by Forthright
“So we’re here in an honorary capacity?”
“Oh, there’s a practical aspect. My new packmates need to understand that I’m neither a threat nor a chew toy. I’m often honored to be the first to learn a cub’s name, since I’m granted a formal introduction.” Jiminy slouched against the wall, totally relaxed.
“What about Rook?”
Jiminy shot her a questioning look.
“Isn’t he another male? Why does Doon-wen let his brother in here?”
“Rook is Doon-wen’s comfort, and Doon-wen is Rook’s confidence. They are together in everything.” He made a gesture she couldn’t interpret. “True is a part of their pact, so they are all a part of each other. You know?”
She didn’t. But she was beginning to see. Maybe it was because the brothers never covered the same shift, but she’d rarely seen them work together. They were perfect. Without a word spoken, they readied the den for new arrivals. Doon-wen arranged basins and towels, and Rook checked the boxy setup in the corner that Melissa recognized as a blanket warmer. Tails swaying in perfect tandem, their attention stayed on True.
“Are they twins?” Melissa asked.
Jiminy shook his head. “They are close because they choose to be.”
Melissa pulled her legs to her chest, feeling extraneous, retreating into herself.
“Not like that.” Jiminy pushed straight through boundaries to press his hands against her shoulders. Before she could elbow his gut, he said, “They know we’re here, you know.”
A silly thing to say. She tried to shrug him off.
“The cubs. Even before they’re born, they can sense our souls.” Jiminy carefully withdrew his hands, but he held her gaze. “We are the first brightness they know, even before they can open their eyes.”
Nobody had mentioned that in her classes at Bellwether’s Kith shelter. Melissa asked, “How do you know?”
“The cubs often have baby names for me. They remember me, even if they haven’t seen me since the day they were born.” His eyes danced. “I wonder what they’ll call you?”
“But … what should I do?”
Jiminy said, “Treat this like a tending. Calm yourself and think welcoming thoughts.”
“I’m a battler,” she reminded. “My soul isn’t exactly gentle.”
“But it can be confident.” He bumped shoulders with her. “Leave the comforting to me.”
Melissa was fully aware that he’d used the same terms for Doon-wen and Rook. Was Jiminy trying to imply that they, too, could be … perfect?
“Focus on the cubs, Melissa.” Jiminy nodded toward True. “Let them get a sense for all the love and loyalty you’ve always wanted to offer.”
Oh, she wanted to. Desperately. But wouldn’t that be taking advantage of the situation? What about her classmates at Bellwether? They wanted this as much as she did. “But … is that fair?” she ventured.
Jiminy shook his head as if she were being very silly. “That’s family.”
Even though Jiminy wanted to help Melissa navigate through her uncertainty, he knew his place. Mostly because Doon-wen made it abundantly clear, and Rook—much more politely—reinforced their alpha’s message. Back off.
So he took a seat and waited to see how she’d fare. In a way, this was Melissa’s final exam. Her behavior—unguarded and unguided—would determine her attainment.
Rook paused beside him, tousled his hair, and said, “You’re jumpy as a cricket.”
“Should I wait outside?”
“No. Doon-wen wants you here. Perhaps you should take your own advice. Focus on the cubs.”
Jiminy composed himself as best he could, but his attention kept straying to Melissa … and the way Doon-wen’s gaze lingered on her—keen, critical, calculating. Without really meaning to, Jiminy protested on her behalf, a soft whine, a bid for sympathy.
Doon-wen arched a brow and offered no reassurance. Only commanded him to watch and wait.
Unaware of the subtext surrounding her, Melissa knelt beside True’s muzzle, stroking the she-wolf’s ears and asking questions. Rook occasionally relayed a response, but Doon-wen watched without comment, taking his time, testing the air.
Melissa’s attitude baffled Jiminy.
Here was a battler, sure of what she wanted, ready to vie with her peers for the right to partner with a Kith. Yet when given the chance to make an impression on a new litter, she was holding back. Instead of focusing on the cubs, she gave all her attention to True.
She probably didn’t want Doon-wen to think she was after his cubs. As if he didn’t know how desperate she was to partner with a Kith. As if the wily old wolf wasn’t actively bringing them together.
True had chosen her. Doon-wen had plans for her. All because Melissa grasped the essence of Kith partnership. Some battlers might blunder in, hoping for the pick of the litter. But she wanted to be chosen. Melissa was willing to wait for mutual respect, loyalty, and love.
