act of staying human is a statement of vulnerability and trust. I can deal a devastating blow to the alpha with ease. The fact that I don't is a mutual act of faith. Xander's hand runs along my neck before he rubs his head against mine.
"Welcome home, Winter," he whispers roughly into my fur and inhales, taking in my scent as well. "Be good to him."
I duck from Xander's tentative hold, bumping into him a fraction as I move onto the next in line: my husband.
"Hey, you." Atticus reaches out a hand to stroke my head. I rock into the touch, my golden eyes studying him. He smiles, and it only grows as I lean forward to capture his scent with a gentle snuff along his neck. "You're beautiful." The words are hushed as he buries his face into the thick fur of my neck. "I can't wait to run beside you, Winter."
A pleased shiver courses over me, but when I attempt to dislodge from Atticus's hold, he grips me tighter. His forehead comes to rest on mine and lingers until we take a breath and exhale as one. Atticus makes a pleased noise in his throat and releases me to finish my greetings.
As we three make our way down the line of pack mates, those who we have met go inside the tents to change. Soon the small clearing is filled with a bundle of wolves who are eager to stretch their legs.
Atticus finds me once I'm done. He is over twice my size, and his coat a dark, muddy brown all over. He licks the side of my face and takes to sniffing me behind my ear in contentment. I shrink at the attention but don't pull away all the way.
The wolf in me couldn't be happier, and it is hard to deny it the pleasure of being in the company of such happy wolves and our soulmark. Tentatively, I lean into Atticus's side, returning his affections gently.
He lets out a happy yip, echoed by several others until the resounding howl of the alpha pierces the air. Xander trots toward the edge of the clearing. He is a fearsome looking wolf, with jet black fur and golden eyes. He lets out a sharp bark and then breaks into a run.
The pack gives chase.
Cold earth and snow fly up from the ground as we scramble after him into the forest. Spirited energy eclipses all other feelings running through the pack bonds. My reaction to the power is instinctive as I dig into the earth for better purchase and fly forward. Atticus keeps pace, his long legs matching my increased gait with little effort.
He bumps into my side, and I cast him a surprised look as my paws stumble over one another before righting. His tongue hangs out as he delivers a wolfish smile in my direction. In his eyes is the same playfulness and kindness I've come to recognize in his human form. I provide a bump back to him, and if possible, I catch his wolfish smile grow.
The ties of the Adolphus pack bonds wind around me further as the run continues. Our high energy gives way to that of love and safety, which draws me in tighter. And I don't mind in the least. This is a wholly different type of bond from that of my old pack—one full of trust and love, not duty and begrudging respect.
As soon as the thought enters my mind, one of the threads that tie me to the Blanc pack relinquishes its hold on me. I almost skid to a stop in sheer astonishment.
I should care that this has happened, for my parents will.
I should maintain some margin of distrust But I don't.
I feel free.
The notion is selfish, but tonight I can't manage to care. Tonight, I run with my new pack, and I've never felt so alive. Xander stops up ahead atop a large boulder. He thrusts his head toward the sky and releases an earth-quaking howl echoed enthusiastically by the pack and myself.
The night is ours.
II
In a year, two deaths would change the fate of many.
The first was the death of the alpha's heir. Mourned by all, Jean-Marc Blanc was given a warrior's funeral with all the village in attendance.
His death was not entirely unexpected, nor was it unaccompanied. Winter was not a kind season. The hunt for food took the best of the Blanc wolves farther out into the wilderness than usual, and in their search, they'd intercepted another pack.
This pack was not kind either.
They clashed over territory abundant in caribou and white-tailed deer. The scenes that followed their conflicts were witnessed only by blunted and colorless flora and the atrophied branches of towering trees.
But the earth remembered the days it was bathed in lycan blood. And the Moon Goddess mourned her sons.
It was in this time of duress that another death cut deep into the heart of one of the village's residents. A life, come and gone, in the blink of an eye.
Blood stained sheets in the middle of the night, accompanied by a terrible cramping sensation. Merida knew as she stared upon her mess the painful truth—the tiny life inside of her no longer lived.
