AWAKENING

by Cooper, JK

  Shelby’s eyes moved cautiously to Kale, but she stared at his chest, refusing to meet his gaze. Her heart speeded up and her palms turned sweaty. What would she see? Was he actually like fifty years old? She swallowed then lifted her gaze to meet Kale’s and immediately went weak in the knees. Again.

  Kale Copeland. Seventeen. Feels pressure to one day lead in his father’s steps, but knows that is far away. Loves people, his friends, even those he doesn’t know well. A gentleman, loathe to hurt other people’s feelings. Cheats on math sometimes, though. He’s thinking about ways to franchise Bubba’s mother’s chicken recipe. Really? Yes, really, though he and Bubba are arguing about the name.

  And, in a way that baffles him, he is completely, hopelessly, in love with her. Shelby felt the room—those in it—change as her feelings intensified. They are responding to my emotions? Do they even know why their feelings have changed?

  Kale does not see Shelby as his girlfriend, but as his soulmate. And yes, normally that would make Shelby die from cheese overload, but not now. Not with him. Looking into Kale was like looking into herself. Can you see into me like I can see into you, Kale?

  Mundane things came to her: he hates spinach but liked Popeye as a kid; he loves football, but not the NFL, only college; Texas A&M would be his choice to play for; he really never does let anyone else drive his truck. For some stupid girly-reason, that made her smile. He’s afraid to kiss her again, just as she is, but really really wants to, just as she does. Inside, Kale smoldered for her. She felt adrenaline rush through her suddenly, running through her veins like fire, cleansing and purifying, and leaving desire in its wake.

  “Shelby.” Elias’s voice saved her from drowning in her thoughts of Kale. But I don’t want to be saved . . .

  “You’re projecting,” Elias said with a sheepish smile.

  “What?” she asked.

  “We all feel your . . . emotions. Omegas can project them, make others feel what they feel, especially their own pack.”

  “I mean, condemn it girl, you got it bad,” Sadie quipped. “I’m starting to find Kale irresistible. Can I have him when you’re done?”

  Heat rose on Shelby’s cheeks and the back of her neck, and her eyes went so wide she thought they might pop out of her head. Oh . . . um . . . where do I go to die? she cried inwardly.

  “I don’t feel anything,” Grant said.

  And thank goodness for that! She was already mortally embarrassed without having to have her dad sense her mushy-blubbery-dreaming of Kale. Why was she less embarrassed to have her feelings known by mostly strangers than her own dad? Because he’s my dad!

  Elias chuckled kindly at Grant’s comment, and Kale looked at his shoes with a smile. Was he acting . . . shy? Kale came off as anything but shy around others except for her . . . but he was. She saw that now. Much of his portrayal of confidence hid insecurities about himself. Heaven knows girls want their men strong and sure, but this small insight made Shelby love him even more.

  “Shelby?” Elias again.

  Right. “Sorry,” she said. “I . . . don’t know what I’m doing, really. Why is this happening so suddenly.” And then a terrifying thought hit her. “Have you . . . always been able to feel my emotions?” Her eyes shot to Kale’s quickly then back to Elias’s. “Before tonight?”

  “No,” Elias said. “Your wolf feels safe among us. Can’t you feel it?”

  A knot in her chest had seemed to release, but she had taken that to simply be relief. Perhaps it was her wolf’s relief.

  “This projection thing is just new to me,” she said.

  But it wasn’t, was it? She had projected before. Flashes came to her now of that night with Nicholas’s pack on the streets of a new neighborhood just outside Odessa. Newly laid pavement. Streetlights with no power. Her dad bleeding from fierce wounds but still placing himself between her and three approaching wolves. Grant’s earlier confession seemed to breach whatever had kept the memories from her as bits of repressed memory seeped through the fissures. But they were not her memories . . . they were her wolf’s.

  Her wolf had projected something into the other wolves’ minds. Emotion. Beliefs. Fear great enough to cause the mind to fracture. Her wolf had pushed deeper with the projection, forcing it into them with merciless abandon. They died—two of them—horribly. Nicholas survived but would never be the same. What . . . are you?

