by Rebecca Main
“Why do you say that?” Ryatt asks.
“The way they acted… the things they said and eluded too. I can’t put my finger on it, but something wasn’t right. They’re hiding something about the curse. Something only their pack knows. I just know it,” Irina says.
Jakob slips a hand to cover hers across the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “And what would you have us do? Spy on them? Interrogate them? They’re the oldest and highest ranking lycan pack in the world, Irina.”
The hybrid sits back in her chair, her eyes a window to her cunning nature. “Of course not, Xander, that would be rude. Thankfully, we won’t have to resort to such domestic means. Not with Atticus’s coming nuptials.”
Ryatt smiles slowly. “Wonderful idea, sister. And would you like to inform Atticus of your little plan, or will you be shirking off the duties to one of us.”
Irina matches his smile and reaches for her glass of blut champagner. “I’m sure you can handle it, brother.”
Sneak Peek
Keep reading for an exclusive look at
Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Book 5)
Farewell
Chapter 1
I tend to avoid wearing white. The color against my skin only accentuates my fair pallor. But here I stand, drenched in white lace from neck to toe, marveling at the sheer beauty of the brilliant white draping me. A sigh tumbles past my parted lips as the wonder and awe fade.
"Are you wearing your hair up or down?"
I glance to my left. Juniper, or June as close family and friends call her, sits with her legs tucked beneath her at the end of the nearby stiff-backed couch. She observes with wide-eyed admiration as I grant her a soft smile.
"Mother hasn't decided yet," I respond.
June hums. "You'll look stunning either way. I wish I were as pretty as you, Winter."
I give a good-natured shake of my head as my first reply. "You're very sweet to say so," I say as all of my mother's ingrained teachings of niceties and pleasantries kick in.
Remember, Winter, when given compliments, always accept them graciously. No one likes a woman who fishes for praise.
I cast my eyes back to the full-length mirror a few feet in front of me. Staring back is a lovely woman, but I wonder if anyone else catches the sadness that always seems to linger in my slate gray eyes.
"Did you know the white wedding dress was made popular by Queen Victoria in the 19th century?" June continues with careless enthusiasm. Her honey-blonde hair, dressed in wavy curls, swings in front of her face as she leans forward. "Isn't that so interesting?"
"I did know that, as it happens," I reply and give my younger cousin a warm smile. But do you know white is a common color of mourning in several Asian cultures?
"Oh," she murmurs a bit dejectedly. Her sky-blue eyes dart to the floor then back to me, their vigor and excitement returning only as a teenager can conjure. "You must be so excited to be with your soulmark, Winter! How long is it since you last saw him?"
I flush unwittingly and look away from the mischievous grin now present on June's face.
"Twenty years, give or take."
June makes a noise that is a cross between a sigh and whine. "I think the betrothal is rather romantic!" A startled laugh crosses my lips before I can help it, but June charges on. "Truly! You actually found your soulmark, and you get to marry him. You're so lucky, Winter. I wish I could be with mine… wherever he is."
At the sudden sound of dejection in her voice, I step from my small pedestal and walk to her side. Kneeling down—much to June's distress—I grasp her hands.
"June, you know as well as I, I'm not lucky at all," I say with gentle finesse. She sets her sights upon our clasped hands and swallows.
"Because of the curse...."
I swallow as well and nod. "Yes."
"But the soulmark curse only prevents you from having children," she goes on with sheepish hope. "You can always adopt."
The words sting, even when delivered with such earnest. The curse upon my family—my pack—is as old as the lycan curse. It prevents us from carrying children to term with our soulmarks, and it mercilessly stunted the growth of our pack. It's done more than that. The curse has taken apart the pack piece by piece. And I am the last of the Blanc family line.
Centuries ago the Blancs flourished and were incontestably the strongest pack in Northern America, not to mention the oldest. Without the added boost of bound soulmarks integrated into our pack, we were forced to adapt to stay strong.
