Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 9
++
I learn several facts during dinner thanks to the seating arrangements. Though it’s hard to tell what parts Quinn exaggerates about. Atticus, who is seated across from me, passes us indiscernible frowns throughout the meal. Whether they are in disapproval or disappointment, I can’t tell. I do my best to ignore them all, succeeding for the most part and absorbing every piece of gossip Quinn ushers into my ear.
“Let me get this straight,” I say quietly as we all begin to pull away from the table, our bellies full and appetites more than satisfied. Quinn and I keep our gait slow as we follow the others back into the Great Room to congregate. “Lunaria magically appeared when the Crystal of Dan Furth was restored and introduced into the land, but the witches don’t know why or how to send her back home?”
Quinn nods solemnly and takes a gentle sip from her red wine. “Correct.”
“And last summer not only did the Wselfwulfs attack, but the Wardens of Starlight did as well. The former to hurt the pack and destroy the crystal, and the latter to get back their possessions and destroy the crystal.”
“Correct again,” Quinn says, herding me toward the side of the room with more urgency than necessary. Then I spot the reason for her haste: Atticus. He’s attempting to disengage from a conversation with Keenan and divert toward our twosome. “We lost a couple of witches and wolves. Plus, Callie and Keenan were basically kidnapped and tortured by the wardens. We’re lucky they even made it out.”
“And Lunaria was hurt too?”
Quinn stops, her palpable concern rests on the quiet fairy who hovers close to the witches. “She was,” she whispers to me. “It really messed with her head. Before the battle, you couldn’t get Luna to shut up. She was a constant ball of energy with a million and a half questions ready at the tip of her tongue. Plus, there's her whole bit with talking to plants—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, my brows coming together. “Talking to plants?”
Plants are a small passion of mine. Their means and measures always a calming act of learning. Not to mention how enthralling and inspiring it is to see what they can endure.
“Fairy, remember? She still does now, but it’s not the same. Now… now it’s like she lost part of herself. She’s withdrawn and doesn't like to talk anymore, let alone with her favorite flowers and trees. I don’t think she’s ever experienced that kind of violence directly before.”
“That’s awful,” I murmur.
Imagining the violence and pain bestowed upon Luna makes my stomach twist in discomfort. Whether it be from my natural empathy, or the instinctive urge to comfort a fellow pack mate—however unofficial—I find myself angling toward the fairy. I too am familiar with pain.
“Hey.”
Atticus’s husky greeting draws my pensive gaze away from the fairy. His blue eyes are a mixture of emotions, but I make a note of the tightness lingering around his mouth.
“Hi,” Quinn replies. “As you most likely overheard, I’ve been cluing Winter into all the shenanigans that happened over the summer. Although I’ve been more than happy to take up the task, don’t you think you should have been doing it? Talk about a misstep in husbandly duties.”
Quinn’s ability to turn the tables on Atticus is impressive. The hint of disapproval on his face falters before disappearing entirely with a heavy sigh.
“Thanks, Quinn.”
The feisty blonde releases a delicate laugh. “You’re welcome. I suppose I’ll leave you two be and find my troublemaking boyfriend. Lord knows he can barely survive five minutes without me, let alone however long Winter and I have been chatting.”
Her fingers wiggle at us from over her shoulder as she turns tail and—well, not runs—but glides away to said troublemaker.
“So… she told you everything, huh?” Atticus stuffs his hands in his tan trousers. A wrinkle disturbs the plane of his forehead, and I release a little sigh of my own.
“She attempted to,” I confirm. I drop my chin a fraction and let my gaze glide back to the fairy’s direction. “Perhaps we can compare notes later.”
My answer seems to satisfy Atticus as I am rewarded with a soft smile. “Later,” he agrees. Atticus clears his throat lightly, casting a look at the others all gathered by the main seating section. “The witches are going to perform a Yule blessing to celebrate the rebirth of light. Although, technically, Yule started on the day of our wedding, the 21st. They’ll celebrate Yule all the way to the first of the year.”
