by Tamar Sloan
There are people everywhere, all standing around the grassy center. Most are familiar faces from the barbecue, meaning there aren’t any Channons here. I scan for Lara or Dana, and find neither. My hands clench. Tara deserves better.
“I have to go.”
I look at Noah. He glances to the head of the Glade, where Uncle Joe is sitting next to Grandpa Ben. They both wave and I wave back. Funny-looking guitars are sitting on their laps, one leaning against a rock.
“You’re looking at the band.”
I don’t want to let go. “Oh, okay.”
With a squeeze of my hand, he heads over. Beth comes to stand next to me. She’s watching Noah cross the Glade, her shoulders back and head high.
Noah picks up the guitar. Its body is a teardrop shape, multiple strings extending up the stocky arm. I realize it’s not a guitar, but more like a lute. Intricate carvings extend across the timber face. I think I can see the Phelan mark etched into the corner.
Noah’s head dips over the lute, and my eyes trace the strong hands that come up. Sure fingers strum the first chord and the rippling sound catches everyone’s attention. Taking their cue, Grandpa Ben and Uncle Joe join the melody that Noah is now pouring out. Strummed baroque chords underscore lilting folk music, the beautiful melody cascading through the Glade. At times the three lutes play together, other times going their separate, harmonious ways, the notes tumbling, gliding and rippling over and around each other. The Glade is brimming with the sweet, romantic tune.
Tara materializes from the trees, her ivory dress glowing in the twilight. She’s staring across the other side where Mitch is coming out, eyes captivated by his beautiful bride. I feel my jaw slacken, and catch it just in time. Mitch is shirtless, tanned shoulders held proud and straight over ridged abdominal muscles. His tattoo is just like Noah’s, but then I notice the small mark in the bottom corner. Just like the one in Tara’s painting, like a back to front r.
In unison they begin walking to the center of the Glade, the rhythm of the music counting out their steps. The intensity between them is palpable; it takes my breath away.
A wedding march like no one has ever seen.
And most never will.
Once they are only a foot apart, they stop. The music stops. The whole Glade stops. I don’t think anyone takes a breath.
Mitch stands tall and proud. Tara looks like she could float away at any moment.
Mitch’s voice carries through the clearing as he takes Tara’s hand in his. “In your hands…”
Tara’s eyes soften, her hands gripping his as she finishes the sentence. “I place my trust.”
Her fingers come up to brush his cheek. “In your eyes…”
“I found my home.” Mitch’s palm lifts to rest over her heart, over her mark. “In your heart…”
“I found my love.” Tara’s voice has become a little choked. She leans into his hand. “In your spirit…”
Mitch’s voice is firm and strong. “I found my mate.”
Tara’s hand comes to mirror Mitch’s, over his heart. And I realize that their marks have begun to glow. With their hands over each other’s hearts, their tender gazes locked on each other, Tara and Mitch speak together. Their voices ring with the depth of their feeling, their conviction.
I give you my body, so that two become one.
I give you my soul, till our life shall be done.
Mitch leans down to kiss Tara—a tender, loving touch that seals their words. They hold there for long seconds. When they pull away Mitch is grinning that Phelan grin, while Tara’s smile is christened by the moisture creeping down her cheeks.
I’m pretty choked myself. Beth has pulled out a tissue beside me. This must be a bittersweet moment for her. To see the son she adores bond with the girl he loves. Without her husband, her own mate, by her side. Aunt Mavis is hiccupping loudly into a handkerchief. Even a few men clear their throats.
The music starts up again, this time a clear rhythm, sounding much more like a medieval dance number. Noah’s lute plays out the distinctive notes, his grandfather and uncle playing the background melody.
Tara and Mitch fold their arms behind their back and begin to move. They step back and to the side, then in. Opposite shoulders brush as they turn a half-step and step away, moving in a slow circle.