She mourned alone, and when messengers brought news of the territory wars end, along with Jean-Marc, she mourned with the villagers. Time drifted by slowly as Merida waited for the pack’s return. When they did, their numbers far greater than when they departed, the humans left. The careful balance they kept for so long tipped in favor of what they could never truly understand.
Merida felt unease at their departure. She felt unease at the absorption of the defeated pack.
The winds of change blew bitter and cold against Merida's cheeks, but she was a step too gone to notice.
++
A long-awaited knock at the door brought the witch to weary feet. Several days and nights had passed since the full return of the pack and its newcomers. Days and nights spent in formal ceremony and decadent revelry.
Merida chose to stay away. Her place was not among them. This was a fact she always knew, even with the presence the human villagers to keep the veneer of a modern civilization afloat.
The knock sounded again. "Merida?"
She opened the door. Luc stood close enough to touch. His body was wrapped in protective leather and fur to curb the bite of the wind.
"May I come in?"
She stepped aside and closed the door behind him. There was an ache inside her, one that permeated every inch of her being, and she did not know how to cure herself of her affliction. Merida stared with longing at her lover's turned back. The loss of his brother surely had torn him from the inside out, and responsible as he was to take up his brother's place, there could surely have been no time for him to mourn him.
Merida could not fathom the weight upon his shoulders. Nor could she spare him the ordeal of their loss.
"You are well?" she asked.
"I am worn, but hopeful."
Luc turned to face Merida, his expression bland despite the lofty note at the end of his short statement. Merida thought better of making an approach.
"I am glad to see you back," she confessed, hugging her waist. "I missed you. I missed your warmth."
"Merida...." A cross look spread over his face before his beautiful brown eyes went vacant. "I have come on official business."
The witch stood taller and pushed her fatigue to the side as she examined her lover once more. His garb wasn't just for the sake of the frosty air. No, it was tailored to fit and adorned with jewels and talismans the Blanc's so prized. Even his face bore the markings of recent grooming. Clean-shaven. Combed hair. Washed face.
Familiar unease batted at Merida's insides. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes.
"What does the pack require from my stock?" she asked with genial caution and stepped toward her work table.
Two steps deep and he responded. "You must leave."
"Pardon?" Despite the loftiness of Merida's response, her question fell heavy like a bag of stones between them. A weak smile attempted to frame her face. "Leave?
He gave a solemn nod. "As soon as possible."
Her smile ruptured. "What are you talking about? Why would you ask this of me? What have I done to deserve such scorn?"
At her line of questioning, Luc went mute. His gaze fell upon a distant spot over Merida's shoulder that only proved to enrage the witch. Merida let out a cry of disbelief before she rushed her once lover. Though her fists proved little damage to the solid surface of his chest, they did bring back the emotion in his eyes.
"I ask you to leave for your own sake. For your happiness," he growled back, taking Merida by the shoulders and giving her a rough shake.
"You or the pack?" she snarled back, her unruly curls bouncing in front of her vision.
Luc gave pause. A painful whine emitted from his throat. "Both," he said in a ragged whisper before stepping back.
"Why?"
"I have found her."
"I don't—" Her eyes widened, and Merida swallowed thickly as she repeated his words over and over again in her head. "I'm sure I don't know what you're speaking of. Surely your father must have asked you to come to fetch something from me. Let me grab what elixirs I have to ease the ache of a night's consumption of alcohol."
"You are the most intelligent woman I know," Luc said, his voice low and coarse. "Do not make this harder or more painful than it must be. We cannot be together. With the death of my brother and the discovery of my soulmark among the new arrivals... it would be in your best interest to leave, Merida. Follow the humans south for you will find no love here by my pack or me."
Her hands trembled as she rummaged around the jars and bowls upon her rickety shelves. Never once did an item make it onto her work table. Never once did she turn back to face him.
"This is my home," she said at last, her hands gripping a bundle of feathers.
"Find a new one. My father has claimed this land as his own. You are unwelcome here now," Luc said. His words rode an icy gust of the wind as he fled the little shack.
Merida released a shrill cry at his retreating back. It was filled to the brim with agony. The rickety shelves shook with the force of her emotion until all but a few bottles of precious ingredients tumbled to the ground. Merida glared at the open door. Her angry tears dashed across her cheeks as she watched Luc disappear out of sight. With another cry, the door slammed shut.