“I didn't know that.”
The group begins to move furniture back and place candles around the room and on every available surface. I watch with keen interest. I grew up learning the supernatural politics, not the practices and traditions of another kind—especially not ones that had cursed us.
“What do they need all the candles for?”
My gray eyes find his sparkling back at me. His cheek gives a telltale twitch before succumbing to a grin.
“You’ll see,” he says, the playful timbre of his voice drawing the hairs at the back of my neck on end.
His larger hand encapsulates mine, and then Atticus is pulling me along after him to the group. We form into a rough circle, the Elder Triad taking their place at the center. Zoelle makes a more substantial turn of the room to turn off all of the lights before joining our circle’s ranks.
The hair at the back of my neck continues to stay on end as everyone passes each other special shared smiles. I fidget with anticipation and uncertainty. I’ve never experienced an event such as this, but those around me simmer in general excitement. I try to catch onto the feeling and enjoy the experience, but doubt curbs my enthusiasm.
“Tonight we gather to celebrate the rebirth of the day, with family and friends. Thank you, Aleksander, for welcoming us into your home,” Zoelle’s grandmother, Diana, says.
The witch is somewhere in her late sixties, with her natural hair a pearly gray and white. There is a constant knowing gleam in her eye. I wonder if she knows how enchanting her velvet voice is? Her spoken words exude a strange warmth and coupled with the smooth cadence at which she speaks, I find myself entranced. Magic. My nose twitches in slight alarm.
“You’re most welcome in our home,” Xander replies, bowing his head respectfully to the witch.
I take a calming breath through my mouth as I watch Diana join hands with the two others that make up the Elder Triad, Maureen Claybourne and Lydia Stein.
Diana seeks out her granddaughter’s gaze over her shoulder. “Zoelle, the Yule log, please.”
Zoelle smiles. She and Xander reach behind them to retrieve a silver stand and a single log owning a dusty white bark.
“We celebrate the Solstice in many ways. Through prayers and gift-giving, and rituals and ceremonies. In honor of the Birch Moon, we humbly offer this birch wood log to be burned,” Aunt Mo, the scarred elder, says. Zoelle and Xander submit the objects to the inner circle.
“The Birch Moon is a symbol of rebirth and regeneration,” the last of the triad says, her dark eyes heavily hooded as she keeps her voice pitched low. “As we burn this Yule log, we cast our wishes toward blessings endowed in creativity and fertility. As well as that of protection and healing. Let us join hands.”
Atticus squeezes my hand, already neatly captured in his own, and I look to my right to see who’s hand I must take. Violet eyes blink back solemnly at me. I swallow, offering out my hand for the fairy to take. Her glamours are gone for the evening, Quinn informed me earlier, because the witches hoped to make her happier in her natural state. By the wilted state of the flowers and vines sprawled beneath her skin, I doubt their efforts worked.
“Hello,” I greet kindly and stretch my hand out further toward her. “I’m Winter.”
The fairy takes my hand with tentative fingers. The slim digits stretch over the width of my palm, then around to cup my hand. As I return her grip and deliver a gentle squeeze, the flowers on the back of her hand begin to bloom up her wrist.
“I’m Lunaria,” she whispers back. “I’ve never met someone with the same hair as me before.”
A slow grin creeps across my lips as I lean closer to the fairy. “All of my family has hair the color of snow. They say it happened when the lycan curse took place. So overcome with grief and stress, the members of my family's hair turned white.”
The explanation gradually draws Lunaria’s mouth open, her jaw dropping at least an inch by the end of my tale.
“Is that true?” she asks. There is a breathless wonder to her voice as she stares me down. I watch the vines and flowers open across her skin as her curiosity grows.
"So some say, but my parents told me our white hair came about to match our white fur coats in our wolf forms. It helps to better camouflage us in our homeland.”
