by Cheree Alsop
“She made her own decision,” his father shouted. “Stupid, foolish woman. She was always too foolhardy for her own good.”
“Don’t you dare talk about her!” Virgo yelled. He sent several more shots toward the warlock.
“Enough!” Clay said. He held out his hand and shouted a word I didn’t know.
Virgo gave a startled yelp as he was yanked from his feet and pulled through the air toward the warlock. Clay’s hand closed around his son’s throat.
“You always were a petulant whelp,” he growled. His gaze darkened and he turned to face the flames with the young man held out before him. “Perhaps you should join her.”
The last thing Mrs. Stein had told me was to help Virgo protect Isley. Now I was about to see her son be slain by his own father. I needed to save him. I needed to stop the warlock. I had to get to the platform in time.
There was no way I could cross the clearing and leap onto the platform fast enough in my human form. I had to be a wolf. There was no other way.
A memory of the way the wolf had fought to get free when Isley cauterized my wounds surfaced. Fear of the pain was nothing compared to losing my friend. It was worth a shot.
“Isley, use your light on me,” I said.
Isley looked my way but didn’t appear to see me through the haze of light in her eyes.
I gripped her shoulders and shook her just enough to get her attention. “Isley, look at me!”
My hands burned at the contact with her, but I didn’t let go.
“Isley, I need your help!”
A glance over my shoulder showed Clay chanting again. The fire was growing bigger. He held Virgo by the throat with seemingly effortless ease. He was ready to sacrifice his own son to compensate for Mrs. Stein’s selfless act. I had to hurry.
“Isley!” I shouted.
She blinked and focused on me. “Yes, Zev?” Her voice was thick with confusion. “What’s going on?”
“Quick, Isley, Virgo is going to die if you don’t use your light on me.”
“But that’ll hurt you,” she replied, taking a step back.
I grabbed her arm regardless of the scorching heat. “It’ll make me phase,” I told her. “Do it. Hurry!”
She looked from me to the platform and her eyes widened.
“Isley!” I said.
“Alright,” she replied.
She put her hands on my chest. “This is going to hurt,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“I’m ready,” I told her.
She closed her eyes and light surged into me.
I flew backwards as if I had touched an electrical wire. When I hit the ground, it felt as though every nerve ending I possessed had caught fire. I curled into a fetal position and tried to remember how to breathe. My heart struggled to beat. I concentrated, willing it to do what it needed. Black spots filled my vision and red burned within my eyelids. I felt my breath catch in my throat and thought that maybe I had also sacrificed myself out of sheer stupidity.
My heart gave a strong beat, followed by another. A familiar, knife-edged pain stabbed through my chest where the white handprint was. It edged to an intensity I hadn’t felt before, then vanished, taking even the pain of my bullet wounds with it. I opened my eyes to find myself lying on my side in wolf form. Isley stood above me, her eyes wide. Though the phasing had felt like hours, it had taken place in seconds.
“Go!” she said. “Save him!”
I surged to my paws and hit the ground running. Clay lowered Virgo toward the fire. My friend struggled, but couldn’t break the warlock’s supernatural grip.
I changed my angle slightly and leaped.
My shoulder hit Clay as my mouth closed around Virgo’s arm. The impact jarred Virgo free and my momentum carried us off the platform. We hit the ground hard. I glanced back in time to see the warlock teeter on the edge of the platform above the fire.
Virgo lifted a hand. His runes glowed and a small surge of lighting struck the wood beneath the warlock’s feet. Clay shouted as he fell face-first into the flames.
The fire leaped upward with an angry roar. It surged toward the sky above us, creating a funnel-like tornado of flames that turned first orange, then black, then red and purple as they churned in a tight circle. Virgo and I backed away from the pounding heat. He shielded his eyes and I ducked against the brilliance. The fire intensified, then, with a final surge, dropped back from the sky to the firepit where it simmered in red and black coals.
“Mom?” Virgo called out with a shaking voice.
There was no answer.
“I’m sorry.”
We both turned at the unfamiliar voice.
The tall, dark form of the Ankou separated from the shadows of the forest and walked toward us. The mist danced around her like tiny waves, cascading through her hair and down her cloak.
Her dark eyes were sad when she said, “Your mother was very brave in her sacrifice. She stopped the warlock’s hold on the bodies he had summoned. I can now help their souls return to rest once more.”
Virgo shook his head. “But she needs to be here. We need her. She’s…she’s my mother.”
The Ankou inclined her head in a stately gesture. “It is her time to rest, dear one. She made her decision, and she will be highly rewarded for her bravery in this world.” She turned away from us, then paused and looked back. “I don’t usually do this, but I will give her a message if you wish.”
Virgo glanced at me and he looked entirely lost. I wished I had a voice to comfort him with, but wouldn’t have known what to say if I could have.
He lowered his gaze to the ground. Silence filled the clearing. The Ankou waited patiently, giving him the time he needed.
Virgo finally looked up and said, “Please tell her that I love her and that I’m proud of her.” He swallowed, then continued, “Tell her that I’ll live to make her proud of me, too.”