She would not leave her home.
++
Merida had come to the village when she was fifteen. Alone and proudly self-sufficient, she had earned her place in the village with hard work and dedication to her craft. It helped that she was smart as a whip and knew when to be heard and seen, or neither at all.
She knew the people of the village well, better than most realized. Her customers and patients always found themselves to be loose-lipped when paying a call, and Merida never forgot their gossip.
She knew the tenderhearted. She knew who bore keen grudges. She knew the ill-fortuned ones greatest wishes. And she knew the darkest thoughts of those in high power.
Therefore, Merida did not anticipate the tides to turn against her so quickly.
The churning notion in her stomach pleaded with her to leave and forget about this village and these wolves. The witch had other plans, or rather, her pride did.
Winter continued with its harsh lament. Change barreled on.
Where the pack grew strong, the witch did not. Merida found herself being shut out from the little village down the dirt road. They did not like to buy her goods or trade with her. No longer did they seek out her services.
What Merida detested above all was the truth in Luc's final words to her. They did not show her love. Or kindness. Or mercy. And when the other nomadic packs began to arrive and join the Blancs, neither did they.
Their cruelty grew.
Hostile glares turned to heated taunts. Taunts transformed to physical blows. Merida could withstand their loathing and detestation but not his disregard. Spring arrived, and with it, a meager bounty from her garden to sustain her.
It was not enough.
She saw them—Luc and his soulmark—and both her heart and spirit broke.
At long last, she conceded to her better senses and began to pack her belongings. She did not know where she would go, but Merida was sure the freedom she sought would be found.
++
The winds of change came blowing again. This time in the form of a flame.
++
The pack did not like the witch stalking them from the outskirts of the village. She hovered and persisted among them like a fly with its head cut off. Nor could they fathom why she withstood their scorn. Nor her ability to survive.
Until one day someone saw more than a haggard soul clinging to a piece of land no longer their own, but a woman who looked upon their beta with far too much longing.
They did not like that at all.
When whispered words came of her impending departure, the pack took to the news like a swarm. With the knowledge of her defeat in hand, half of the pack relented in their pursuit of her demise. The other could not have acted faster.
Soon she would go, the first half said, let her be.
No, replied the rest, we will make her flee.
Set in their ways, the latter half devised a simple plan. They knew of only one way to kill a witch—with fire.
And so they came and went in the dead of night, their torches in hand to set ablaze her dwellings and land.
Yuletide Cheer
Chapter 4
Back home, Christmas is always an intimate affair. The house is perfectly toasty and decorated with glossy baubles and dozens of thick, creamy candles. Dwarf evergreens are set strategically along the hallways and common rooms. My father cooks a delicious ham with a plethora of fixings to accompany it. My mother plays Christmas classics on the piano, and I enjoy curling up before a roaring fire with a new book.
A pang of longing strikes my heart thinking of the simple, yet cozy Christmas tradition kept in my parents’ home. Celebrating with Atticus is... different. It is bright and merry. The days between the full moon and Christmas, we decorate the house together with pine garland and sparkling lights. He keeps a marathon of seasonal movies on to fill the peaceful silence between us.
“Ready, Winter?”
I study my reflection in the vanity mirror of my bedroom. We’ll spend Christmas at the alpha’s home, and I'm uncharacteristically nervous. The new bonds which tie me to the Adolphus pack leave me craving the interaction, but what loyalty remains to my old pack brings my guilt to the surface as I look forward to the celebration. And then there is my "mission" to consider.
I hold no doubts that my mother grows tired of waiting for my call with the details of the full moon run. Today's gathering will also pique her interest.
Just perfect, I lament, fighting the urge to plant my head against the vanity table.
“I’ll be down in just a minute!” I shout back from my bedroom.
I’ve secured my hair into a French twist, with a few choice strands of pearly hair left out to frame my face. I’m dressed far bolder than usual in a cherry red jumpsuit, with minimal accessories to balance the piece. If my parents could see me, they would surely level me with disapproving frowns.