  She felt her, the wolf inside her, timid, refusing to come out. Or am I the one refusing to let her out?

  Shelby noticed the demeanor of those around her change. They looked and felt confused.

  “Is that because of me?”

  Elias’s smile was sad this time. “You’ll learn to control it. Having an Omega as part of the pack is an honor for us.”

  She felt Elias’s sincerity. “Am I part of the pack? Do I have to do something?”

  “You have,” Elias said.

  She had? What had she done? “So, I don’t have to . . . eat your flesh or something? Drink your blood?”

  A few soft chuckles filled the room. Shelby flushed.

  “Actually,” Sadie blurted, “you have to dance naked with each one of us as Dakota beats on his war drum. And then you—”

  Elias snapped his head toward Sadie, and she immediately fell silent. Whoa, Shelby felt the rebuke in Elias’s stare through Sadie, sensed her friend cower slightly.

  It’s okay. Calm. The feelings flowed from Shelby to Sadie and Elias. They both mellowed, and Shelby realized Elias could have a little temper beneath his collected demeanor. Or maybe that was just Sadie’s effect on him. Regardless, the Alpha raised an eyebrow now at Shelby.

  “Impressive.”

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Gennesaret asked. “The pull toward us, the call of Elias as your Alpha.”

  “Yes,” Shelby answered.

  “Your wolf has chosen us; more specifically, chosen Elias as your Alpha. And, in turn, he has accepted you.”

  “So, really, that’s it?” Grant asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

  “There’s always the dancing thing,” Sadie chirped.

  “It may sound simple,” Gennesaret said, “and I suppose it is. That doesn’t mean that it is insignificant, however.”

  Shelby did feel the connection to the pack. And, as an Omega, she had seen into their souls. Kinship. The bond knitted itself so quickly, an immediate love and concern for those around her. Yes, kinship was the right word. She squinted as something dawned on her from the connections made with the pack as they were introduced. “You are all so young.” She flickered her eyes to Dakota and Chenoa. “Most of you. Even you, Mr. and Mrs. Copeland.”

  Gennesaret said, “By Lycan standards, that’s true. Dakota and Chenoa are more middle-aged compared to how long we can live. But, being a werewolf comes with certain elements that often times truncate our lifespans.”

  “Cancer,” Shelby said, and she longed for her mother with a solemn yearning.

  Gennesaret nodded. “Particularly ravaging upon us, true. But other forces are often at play. We are not always predators, dear. Now, if you will end your projecting, we’d love to get to the party.”

  “Party?”

  “Of course. We can’t have our closest friends and family around with a new member of the pack and not celebrate.”

  Shelby bit her bottom lip. “How do I . . . stop? I don’t even know how I started.”

  “Ask her,” Gennesaret said.

  Ask who? Shelby thought. But she knew, and for the first time, she tried to communicate with what lay within her.

  Hello, she thought. It would have been a whisper had she spoken the word aloud. In response, she saw in her mind a set of deep amber-almost-orange eyes, each looking like a lantern moon eclipsed by a passing meteoroid that got trapped in its light. Shelby thought her breath would come out as visible vapor if she exhaled. The room’s temperature seemed to cool considerably. She shivered. Despite Shelby’s own hesitation, she felt her wolf’s bashfulness.

  “It’s o
kay,” she whispered. “You can go back to rest.”

  The lantern moon eyes seemed to droop a bit.

  Rest, Shelby thought, more firmly. Her wolf obeyed, and the vision in her mind of those wonderful, beautiful, deep eyes vanished. This time, Shelby didn’t feel the relief of those around her, but heard it in their collective sigh.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” she said to the group.

  Dakota smiled gently. Shelby liked him. Chenoa did not smile. What did I do to you? Shelby wondered.

  “Genn,” Elias said, “perhaps you and Shelby can spend some time in the upper backyard together.”

  The upper backyard? How many people have more than one backyard? And at different elevations?

  “Of course,” Gennesaret said, smiling at Shelby.

  As if on cue, the doors to the hall opened, and a string quartet began playing as they entered. Servers with food also swooped in, and the pack turned lively. Shelby spun to follow Gennesaret out. Grant quickly stepped to her side.