Each time their shoulders meet, their marks glow and pulse, the black etchings lit with an inner fire. The flowing lines of the wolves are now outlined in glittering detail, luminous red-gold, making them look almost three-dimensional. In, brush, turn and out. Magic lighting up their tender faces, creating a luminescent orb in the center of the Glade. I squint a little, seeing that Tara’s is changing, the Channon square slowly morphing, stretching. As it slowly becomes the Phelan mark.
I look over to Noah. He’s watching his brother with the same intensity as everyone else. His fingers moving unconsciously over the strings, the tune well-known. He must sense my gaze, because he turns to me. A soft smile tips his lips.
The music picks up tempo, as do Mitch and Tara, their steps now becoming a light jig, their turns a swirl. The tulle of Tara’s wedding dress furls out, brushing Mitch’s legs. Their marks flash each time they touch, gilding their tattoos with flaming, shining light. My eyes are wide with wonder as this spellbinding, magical moment unfolds before me.
Then Mitch grabs Tara and they are spinning. They spin faster and faster, creating their own tempo. The music swirls around them. Tara throws her arms up into the air, and delighted laughter spills from her lips.
Everyone in the Glade smiles, grins beams. The couple’s happiness is contagious.
The music stops, and Tara and Mitch slow to a standstill. They are both panting, bare shoulders lifting and falling. Mitch’s hand comes to brush over Tara’s tattoo, tracing the Phelan mark. A wide grin splits his face. Tara throws her arms around his neck, pulling him down for an exuberant, tender kiss.
A raucous round of applause lifts up to the trees. My breath rushes out, a breath I had been entirely unaware I was holding. My hands go a little numb as I clap right along with them.
In the words of Noah Phelan, wow.
Now that the magical moment has slowed, reality filters in. I rub the goose bumps on my exposed upper arms, the thin, blue material of my dress fluttering in the fall breeze. The Were women around me are oblivious to the falling temperatures.
The music starts again—a new tune—more of a waltz, or a slow dance. Couples begin to filter onto the grassy dance floor. Oh, the bridal waltz is done, and now everyone joins in. I glance from the corner of my eye. Phew, Noah is still playing. I’ve never danced, let alone in public. I don’t think I’m up to trying it on a floor full of Werewolves.
I see some movement from the head of the Glade.
Noah has put down his lute.
And is walking toward me.
28
Noah
“You go, son.”
“Huh?” I turn from where I was watching Eden, standing on the edge of the Glade looking impossibly beautiful in that dress. That hair.
“You’re needed somewhere else.”
So tempting. “But—”
Uncle Joe hasn’t paused in his playing. “We’ve been playing this long before you were born, young man. Now get going.” He tries for stern. And fails.
I grin. “Twisted my arm.”
With quick movements I put down the lute and stand. Uncle Joe is right, I’m not meant to be here. I’m meant to be with the girl across the Glade. There are no longer any barriers between us.
I start to thread through the few people left around the edge, some sitting on the rocks scattered around, the notes of the lutes curling between them just like I am.
Although Eden is watching the dancers, she knows I’m coming. I can feel her nervy edginess, see her shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
I see Mom, standing alone, a smile on her lips as she watches Mitch dance with Tara. The absence of her mate in her clasped hands.
Dad should be here.
But he’s not. And it’s not okay that she has this moment alone. I push aside my disappointment and alter my trajectory. Just as Grandpa Ben breezes past me. Very subtly, but very effectively, cutting me off.
He stands in front of Mom. She looks up at him and a moment passes between them. Her husband. His son. One arm behind his back, his other hand out, he bows a little.
“Shall we?”
“We shall.” And they head to the moving masses.
My gaze goes back to Eden—that cascade of mahogany skimming her hips, her eyes brighter than I have ever seen, that blue dress hugging her curves.
I squint. Her curves look like they are shivering. I quickly cover the last few yards between us as another wave of shivers passes through her. I wrap my arms around her and she sinks into me without a second’s hesitation. My heart swells.
We fit together like we’d never been apart.
“Shall we?” I repeat Grandpa Ben’s offer. It seemed to work for him.