Our males become more aggressive and territorial. Our she-wolves, which we possessed in unusual abundance, created a strict hierarchy among themselves to rival the men. Mine is not a pack that is easy to live in, but I am lucky enough to bare our pack's namesake and enjoy the rank of fifth in the pack.
"We'll see. Regardless, I'm sure it will be more than enough to know I'm with my soulmark."
June stays quiet. Her eyes lift slowly to mine as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth to worry at the pink flesh.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Are you going to tell him about the curse?"
I blink back in response, and then give a quick shake of my head. "You know I can't do that, June. We're—"
"Not allowed," she finishes. June urges me to stand then makes a fuss of dusting off the bottom of my dress. The task is pointless, for the room we occupy is kept in pristine condition at all times. Any speck of dirt that dare enter the house would be banished immediately upon sight. Most visitors applaud the neatness of my home, but I cannot shake its sterile hold no matter how hard I stare into its gleaming surfaces.
When June persists in her chore, I drag her up by her arm. "Stop that," I scold without any bite. "And please don't feel any sorrow for me, okay? I'm going to be just fine and happy as can be," I assure her. Even without children.
June shoots me a small smile. "I just want you to be happy. You always try to make sure that I am."
"That's what cousins do," I tease. June's smile grows, but a touch of forlorn still lingers in it. "I wish I could go to your wedding."
A soft "aw" makes its way from my mouth before I envelop the seventeen-year-old into a hug. "Me too," I mumble against her head then plant a kiss there.
Truth be told, June is far more a sister to me than a cousin. During our shared childhood, she was a constant source of comfort to me. Her brightness eclipsed the dark life I lived at home.
Where my parents tore me down, June brought me up.
Where my parents questioned my merits, June never even thought to ask.
Where my parents disciplined and groomed my wolf and me for the prestigious life as their daughter, with June, I could be free—to an extent, at least.
"Your fitting went well before I came?"
June's question snaps me out of my reverie, and as she pulls back to retreat to the couch, a more subdued smile arises onto my face. Catching June's eyes, I nod to her question.
The dress will be taken in one last time, due to my mother's insistence. The local seamstress, a low-ranking she-wolf in her mid-fifties, made no protest even as I had. In the end, I can’t fault the seamstress for her submission. No one says no to the alpha she-wolf.
Apparently, not even me.
"It went well," I say. "Would you mind unbuttoning the back for me?"
June is back on her feet in a second and behind me. Her slender fingers work the parade of pearl buttons from their loops, and my chest expands with great relief.
"Thank you," I breathe.
"Tell me again how everything is supposed to look?" June asks once she's finished. A small chuckle bursts from me.
"Haven't I told you this a hundred times?"
I walk behind the privacy screen at the other end of the room and change from my wedding dress into my daily wear—a cozy, thick wool sweater paired with slick black leather leggings. I tear away my treacherously high wedding shoes in favor of the fuzzy slippers I like to wea
r around my home.
"Let's make it an even one hundred and one," she quips. Another laugh is elicited from June's playful demeanor.
"White and red roses and lots and lots of greenery." I flop down on the couch. The cushions begrudge but an inch of leniency, and I give an exaggerated grimace as my snowy hair tumbles in front of my eyes. I brush the curly strands away with the back of my hand. "You know it will look picture perfect since my mother is at the helm."
June nods along with an eagerness that befits her age. "Aunt Adele throws the grandest parties."
"What else?" I cock my head to the side, a mischievous smile crawling into place as I pretend to think. I cup my chin in hand and smile wider. "A four-course dinner with the seasons finest game and vegetables, and a cake topped with powdered sugar and a winter berry compote." My mouth waters at the mere thought of the tasty dessert.
June grins back. "Isn’t that your dream cake?"
I nod. It had been one of the only elements of the wedding I had taken a stand on. The "naked cake" trend appeals to me greatly, and it fits my style far more than the traditional frosted cake. My mother hadn't been pleased with my insistence, but she caved eventually so long as it "stopped my perpetual whining."