  “There’s no way you’re leaving me here in the middle of this den all alone,” he said.

  The “upper” backyard sprawled as long as a football field before gently sloping down to another field that could have passed for a small golf course. Shrubs and trees rimmed the entire property with lights shining up from the ground, illuminating Shelby’s surroundings with a soft yellow glow. Small insects swarmed above the manicured grass in their seemingly erratic patterns. At various points, Shelby caught glimpses of people walking in pairs along the perimeter and across the lawns. Security guards.

  “Now, Shelby,” Gennesaret said, “let us see that wolf of yours.”

  “I don’t know how,” Shelby said. “It’s only happened once, and I really don’t remember most of it.”

  Gennesaret nodded. “With Lucas.”

  Shelby turned her gaze down to the lawn. “Yes.” She felt her father stiffen slightly. Her Omega senses seemed to apply to the pack and to her father, at least to a point.

  “Elias wanted to come out here with you and command your wolf to reveal itself, but I convinced him to let me try a gentler approach. You see, a Summer Omega, if this is what you are, is said to be more independent. I believe your wolf must be coaxed out rather than commanded.”

  Shelby breathed out a long exhale as her stomach fluttered with butterflies. “Okay, I’ll try.”

  “This may not be a good idea,” Grant said.

  “Why not?” Gennesaret asked.

  “I kill people,” Shelby said flatly. “Werewolves.”

  Grant grimaced. “Our run-in with Nicholas’s pack did not go as planned.”

  “I remember your recounting of it last week at our dinner,” Gennesaret said. “Is there something more? I don’t recall details of you shifting, Shelby.”

  “I . . . I didn’t,” she admitted. “I just killed them, somehow.”

  “She didn’t shift,” Grant said. “She did something else.”

  “Yes?” Gennesaret asked, intently.

  Shelby adjusted her weight. “It was with my mind, I think. Or my wolf’s mind. She . . . this sounds so stupid.”

  “No, please, explain.”

  Shelby told her, revealing the glimpses of memories that had broken through along with her father’s details from his point of view. “It was like I was inside them,” she explained, “like I could . . . make them see or feel whatever I wanted them to. I made them fear me—or my wolf made them fear her—and believe they were being crushed by something they couldn’t see or escape. I felt their fear at the time—I remember that now—and I . . . I liked it. I wanted them to die but to know the fear they had caused me first.”

  Shame. And a bit of guilt. Those emotions prickled across her face and swarmed in her chest. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “It wasn’t you, Shel,” Grant said.

  “Your father is right,” Gennesaret said. “An Omega can project her feelings upon other Lycans, it is true, but her wolf has the same ability. It is a symbiotic magic. You each feed off each other. But a Summer Omega is said to have a much greater degree of this ability. Obviously, you can use it as a weapon.”

  “You keep saying things like that,” Shelby said. “Like all of this is written somewhere.”

  Gennesaret nodded. “It is. And some of it is verbal lore as well.”

  “Where? Where is this written?”

  “Among our people,” said a new voice.

  Shelby turned to see Chenoa and Dakota approaching. Dakota’s long braid shimmered in the ambient glow of the property’s perimeter lights, almost appearing to be liquid. His wolf eyes glowed a dim amber. Chenoa’s lips still held that grim line. Did the woman even know how to smile?

  “And elsewhere,” Chenoa continued. “But if you are a Summer Omega, as the Luna believes, it is nothing but an ill wind for the earth.”

  “Luna?” Grant asked.

  “What the Cahuilla call the mother of a pack,” Gennesaret said. “Me.”

  “It is foretold,” Chenoa said, “that when the one who is born into the late hour and blossoms late in the season rises in the world, she will carry the desert winds upon her lips and the fire upon her feet. The Summer Omega is a messenger that opens the way for destruction. The season of dead things always follows summer.”

  “Change,” Dakota said, his voice kind and slow. “The actual word is ‘change,’ not destruction. It also says that she will use the fires of wrath to flood the earth with tears of mercy.”