She stills. “Ah, can’t we watch?”
“Ah, no.”
Eden watches the slow-moving couples. She takes a deep breath. “Okay.”
We move to the edge of the crowd. Her lip slips beneath her teeth. “I’ve never done this before.”
I grasp her chin, gently removing her bottom lip from its pearly clamp. “Me neither.”
She looks doubtful. “You’ve been to plenty of bondings. You would have danced at them.”
I pull her in close, our faces inches apart, legs brushing and chest to chest. “Not like this.”
“Oh.” The word brushes me with a puff of wildflowers.
She doesn’t move, looking for my cue. I don’t bother with the standard dancing position, one hand on the waist, the other pointing out like the bow of a ship. My hands stay around her waist, fingers spreading wide so I can feel more of her. Eden’s tender, tentative palms climb up the lapel of my tux, then cup my shoulders. The lilting music swirls along with that amazing sense of connection.
Together.
I’m still trying to grasp it. But the undeniable happiness that fills my chest, overflowing into the massive grin I can’t wipe off, is proof enough.
My fingers tangle in the silky strands of her hair. “I’m glad you came.”
Green eyes glowing, her lips tip up. “Me too.”
We begin to move. I take a step backward, and the body molded to mine follows. A step to the side, and her lean form is right there with me. With a twitch of a smile, I make several choreographed steps, swaying around our little space on the grassy dance floor. Our bodies are so in tune; where one goes, the other follows. I have a feeling we could master the tango in thirty seconds flat with our phenomenal connection.
Eden smiles up at me. “That was so beautiful. The Glade, the dancing, their marks changing.” A little frown crinkles her brow. “The tattoo on your chest, it doesn’t have a Phelan mark.”
“When did you—?” I try to figure out when she would have seen it. Oh, when I changed. I smile even wider. “Looking, huh?”
Eden’s delectable blush creeps up her cheeks. I feel my chest expanding a little. “I never had one.”
“Why not?”
I shrug, feeling her hands pressing in even more. “No one knows. Another of my freaky tendencies.”
I take her on a little spin, using it as an excuse to pull her in a little closer. “Every pack has its own symbol. The closest we‘ve seen is an ancient alphabet.”
“So Weres go way back.”
“Seems so. We don’t keep a written record. It’s all passed down by word of mouth.” I sidestep around Aunt Mavis, who’s happily swaying to the music solo. “So, we’ve been dancing for a solid few minutes now.”
Her eyes widen. “We have.”
“Toes are intact, no humiliating stumbles.”
She ducks her head. “You make it easy, Noah.”
“Only with you, Eden.” I spin her again, her hair flowing out then falling back around the two of us.
I look down into shining green eyes, soft lips, my heart doing its own happy dance. My arms tighten around her waist. I think of how she looked when we were under Grandfather Douglas. The unbelievable things she said.
“It was worth it?”
Her hand comes up to cup my neck, fingers brushing the edges of my hair. “Every moment.”
“Even though…?” I could feel her pain. Its depth. Its breadth.
“Even though.”
A powerful pull to hold her close, cherish her, protect her wells up. “But you didn’t know the bonding with Tara wasn’t happening.”
“Even then.”
“Eden.” I can’t hold back any longer. My hands leave her hips and come up to cup her face.
Those soft lips are ready, waiting. No hint of caution.
The ultimate gift.
My lips brush hers. I want to savor this moment—so special, so unbelievable. Her mouth, so, so soft, opens like a fragile blossom beneath mine.
Warm protectiveness comes up against heated desire, calling me to crush every inch against my body. To explore that exposed skin. To taste her heat again. My fingers tense along her jaw as I resist the hunger building in my body, firing through my veins. Eden deserves to be cherished. To know what she means to me.
But then her fingers spear into my hair. She places heated pressure on my scalp, pulling my head down, closer. Our lips crush and meld. Whoa. Desire rages like wildfire, blazing through my body, scorching through rational thought. I pull away before I stop acting like the Alpha I foolishly signed myself up for.