The smile returned to me is stunning in its brilliance. Lunaria’s iridescent wings glow behind her. “I am delighted to hear this,” she says. Our hands tighten around one another, and just like that, another thread of the Adolphus pack bonds steal around my heart.
“We shall begin now,” Diana announces in her melodious tone. Lunaria and I straighten. It isn’t easy to shake the room’s attention from us, nor tamper the blush that rises to my cheeks at the attention. Thankfully, the Elder Triad’s next words usurp the former.
“The Wheel has turned once more, and
the earth has gone to sleep.
The leaves are gone, the crops have returned to the ground.
On this darkest of nights, we celebrate the light.
Tomorrow, the sun will return,
its journey continuing as it always does.
Welcome back, warmth.
Welcome back, light.
Welcome back, life.”
About the room, the candles stir to life. Tiny flames dance tall around us, a pleasant wave of heat blankets the room as we begin to move clockwise around the threesome. Over my skin, a phantom breeze passes, and in its wake resides a glittering sheen that weaves about our persons and tickles our skin. As our steps lead us back to our original positions, the triad speaks again as one.
“Shadows go away, darkness is no more,
as the light of the sun comes back to us.
Warm the earth.
Warm the ground.
Warm the sky.
Warm our hearts.
Welcome back, sun.”
One by one, each person offers their token of gratitude to a happening or person in their life. Their words tighten my throat as praise and love are given so freely.
“I am proud to call Winter my wife,” Atticus says, his voice loud and clear for the group to hear, though he looks only to me.
A hunger grows in his eyes as they linger on me, and my words become lost. “I am thankful for… a new start.”
My words send a ripple of resounding appreciation and affection through the pack bonds. The attention forces my eyes to the ground and another fevered blush to rise to my cheeks.
“I am thankful for new friends,” Lunaria says quietly, her fingers press into the back of my hand as she delivers her words.
Once more we walk the circle’s path. The triad chants a phrase beneath their breath as we do, and their words evoke that glittering magic to swirl around the Yule log. Stepping into our original places once more—the final act of the ceremony complete—the Yule log catches fire.
The group gives a joyous cheer as another wave of warmth and good tiding burnish everyone with a momentary unearthly glow. I laugh in stilted awe at the parade of power and begin to clap, turning to Atticus with renewed excitement. I don't even mind the way my skin tingles a little too much once all is said and done.
“That was incredible,” I say, watching as the golden glow recedes into Atticus’s person. “For some reason, I always imagined ceremonies like these performed in black robes with chalices filled with mysterious potions being passed from person to person.”
Atticus releases a loud laugh, and even Lunaria giggles from behind me. “It’s a lot tamer than that,” he assures me, taking a step closer so that I can feel each breath he releases. “Winter, I—”
The chiming of an obnoxious pop song sounds from a distant phone. It causes Atticus to lose focus and tilt his head in question.
“That’s my phone,” I say, stepping back with a weak smile. “It’s June, my cousin.”
Atticus rolls his eyes heavenward. “You better move fast if you want to catch her.”
I turn and speed to the foyer where my belongings are. “Hello?” I ask, a touch out of breath in worry that I have missed her call.
“Winter! Merry Christmas!” June’s cheerful voice brings a broad smile to my face.
“Merry Christmas, Junebird.” She laughs at her childhood nickname.
“I can’t really talk long,” June says. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas over the phone instead of text. I’m happy you answered, where are you?”
“I’m at the alpha’s home celebrating with—”
“Oh shoot, I have to go! Sorry, Winter! I’m not actually supposed to be on the phone at all, and I can hear my mom coming. I’ll call you later—bye!”
She hangs up, and a small laugh escapes me. There is little that June can do wrong in my eyes, even hanging up abruptly. I return my phone to my coat pocket with a fond smile.
“Hello, dear,” a voice from behind says. I spin around, surprised not to have heard Maureen’s approach, although I should have been able to tell by the amount of perfume she wears. Maureen is dosed in a fragrance of rose, amber, and lily of the valley.
