by Sonja Bair
On the tail of that insight came another realization—these pack members depended on me, and strange as it sounded, I depended on them as well. If I were to disappear, the pack couldn’t go find another Alpha like Alrik had suggested. The web would be irreparably torn. The pack members might be able to physically survive, but the mental trauma would be overwhelming.
As I was processing this depth of pack connections, yet another thought broke through. How could the other packs handle killing their own members, even after they had gone crazy? Holy hell, it would be like cutting off your own arm. The problem, which I had always thought I understood, gained a new depth. If one of my own pack members could be cured from madness and spared from death, what actions could I, would I, rationalize?
“Freya…” David’s voice cut through my haze of confusion and horror.
“What?” I shook my head to clear it. “Oh, sorry, I was having a gaggle of revelations. But back to your question...” My answer was now an obvious one. I turned and looked from one of my pack members to another, trying to put the force of truth into the eye contact.
“I am a real werewolf. And I am one of this pack’s Alphas.” There was an audible sigh of relief at my pronouncement. Smiling, I turned forward in my seat and slapped the dashboard. “Now, let’s go deal with our pack’s wayward child and the trouble she has stirred up.”
Chapter 30
Our wayward child was sulking at the edge of the road, Rex still in werewolf form beside her. David popped the hatch of the SUV and Rex hopped in, but Gina shifted from one foot to another, not moving toward the car. All the muscles in her body appeared tensed.
“Is there a problem, Gina?” I asked, narrowing my eyes and scowling at her reluctance.
She was silent, looking from me to David to her brother peeking over the backseat. She sighed and dropped her shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah. There is. I tried this whole pack thing with an Alva being Alpha. But it’s not natural. Sorry. You’re cool and all, Freya, but you are not a werewolf. I can’t be part of this pack anymore.”
She took a step back from the car, cleared her throat, and stood straight. “I formally rescind my membership and all associated ties to this pack. I will no longer recognize David or Freya as my Alpha.” She clenched her eyes, closed her hands into fists, and exhaled loudly.
Pain like a knife cut behind my eye, then echoed down my cheekbones and spread to my right shoulder. Then the pain hooked its sharp claws into my bones and held on tight. Red blossomed in front of my eyes. The hurt was so deep that I couldn’t breathe; my diaphragm had seized up in surprise. I reached out in front of me to brace myself against something, but I couldn’t see and grasped at the air blindly. And then, as quickly as it came, the pain evaporated. A residual ache throbbed through my head and right side. Looking at the rest of the pack, all faces were drained of color and as tense. Reaching through the pack bonds, the connection with Gina was gone.
Although Gina was shaking slightly, her smile was broad. The indecision which plagued her, evident by her habitually hunched shoulders and bad posture, was gone. She stood tall and lifted her arms to the sky, laughing.
“I’m free! It feels soooo goooood.” She spun in a circle, then stopped abruptly and pointed toward her brother.
“Rex, free yourself! Break the bonds of the pack and join me. We can be Alphas together. We can make our own pack.” She paused and looked at the rest of the pack, spread her arms wide, and called out to us, her voice deep and powerful. “My visions are true—I have discovered how to save the werewolves. And now I know, deep in my heart I know, what the rest of the prophecy means as well. Me and my twin, we are destined to be leaders and save the American werewolves. We will be leaders among leaders. We will create a new empire fit for the glory of the werewolves. Come on with me, Rex, and fulfil our destiny. It is our birthright.”
Within seconds, Rex appeared by her side and shifted to human. Wincing a little as his weight settled on the broken leg, he shifted most of his weight to the other leg, then he squared his shoulders and stood tall.
“I stand by my twin. She has recognized something I should have known a long time ago—that together we have more power than those people we have called our parents. I don’t know my true mother or father, but I know we have come from a powerful family.” Then, using the same words as his sister, he renounced his own pack ties.