"It is!"
"Good! It's your day. You should get whatever you want."
I take June's hand and squeeze. She is effortlessly affectionate and supportive, as always. I wonder if she realizes I look up to her just as much as she looks up to me.
"And when you get married, what will it look like?"
"I want something rustic and dreamy. With wildflowers everywhere."
My smile widens. Rustic chic is what I want too. Although my sentiments on the matter are relayed to my mother, I get a distinct inkling it will be far more winter chic than a classy rustic affair.
"Wildflowers suit you," I say. "They're resilient and beautiful. They grow where they please, sometimes in the most unlikely of places. In cracks and crevices. In the heart of the darkest wood."
June blushes. "I can't believe how much you know about flowers and plants—especially since you never went to college!"
I keep the warmth to my smile even though inside I cringe. Not going to college had been... difficult. Yet, bound to the will of my alphas, I couldn't disobey their orders to remain and put my efforts into what they deemed to be of the utmost importance—the pack.
"The library and internet are a powerful combination," I say at last. They most certainly had been. I force down the resentment that ignited in my belly at the reminder. The library became my refuge. My childhood fascination with plants turned into a more studious pastime to fill the void of the higher education I was denied.
I clear my throat, the sound a gentle rumble, and pin June with a playful squinting of my eyes. "But back to your dream wedding... a certain Toby Jensen wouldn't happen to be the one you picture waiting for you at the end of the aisle, would it?"
June lets out a high-pitched squeal and grabs the nearest pillow to throw at me. I delight in the rush of color that floods her cheeks. "Winter Blanc!" she shouts as if the scandalized tone will bring me to heel. I laugh merrily instead.
"Don't tell me he's not. I thought you two were madly and deeply in love."
June's rosy cheeks deepen to crimson. "Toby and I aren't like you and Atticus, Winter. We're not soulmarks."
"No, you're not. But you and Toby aren't like the rest of the couples in the pack. You're genuinely in love. So many of our pack mates are together through arranged circumstances. You're lucky your parents and his approve of your relationship."
Her shoulders drop from their stilted position, but her blush only recedes a quarter. A sense of hope pervades me as I think of my cousin's relationship with her boyfriend. They make being in love look easy. And although they are young, ages seventeen and nineteen, their relationship is far more mature than several others in the pack.
It lightens my heart to know she will be in Toby's safe care once I leave for Montana.
Thoughts of the American state raise my heartbeat, or rather, ideas of Atticus do. Our matching marks, three intertwined rings, were discovered when we were children at a great meeting of the North American packs. As fate would have it, Atticus accidentally touched the soulmark still forming on my lower back as he valiantly helped me pilfer a box of cookies.
The box of cookies my small, five-year-old hands strove for had been far out of reach. Heedless of the difficult task, I stretched to the very tips of my toes. As a by-product of my determination, my shirt had ridden up in my efforts. A gentleman, even at age eight, Atticus had attempted to assist my cookie heist and inadvertently touched my soulmark while giving me a much-needed boost.
The moment was electric. Literally.
He dropped me in shock, wide-eyed and shaking. I succumbed to tears of confusion and a small bit of pain from my landing.
It was a match made in heaven.
I duck my head to hide my smile. My interaction henceforth with my soulmark was conducted via letters and heavily monitored by my family. In rare occurrences did we speak over the phone. We certainly never saw each other. Secret social media stalking was my only means to garner a glimpse into Atticus Hayes’s life. That, and the short secret messages we embed in our letters to each other.
They are trivial phrases snuck into boring paragraphs that express our excitement to be with one another and clue the other in to the more meaningful details of our life. Our secret code took years to get right, but the painstaking effort was worth it. I can't speak of Atticus's experience throughout our exchange, but our letters have always been subject to my parents' disapproving eyes. Having the means to express myself without the threat of my parents' censorship was everything.