“Maureen,” I greet with a dimmer smile, my wolf unexpectedly alerting me to a potential threat.
“Call me Aunt Mo, dear. Everyone does.” I duck my head in deferment for a moment.
“Of course,” I murmur. “I suppose we should be getting back.”
“Yes, yes,” she responds, waving a scarred hand dismissively at my comment but making no move to go. Our eyes catch in a standoff. “But first, I'm afraid I must pass on a message.”
I straighten my spine and angle my head with an inquisitive frown. “From who?”
Aunt Mo smiles serenely. “My tarot cards, dear. You were in my morning reading.” I disguise my wariness with a downward tilt of my lips.
“I’m not a believer in such things,” I tell her a touch briskly and look past her into the Great Room. Nobody is in sight to make eye contact with and remove me from this suddenly very, unwanted conversation.
“Perhaps you should,” she suggests with a mysterious laugh. I sweep my eyes over the woman as she loses herself to her amusements. Aunt Mo's alabaster skin is covered in devilish red scars that look remarkably fresh. “After all,” she continues, her voice and posture turning solemn, “you’re going to get someone killed.”
The Reading
Chapter 5
The warm-heartedness that accompanies the Yule ceremony abandons me, and in its place comes a numbing dread as Aunt Mo's words sink in. Me? I will get someone killed? She might as well have hit me with some magic spell—straight in the gut. The color drains from my face. She can't possibly be speaking of my parents' ominous threat, can she?
"That's what your cards told you? That I'll get someone killed?" My voice turns to a harsh whisper as my wolfish temper flares. What is this witch trying to do? Start another war?
Aunt Mo stares back at me before her eyes take on a distant quality. "The winter wolf will break."
My nose twitches at the foreign magic seeping into the air around us. It is a far cry from that of the ceremony. This magic provides no warmth, but a deep chill that slides up my bones.
What terrible beauty magic is. My heart races at the thought.
I jut out my chin and tilt my shoulders back as she comes out of her daze. "And I suppose I am to believe I'm the 'winter wolf' you speak of?"
My short words are not met with agitation or alarm, but sadness. "You cannot outrun your fate," she says simply. I take a breath and step back.
"You're wrong," I clip back. "To my understanding"—what little I have—"tarot cards can be interpreted in multiple ways, and they don't deliver prophecies."
Her eyebrows dip low to my response, and that strange invisible magic solidifies around my bones. "Tarot cards can be interpreted in several ways, my dear. But when the cards turn up the same over and over again after every cut of the deck... you listen."
I want to protest, I intend to when several shouts erupt from the other room. The sudden sound shocks us both, and we pivot in unison to the arched entrance of the Great Room. Exclamations of congratulations draw us in.
"It would seem our conversation is over," Aunt Mo says, her curiosity winning out over my worry. "I'm sure we'll touch on the subject again at another point."
She strides away from me, her strange magic slipping from my bones as she does. Yet I remain, my feet rooted to the floor as my mind devolves to chaos.
What just happened?
Panic strokes the length of my spine before it claws at my ribs and digs between the bone. The air is thinner where I stand, my proof lies in the way I cannot breathe—I can't breathe.
Get a grip, Winter.
The harsh internal scolding is accompanied by a ragged inhalation, but at least it does the trick. Why am I allowing myself to be worked up like this? There is no proof to Aunt Mo's words. They're just cards.
I'm not about to let some pieces of glorified paper dictate my future.
Hearing the celebration continue, I make my way into the room. If I linger any longer, Atticus will come... and how on earth will I explain my distress?
A heavy sigh falls from my lips.
Everything will be fine. I'll put Aunt Mo's moment behind me and go forward with my plan to mollify my parents' need for information with insignificant details. Somehow I'll find out who my parents intend to use against me and warn them... and I won't fall for Atticus.
Oh yes, everything will be just fine.
"Winter! Come in here!" Atticus calls from across the room. I flatten out the nonexistent wrinkles of my jumpsuit and brush aside a swaying curl.