Grabbing Rex’s hand, Gina lifted it into the air. “We are our own pack! We will gather those that want to regain the true werewolf nature and we will not be tamed. No—we will survive and we will thrive and we will be a force to reckon with, in both the supernatural and natural world. Anyone who wishes to join us in teaching the world to fear and respect werewolves can follow Rex and me. Who will join us?”
Her voice was low, rich, and strangely compelling, causing me to lean forward and listen. “She’s speaking the truth,” a small voice in my head whispered. “They should be the ones that lead us to a new power.” My hand drifting to the handle, I moved closer to the door. Both Pedro and Philip made noises as if they were leaving the car, but David stayed motionless as he sighed, then spoke.
“That was truly impressive, Gina. For a moment, I considered following your words—and no one has mentally influenced me that strongly for years.” The odd, discomforting feeling of compulsion drifted away as he talked. Sitting back in my seat, I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the feeling of someone else in my brain.
David continued. “Perhaps you and Rex do have potential for great command within you, but now is not the time that you should be leading the werewolves. You are rash and inexperienced, and at no time since I have known you have I seen the maturity or wisdom needed to handle the leadership of a pack. You may have found the power to bend people to your side, but power without authority is tyranny. So how about this plan? Freya and I will mentor you two in leadership. I will train you on how to use your powers of compulsion for the good of the pack and perhaps, in the end, for the good of the species. But don’t make the mistake of jumping ahead of yourself and ending up abusing the gifts you have been given.”
“You’ve frozen my power before, so don’t be acting like you’re all innocent of manipulation,” Gina spit out.
“Yes I have, and for good reasons. It’s a tool that…”
“We don’t need them.” Rex placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Let’s not waste our time on these losers. You told the other Alphas about your visions and if they don’t want to listen to the truth, they’re losers, too. Forget ‘em; we are our own pack. We will gather our own members who know the truth when they hear it. And if not,” he paused and looked at his sister, “we can always convince them.”
He swiveled to look down the road. A pair of headlights was approaching. He looked at Gina, motioning toward the approaching vehicle. She grinned, nodded, and grabbed his hand.
“Jump in front of that truck.” Their voices wove together in a steel net which settled down into my soul, coating every neuron and controlling every muscle. Of course I was going to jump in front of the truck. Never had an idea been so obvious or appealing. I was out of the vehicle and turning to the road before David’s frantic voice cut through the compulsion. Gasping, I looked around. Rex and Gina were gone, but Philip and Pedro were standing like statues in the middle of the road. The oncoming truck was blowing its horn and skidding to a stop, but the tires weren’t gaining traction against the gravel road and the distance between men and machine was rapidly disappearing.
David was rushing toward them, but he was on the opposite side of the SUV and wasn’t going to make it in time to push them out of the way. I was closest to the two men and instinct took over. My shoes, struggling like the car against the loose pebbles, scraped against the road surface before finding purchase. Instinctively, I measured the vector of the car against my own interception vector. Nope, the math didn’t look good, but I ignored the unfortunate physics and accelerated toward my packmates. Reaching Philip first, I plowed into
him shoulder first, not bothering with a mere push—I would need all my momentum to move both of them out of the car’s path. I heard a hollow thud as Philip’s head knocked into Pedro and both men stumbled to the side, tripping over each other’s legs, and landed on the road’s shoulder. But just as a cue ball swaps all its momentum with a stationary pool ball, I didn’t have any forward motion left after colliding with the men besides some useless scraps which pitched me forward on my hands and knees. The headlights were now so close that they washed out my entire field of vision with harsh whiteness, but that didn’t stop me from doing one more physics problem—and yes, that truck had a lot more mass and velocity than I did.
Chapter 31
Before I could open my eyes, the smell invading my nose told me where I was. To delay facing reality, I kept my eyes closed and made a mental list of the things that probably created that distinctive hospital smell—the overriding sharp sting was disinfectant; next was the flat, lingering odor of latex and nitrile; and underneath it all was a tangy whiff of cold metal. By themselves, none of these smells were particularly offensive, but taken together, they painted the undeniable picture of a place for humans so sick or injured that they could no longer take care of themselves.