The Ankou gave him a kind smile and replied, “That is a very good message.”
She turned to face the clearing and said a simple word in a language not from our world. We watched as ghostly white forms rose from the bodies around us. They circled the woman and she spoke to them softly as if she knew them. The forms followed when she turned away from the clearing. With the spirits around her, the woman walked into the shadows and disappeared, her form becoming one with the night.
I looked at my friend. Tears rolled down his cheeks that were dirty from our impact with the ground. He met my gaze and broke down.
“Zev, she’s gone,” he said in a strangled cry.
I leaned against him. He buried his face into my fur and cried. Giant sobs broke from him, echoing the ache of my heart at the loss of a woman who had been one of the first to treat me like a son.
I closed my eyes. The sorrow built inside of me until I couldn’t contain it anymore. I lifted my nose to the moon whose light had been restored. A long, low howl filled with the agony of loss, the pain of seeing someone die, and the hurt that came with knowing someone I cared about was going to live with the loss for the rest of his life wavered through the air.
Other voices joined mine. They were filled with anguish for the werewolves that had been slain, and for the woman who had so selflessly fed and cared for them. I had no way of knowing how many of our brethren and sisters lay with the bodies that no longer moved. I howled for those we had lost tonight, and for those who had never lived to see what life was like beyond the Lair. I howled for my own parents I had never known, and for those I had been unable to defend.
In that moment, I realized something profound. As other voices mingled with mine and Virgo’s sobs settled with the soothing sound, my thoughts about my own purpose in this life morphed into an entirely different line of thinking. No longer was I surviving or trying to make amends for the things I had done under the Master. Instead, I was a guardian. I would defend those who were weaker than me, I would look out for the humans who needed us, and I would live my life protecting those who were unable to pro
tect themselves.
Chapter Fifteen
I sat on the porch and listened to Jemmy’s sobs in the living room as her brother and Mrs. Willard tried to comfort her. I had given up with the realization that it wasn’t my place. I was no stranger to death. In fact, I swore sometimes we were pals, which scared me even more.
I soaked in the light of the full moon which had lowered to the tops of the trees. The healing ache of the bullet wound in my side was a welcome one. The fact that the silver from the witches’ ministrations no longer held me prisoner chased a heavy weight from my shoulders. I was a werewolf, and when I couldn’t phase to wolf form, I had felt far less than human because I was missing the half of myself that I understood.
The witches had burned the bodies in a cleansing ritual to purge the last of the dark magic from the clearing. We had left them to take care of the last of Clay’s coven with the understanding that they would be brought before the head council of witches and warlocks to make amends for their actions. With Clay gone, several of them had come out of their trancelike state with confusion as to what had brought them there. Madam Anna had assured us that the council would get to the bottom of their actions and find out what had possessed Clay to take such a dangerous course.
A lone car pulled up in a screech of dust, breaking me from my thoughts. The door flew open and the man inside climbed out before the car was even completely stopped.
“Is she here?” Professor Shipley asked breathlessly. “Is she safe?”
I stood. “She’s fine. She’s—”
Before I could say another word, the door behind me flew open and Kristen ran out. She met her husband in the middle of the lawn and caught him in a tight hug.
“Thank you for finding me,” she said.
“I would never stop looking,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”
“I love you,” Kristen said with tears in her eyes.
The professor held her tightly, his eyes closed and a look of such pure relief on his face that I turned away to give them their privacy.
“Zev,” Professor Shipley called out before I reached the corner of the house.
I glanced over my shoulder.
“I don’t know how to thank you enough,” he said.
I shook my head. “You don’t have to thank me. It was Mrs. Stein and the witches who saved her.”
The professor’s eyes held mine above his wife’s head. “But you were true to you word. I held onto that all night, telling myself over and over again that you had promised to do everything you could to bring her back to me. And you kept your word.” His eyes shone with tears he didn’t let fall. “You’ve done a lot, Zev. You deserve a break. Come to the college and take some classes. Find a new focus for your life.”
His train of thought surprised me. “I’m not sure they’ll appreciate a werewolf attending the Township Community College.”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” he said. “Besides, I’ve worked there long enough that I get free tuition for my relatives.”
Kristen turned to look at me with an arm still securely around her husband. “We’ll just say you’re a nephew.”
I glanced at the Willards’ house. While I had kept plenty busy with the Lair and werewolves and witches, with a little luck, things might slow down. It wouldn’t hurt to have a backup plan if my focus on defending and protecting the weak didn’t require quite as much time as it had up to that point.
“I might just take you up on that,” I said.
“You should,” he replied. “I think the college life would suit you, and a little insight into the human way of life wouldn’t hurt, either.”
I walked away with the professor’s words still chasing themselves around my head. The other werewolves would no doubt laugh at the thought of me as a college student, but something about experiencing a normal life drew me in. A little insight into the human way of life wouldn’t hurt, the professor had said. Maybe he was right.
When I reached the forest, a few of the werewolves soaked in the full moon’s light.