“Hey, we’re the newlyweds here.” Mitch jostles me with his shoulder.
I release Eden so I can give my brother a hug—a back-slapping, spine-crushing hug. The extra seconds that Mitch holds me tells me his thanks, both of us not needing, or wanting to say it out loud. I figure he realizes it was a win-win situation for the two of us.
An insidious little question raises its hand. Was this just a selfish decision?
I ignore it and the tension spawns in my chest. “Congrats, little bro.”
Eden and Tara are doing the same. Tara steps back, and holding Eden’s hands, does a few little hops. Her smile is splitting. “Hooley dooley!” She practically sings the words.
“That was amazing. You were amazing. The whole thing was amazing.”
“I’m so happy, Eden.”
Grandpa Ben slips in amongst us, bowing like a gentleman of old before Tara. Tara giggles, giving a little curtsy, before they dance off into the middle of the throng. Mitch looks at Eden, and her eyes widen a little.
“You don’t have to look that horrified.” He grins, grabbing her before she gets a chance to object. He spins her away, her hair billowing out behind her. She’s smiling before they’ve stopped.
I hold out my arms for Mom. “Looks like it’s you and me.”
She smiles, stepping into my arms. We’ve done this countless times before, and we shuffle through the familiar steps. We stay at the edge of the crowd, the protection of the trees not far away. Mom’s eyes are a poignant mix of pride and disappointment, happiness and sadness.
I hold her in close. “I wish he was here too.”
That anger simmers along my veins again. He should have been here.
The hairs on the back of my neck step up to attention. Over Mom’s head I look into the trees. A giant russet wolf stands in the dark, the width of an old pine obscuring most of his body, head dropped low between hunched shoulders, Kurt’s eyes are glowing fury. He sees me register his presence, and his muzzle wrinkles, teeth glinting in the dark. He came!
I seek out Eden. She’s dancing with Grandpa Ben, a soft happy smile on her lips. When I turn back to the trees, Kurt is gone. I double-check on Eden.
Mom misinterprets my concerned glances. “Go to her. These old legs need a rest.”
I look at her, knowing she’s neither old nor tired. But protectiveness has my shoulders tense. She nods aga
in, stepping away.
“Mom, you’re the best.”
“Totes awesome. I believe Tara called me.”
I give her a big kiss on the cheek. “She was totes right.”
Another check of the trees and there’s no sign of the angry, red wolf. So, Kurt came to see the bonding. He obviously didn’t like what he saw then left. Still, the one person he could be a threat to is Eden. The need to be closer to her grows stronger than ever.
I head over to Eden and Grandpa Ben. He sees me coming and steps away. He holds Eden’s hand up, bowing at the waist. I roll my eyes. I have no idea where he gets this stuff from; he’s not that old. Eden blushes, thanking him.
And she’s in my arms again, slipping in like she’s meant to be there. Because she belongs there. My arms fill with her warm body; my lungs fill with wonderful wildflower scent. My heart fills until it feels like it’s going to burst.
There, with the stars above us, the green grass beneath us, and the magic of the bonding, the Glade, the magic purely created by the two of us, I’m tempted to say the words. Words I’ve known since the day she walked into my world. Words that only begin to capture the depth of my feelings for her. Words I’m not sure she’s ready to hear.
She’s looking up at me, tilted green eyes luminous with emotion. Maybe she feels it too. I open my mouth, the words so close.
Grandpa Ben clears his throat, and the music comes to a finish. We all stop, to find he’s standing at the head of the Glade. He indicates for Mitch and Tara to join him.
It’s time for the blessing.
Grandpa Ben lowers his grey head, and we straighten to face him. Tara and Mitch are glowing in their little bubble of happiness.
Grandpa’s voice carries over the Glade and through the trees, quoting the ancient Indian blessing we’ve used for generations.
Now you will feel no rain,
For each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
For each of you will be warmth to the other.