Pain from the entire right side of my body started knocking on my consciousness. Still keeping my eyes closed, I pushed the pain back—I realized I was going to be in a world of hurt when pain forced its acknowledgement, but for perhaps a few minutes more, I could drift between dream world and the real world. I needed to concentrate on something else…
Bad smells. Make a list of bad smells. Skunks, gas, methane…
Pain’s knocking grew louder and more persistent.
Come on, Freya, I thought, you need to think of smells that are worse than skunk... Okay, how about putrescine, aka, 1,4-diaminobutane, produced when flesh starts to putrefy, chemically related to cadaverine, which has a chemical name of… aaargh… it hurts… Damn it, even thinking about stinky chemistry isn’t keeping the pain away…
This grim realization combined with the undeniable smell of the hospital, and the complete lack of memory of anything after blinding headlights boded poorly. Fine, I thought. If I can’t deny it, I might as well face it and find a way to deal with it.
Forcing my eyes open, I relied on another one of my standard anti-panic strategies—cataloguing everything in my field of vision in a futile attempt at controlling the situation.
1. Off-white ceiling tiles
2. World’s most common wall clock
3. Long metal pole with a beeping plastic and metal box attached
4. Two bags of clear liquid hanging on either side of the pole
5. Plastic tubing running down from those bags to my arm, where they disappeared under medical tape and presumably into my veins.
I paused the list at the IV, first because it was so gross that something foreign was poking into my body, and second to gather the courage to look down the bed and inventory my damages. But before I could move on, a face full of frowns and creased brows entered my view.
“Alrik,” I croaked out and tried to smile, but it felt like I was pushing through a solid block of wood to get my face to move. I gave up and whispered. “What’s up?”
“Along with massive bruising and cuts, you fractured your clavicle, proximal humerus, and fibula. The fibula fracture is the worst, with lateral malleolus fracture with some knee effusion.” Why did he sound angry? I thought. He didn’t get hit by the car.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I whispered, trying to lighten the mood.
Alrik crossed his arms and the scowl deepened on his face.
Undeterred, I continued, “I’d make some comment about never breaking a leg before, but it would be a fib…ula.”
If possible, the scowl etched in further.
“Alright, I admit it, my pun wasn’t very humerus. I give up.” And it was the truth—here I was lying in bed with a mess of broken bones and injuries and I was expending energy trying to make someone else feel better? Not worth it. I closed my eyes and twitched the muscles around the areas that he had listed off. Yup, those parts hurt.
“Are Philip and Pedro okay?”
“Yes. Some scrapes, but nothing major. They were hanging around the waiting room but some pack crisis arose, so they left.”
“David too?” I kept my eyes closed.
“Yes.” There was a pause and then Alrik’s footsteps echoed off the stark, bare walls of the room as he crossed over to the left side of the bed. There was a click and a slide as the metal bed rail fell, and then the bed sank slightly as he settled down next to me. I felt his hand drift gently across my swollen cheek. “Are these injuries going to finally convince you to leave the pack?”
I tried to grimace at him, but again, the stiffness of my face wouldn’t allow a proper frown. As I turned my head away from him, his hand followed my motions.
“But you forget, Alrik,” a new voice, strong and confident, overlaid by soft Scandinavian consonants, came from the doorway, “that Ms. Holm has sustained worse injuries when she was working for the USN. These are troubled times we live in, especially for those on the front lines—no matter which species they belong to.”
My eyes flashed open to see Viktor, slightly paler than normal but standing tall and straight, his dress shirt starched and ironed into precise military creases.
“Well, Freya, this is not the location I would have chosen for a meeting, but it will suffice, I suppose.”
“Come on in, Viktor. I’m glad to see you. You’re looking good, especially for someone who was on death’s door not so long ago.”