If our discovery had taken place anywhere else, my parents would have whisked me away to some tower and kept me hidden—along with their secrets—for the rest of my life. I shudder at the thought.
At the time, I could not comprehend the soulmark curse upon my family. Why was it bad? Why did they look so ill whenever I expressed my joy and excitement? Five-year-old Winter did not understand their disdain and anger. Nor could six-year-old Winter, but at age seven, my parents made sure I did.
The soulmark is a weakness to the Blanc pack, for it does not bolster us as it did the other packs spread out across the world. It is a curse, they had explained, for the purpose of marriage is to procreate, and we cannot with our soulmarks—souls bound or otherwise. If those outside the pack knew of our weakness, they would surely take advantage, and the Blanc pack would come under attack.
They told me those who truly understood the importance of the pack's survival proudly did as our ancestors and removed the cursed mark from their skin in solidarity with the pack. That I, the daughter of the alphas, would forsake this privilege to prove my commitment to the pack was a grave disappointment.
As those who do forsake the pack in such a way are met with sometimes fatal unkindness.
To show my solidarity with the Blanc pack's plight, I am not to bind my soul with Atticus... regardless of our impending union. This is to be my concession to alleviate their disappointment.
The thought makes me ill.
Tomorrow I leave for Montana with a dozen or so of my pack. And the following day I will be Mrs. Winter Hayes. My heart gives a nervous flutter.
"Our parents are okay with it now, Winter, but they aren't the ones who need to approve it. You and I both know that," she ends with a small, rebuking voice.
I hold back a grimace. "Haven't you heard?" I ask playfully. "I have an in with the alphas. If Toby is the one you want, I'll put in all the requisite good words needed to make it happen."
June tries for a smile. "I trust in your capabilities of persuasion when it comes to Uncle Malcolm, but Aunt Adele is another matter."
"My mother is a staunch supporter of having the best... so just make sure Toby can prove he treats you the best, and you'll be golden, kid." June
frowns as I lean forward and punch her in the arm.
"I'm not a kid. I'm seventeen."
"Well, I'm twenty-five, so to me, you'll always be a kid."
June rolls her eyes but then softens.
"You'll really put in a good word for Toby with your parents? I mean, we don't plan on getting married tomorrow or anything"—June laughs a touch hysterically —"but knowing he's got their approval will go a long way for us."
"Have I ever let you down before?"
I'm tackled into the hard couch cushions, June's squeal of excitement nearly bursting my eardrum. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Hauling her off is a more difficult task than I anticipated, but somehow, I manage through a storm of thunderous laughter passed between us. "Oh, Winter, I wish you weren't going. I'm going to miss you."
A lump forms in my throat. "We can talk as frequently as you want. I'm only a text or call away, okay?"
June bops her head up and down happily.
"You know who might end up missing you more than me?"
My eyes widen as I take in a steadying breath. "Don't say—"
"Knox!"
I release a groan. Knox Bernard does not approve of my marriage or soulmark with Atticus. He's been one of its most vocal opponents throughout the past few years. Worse are his demands that I go through the same soulmark removal process as the rest of the pack, even though a betrothal contract was signed a long time ago with the Hayeses.
"He'll get over it," I tell her dryly. There are few things I envision missing about home, and Knox doesn't make the list.
Silence overtakes the small space between us, and my thoughts drift to the new pack I'll be joining, the Adolphus pack. How different will they be from mine? And what exactly does it mean to be a "new age" pack and leave tradition behind? I smooth my features into something serene as a pit of doubt begins to well in my stomach.
Mother and father have nothing nice to say about the Adolphus pack, and our chance meeting with Irina Adolphus at the Celestial Court did little to change that opinion. They insist her pack is no good. Impulsive. Dangerous. Feral. Mother frets over my survival among them, for I possess none of those qualities. My upbringing ensured me to be a groomed, well-behaved woman, docile yet amiable enough to sway decisions.