  These two were at odds with each other, Shelby saw. No, felt. They interpreted their people’s prophecies differently. Chenoa did not speak again but Shelby felt her agitation with Dakota.

  “Elsewhere, throughout the world, there are legends and myths about a Summer Omega wherever Lycan lore and stories exist,” Gennesaret said. “Each of them are different to varying degrees. In remote villages of the Carpathian Mountains in Romania, where the people strive to maintain a mediaeval lifestyle, the legends say that a ‘late birthed’ vârcolac, a term that originally meant something closer to ‘werewolf’ but now but now refers more to ‘vampire,’ will essentially eat those that approach God because of their unworthiness. Or because of envy. The legends differ from village to village. They all agree, however, that this vârcolac will open the eyes of the world and burn them out.”

  “Um, awesome?” Shelby said. “I don’t think I like this.”

  “Just stories, Shel,” Grant said.

  “The oldest monastery in the world, St. Anthony’s in Egypt, has written accounts of werewolves collected from all over the Mediterranean and parts of the Middle East. In nearly every case, each has some reference to ‘one who is last and least’ that will cleanse the world.”

  “Or burn the world,” Chenoa broke in.

  Gennesaret smiled. “Fire can be cleansing.”

  “Or a tool for destruction.”

  “That, I think, is entirely up to Shelby.”

  Shelby felt their eyes upon her.

  Grant let out a soft laugh. “Right.”

  “You were there, Mr. Brooks,” Gennesaret said. “Were you not? Can you explain what happened to Nicholas and his pack?”

  That caught him short. He shook his head.

  “Let her out,” Gennesaret said. “Bring her out.”

  Shelby licked her lips and reached within to where she knew her wolf resided. Slumbered, really. Those lantern moon eyes opened. Shelby flinched. You’re there. I feel you. The wolf didn’t answer. How would she even answer? Thoughts? Words? Feelings? Thank you for saving me. Us. Shelby said inwardly, I . . . want to know you. Will you come out?

  In her mind’s eye, Shelby saw more of her wolf. A light blue, almost gray, narrow snout, drew sleek lines that sloped up beneath her eyes, then continued on to graceful ears that lay nearly flat against her head. You’re beautiful, Shelby thought.

  “Many times our wolves are a reflection of our innermost traits,” Gennesaret said, almost as if she heard Shelby’s thoughts. “Our belief
s, prejudices, mannerisms, viewpoints, and so on. But they are indeed independent of us in many ways as well.”

  “I . . . always thought that my wolf was just a part of me,” Shelby admitted.

  Gennesaret smiled. “No, they are indeed separate from us. Distinct creatures.”

  “But how—”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Some do,” Dakota said. “Menily has blessed us with a portion of her spirit.”

  “Some see it as a blessing of the Moon Spirit,” Chenoa said. She looked at Dakota. “Others not.”

  “We don’t really know,” Gennesaret said. “Will she manifest?”

  The wolf inside Shelby retreated so that Shelby only saw the eyes again. “I don’t think so.”

  Gennesaret looked disappointed. “Perhaps now is not right.”

  “It is best,” Chenoa said.

  Shelby felt heat rise in her. Anger. Of course she carried around the guilt for what she had done to Lucas, no matter that he deserved it, and now what she had done to two of Nicholas’s pack. They had deserved it, too. But to have another person tell her it was best she didn’t manifest? That her wolf remain within. Hiding. Dormant. And that she was part of some kind of prophesied destruction? Well, screw that. And screw Chenoa for that matter. Who was she to dictate Shelby’s future and what she was?

  Shelby turned to Chenoa, and the old woman, who did not look old, flinched. So did Dakota beside her.

  Why do you hate me? Shelby thought. I am not what you think. I am not something out of the Book of Revelations or your people’s legends. What I am will not be determined by myths. How dare you tell me my path!

  “Shelby,” Gennesaret whispered. “Shelby, dear, stop.”

  Shelby blinked. Her eyes burned but so did her skin. Her jaw felt sore, not just from clenching it under Chenoa’s judging glare. And Chenoa . . . a single tear streamed down her cheek. Then blood from her nose.

  “I . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Look, child,” Dakota said, pointing at her hands.