“Yes, yes. Quick healing and good hospital care saw to that.” He waved away my words as if nearly dying was merely a pesky annoyance in his day-to-day life. His blasé reaction caused me to wonder if his urbane demeanor hid a particularly pugnacious past.
“Have you ended up in hospitals as much as I have, Viktor? I think they should give me a frequent visitor card to hospitals—you know, nine visits, the tenth one is free.”
He crossed the room and settled into an armchair, which gave a plasticy groan as he sat down. He scowled. “Perhaps many years ago I did, but I’m getting too old for such nonsense. I now try to leave the brawling to the younger generations.” His mention of age had sparked a memory and a pressing question.
“Did you ever know a man by the name of Nick Smith? Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, usually wears a large belt buckle with a red stone?”
“Ah, yes. Alrik mentioned his name to me, but I believe when I first met him, he went by the name of Nikolas Andersson. Fascinating creature, he is.” Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms and tapped his forearm with a finger. His eyes left mine and focused on a spot above the bed. Although I had years of experience deciphering the emotions hiding under thick layers of Nordic laconicism, I still couldn’t guess at Viktor’s opinion of this man.
“Creature?” Alrik asked. “You called him creature. Does this mean that he is not a man?”
“Protagoras would answer that by saying, ‘Man is the measure of all things; of what is, that it is; of what is not, that it is not.’"
Awkward silence filled the room.
“Protagoras was a wise man,” I replied solemnly as if I had understood the quote. “Perhaps you can tell us more about your encounters with Nick Smith. Currently, he has wrapped himself up in the werewolf situation and is causing tons of trouble.”
“So I imagine—he is good at causing trouble. Perhaps that is what has sustained him all these years. For if he appears as Alrik described, he has not aged since I met him as a youth. Although at the time, he was wearing a leather torque with a large red stone, as opposed to the belt buckle.” He paused slightly, then continued, switching into Swedish. “I don’t like remembering the times around when I first encountered him, but it is critical information and must be shared.
“I was a child when I first met Nikolas Andersson. Back then, the Flock, although
still powerful, was going through some troubling transitions. Three Elders had recently died in a terrible accident, leaving a large power vacuum in the leadership. The Flock was divided about who was to fill these spots. Some Alva wished to elect people who would work to limit the influence of the Elders and distribute the power to more regional positions. Others wished to elect people who would support a stronger Elder role which would, in turn, provide a more centralized power base and, they believed, a stronger international influence. Still others wanted to completely abandon the position of Elders and adopt a parliamentary system. Opinions ran strong and divided among the Flock.
“Disagreements turned to mistrust, which turned to anger. What started as a political debate soon digressed into physical violence after the house of a particularly vocal Alva was burned to ashes. The arsonist, if indeed it was arson, was never found, but the fire was the spark needed for the three sides to openly attack each other. More houses were burned, property was destroyed, and eventually, people were killed.”
Viktor paused his story, reached over to a side table which held a pitcher of water, and poured himself a glass. He took a long, slow drink and then carefully set the glass down. Steepling his fingers under his chin, he sighed, turned a now-piercing glare at me, and continued.
“My father was a firm believer in the system of powerful Elders and, I regret to say, a leader in the violence. Although Nikolas Andersson appeared in our town as a stranger, he worked his way into being a common guest at our house within days. Uninvited, he would arrive at our door and without fail, he would be ushered into the office to meet with my father. No reason was ever given for these visits. He was not Alva and although I was a young boy, I wondered about his motive for getting involved. Yet after each visit, my father was more agitated and angry at the other sides. And correspondingly, the violence perpetrated towards them would grow.
“Although any loss of life was too high a price for this quarrel, a full war was prevented by a levelheaded and wise Alva with a gift of diplomacy. He worked tirelessly, crossing between the three factions, listening to their arguments, striving for compromises and understanding. Because of him, the fires of anger were banked, then tamed and eventually put out. The Alva would still have Elders, but the regional governance would increase its scope and power. No faction won completely, but the peace held. The man responsible for brokering that peace was your great-grandfather, Freya.”