“Are you out of here?” Striker asked.
“Just going for a run,” I told him. “How is everything?”
“Quiet,” he replied. Sadness touched his words.
I nodded. Counting Mitch and I, there were only eight werewolves left from the twenty-five that had survived the Lair. Ten had gone on their way before our encounter with the dark coven. We had buried seven of our brethren and sisters that night, including Minxy, John, and Marley.
Losing the younger ones was the hardest. They had deserved the opportunity of living a new life, and probably had the best chance for transitioning into a real life among humans. We may have prepared for battle our entire life, but the amount of risen dead would have bested any army, let alone our outnumbered one. The fact that any of us had survived at all was a miracle. But it was hard to focus on that given the heavy losses.
“Joven and Lissy left,” Safira said from where she sat at the base of a tree reading a book. The little book light she used had the name Alia written in green across it.
“And Edmund,” Frost said. “Can’t say I blame him.”
The young, ferocious werewolf had been showing signs of a crush on Minxy. I couldn’t blame him for leaving the place where he had lost her.
I looked around, feeling the absence of the werewolves who used to crowd beneath the trees waiting for Mrs. Willard’s hearty meals.
“It feels empty,” I said.
“It does,” Safira replied. She put her finger in the page she was at and closed the book to look at me with sorrow in her eyes. “Only five of us left here. At least it’s less crowded.”
“And there’s more food,” Striker said.
Despite his joke, the heaviness of the losses showed on each of their faces.
“So why does it hurt so bad?” Frost asked. As the youngest surviving werewolf at sixteen, his confusion was easy to read.
I studied the trees for a moment to gather my thoughts. “I think it’s because inside the Lair, death was inevitable. We had learned to accept it as a part of our life. We knew the odds were stacked against us, and sometimes even the Master pit us against odds we couldn’t defeat.” I pushed down the bitterness of my own loss against such a fight and said, “Out here, though, it feels like we’ve been given a new life. It doesn’t seem fair for that to be ripped away from the others before they’ve had a chance to live it.”
“And maybe we’re starting to see each other as real people instead of just enemies,” Safira said.
“Yeah,” Striker agreed. “I actually care if something happens to you guys.” He said it with a tone of wonder as though he never would have believed it could happen.
That made me give him a wry smile. “That’s touching.”
He stuck out his tongue, which looked hilarious coming from the huge werewolf. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
I nodded as my humor faded. “I do know. And I think that’s what scares me.”
Frost tipped his head to the side wolf-like. “I don’t believe anything scares you.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Believe it or not, it scares me to think of losing the rest of you. And do you know why?”
“Why?” the young werewolf asked.
“Because like it or not, we’ve become a pack,” I told him.
Striker gave a grunt of agreement.
“A pack!” Frost said.
“That sounds about right,” Safira agreed.
I had been following the sound of familiar footsteps through the trees and wasn’t surprised when Mitch asked, “What sounds right?”
“We’re a pack,” Frost told him with a satisfied nod. “That’s why it hurt when some of us were killed.”
The dark haired werewolf glanced at me. “A pack, huh?”
“Why not?” I replied. “We have each other’s backs, and for those who want to stick around, it might be good if we actually try to work together.”
He gave a thoughtful grunt and nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Frost whooped. “Great! Now what? Do we come up with a pack name? I like The Killer Pack of Deadly Werewolves.”
Striker gave a huff of laughter and said, “That might be a little ominous.”
“How about The Wolf Pack of Trained Killers?” Frost suggested without losing any of his enthusiasm.
“Do we have to have a name?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mitch and Safira said at the same time.
“Why?” I queried.
“Unity,” Mitch said.
“For the fun of it,” Frost seconded. “How about The Brickwell Pack of Deadly Executioners?”
“How about Brickwell’s Werewolf Pack?” I suggested, warming up to the idea.
Mitch shook his head. Everyone waited for the werewolf to speak. As the oldest of us at twenty-two, he carried respect for his survival at the Lair as well as all we had accomplished outside of it.
“There’s only one name for our pack,” he said into the silence. He looked at me. “Zev’s Pack.”
The name hit me with surprising force. I blinked at the unexpected emotions that followed.
“I don’t know—” I began.
“Zev’s Pack,” Safira repeated. “I like that.”
“Zev’s Pack it is,” Striker said with a nod. “It fits.”
Every werewolf turned to me expectantly. I didn’t know what to say. The fact that they were implying the pack was mine filled me with a surge of uncertainty. I wasn’t sure if I could handle the responsibility of leading a werewolf pack. I had absolutely no idea what was required of a pack leader, not to mention what the pack was actually supposed to do. We had no home, our losses still stung, and given my own struggle in coming to terms with my impulses and instincts in this new world, I was pretty sure I was unfit to lead them.
Yet their expressions told of trust and need. Reality struck me hard. They needed this pack as much as I did. They had been there when I called on them to leave the Lair, turning away from all we had known, battling an encroaching vampire, and fighting the dark coven. They hadn’t run from anything I asked of them. I owed it to them to do the same.