If the sway of their alpha’s tail was anything to go by, she would have it.
“Come here, Melissa.” Doon-wen held out a hand—commanding, coaxing. He made her kneel in front of him, in the receiving position. “Into your hands.”
“Me?” she gasped.
“True wishes it.” He gravely kissed her hair. “I wish it.”
Melissa offered a shaky smile, and Doon-wen crouched behind her, his body curving over hers in an unmistakable posture. He was covering her, not with the possessiveness of a mate, but that of a father. And Jiminy rocketed to his feet.
Rook was before him in a blink, a hand on his chest. “Wait and watch. You are their witness.”
“Does she know?” Jiminy gave his best rendition of a growl. “She should not be ignorant of the rare honor they are bestowing.”
Meanwhile, True strained, and the first cub slipped into view, landing in the straw between Melissa’s knees. She supported the newborn against her chest while Doon-wen made sure nose and mouth were clear. Damp fuzz wriggled, and Melissa grunted under the cub’s weight.
“A son,” said Doon-wen. “We will call him High, for the hopes he will answer.”
Rook hurried forward with towels and a warm blanket. He said, “A fine boy, and a fine name. Welcome to the pack, nephew.”
Jiminy didn’t want to steal any of the luster from High’s arrival, but he could not remain silent. He was their pack’s liaison, and Melissa deserved to know what was happening. So he took a more assertive stance and offered another semblance of a growl.
Doon-wen spared him a glance.
“She should know,” he said firmly.
With a careless gesture, Doon-wen allowed his approach.
Melissa’s smile was the brightest Jiminy had ever seen. Her happiness overflowed, even to him, and he allowed himself a moment’s basking. But only a moment. “Melissa, there’s a wolvish custom, and you’re becoming part of it.”
She glanced between them. “Okay?”
“You have been placed between Doon-wen and his mate, and in receiving their cubs, you’re being covered in blood and birthing fluids.”
“Hardly covered,” she argued.
“The scent, Melissa. You have the same scent; you are in the same place.” Jiminy could see she still wasn’t grasping the symbolism. “You are among the cubs.”
Melissa cast a questioning look at Doon-wen, finally registering how near he loomed.
When the pack leader said nothing, Jiminy crouched beside her and explained something that normally required no words. “From this day forward, Doon-wen and True can claim you as one of this litter. This is your birthplace. You haven’t been raised as a wolf, but you’ll be a wolf.”
True growled.
Doon-wen rolled his eyes.
Rook quietly reminded, “True is Kith.”
“Oh, right.” Jiminy tried to hide his grin. “Technically, you’d be Kith-kin.”
“What’s …?” she began.
But True groaned, and Doon-wen growled. Another cub was arriving, and
the discussion ended in a rush of readying.
Jiminy probably should have moved to a polite distance. This was not his den, neither were these his denmates. Emotions ran high, occasionally resonating with the various crystals he kept about his person. Hardly surprising, given that Doon-wen had shed most of his restraint. His cubs would know the full force of his strength. And of his joy.
Rook’s presence might not dominate, but it was no less powerful. He hummed as he roughed and wrapped High in a blanket woven from many brushings, fur gathered from father, mother, and uncle.
For a moment, another presence caught Jiminy’s attention. Fleeting. Elusive.
“Another son,” announced Doon-wen.
He turned his head to pin Jiminy with a look that was not exactly hostile, although it definitely held a challenge. Jiminy quickly lowered his gaze and scooted backward.
Doon-wen’s casual grab ended his retreat. “What do you think?”
Jiminy’s gaze swung to the cub occupying all of Melissa’s attention. His opinion was needed?
Wait. Doon-wen and True were parents to dozens of Kith, all exceptional. Yet none of their children had ever found speaking form. Kith-kin were rare in a broad sense, but for an established pair, their chances were always one-in-four. It hadn’t occurred to Jiminy that Doon-wen might have been hoping.
“Is there any way to tell?” Jiminy asked quietly.
“No.”
He lifted his hands. “May I?”
Melissa grunted as she hefted the newborn around. The cub nearly staggered Jiminy. “Even bigger than your brother,” he accused.
A soft whine. A questing nose.
Doon-wen bent close, murmuring old words into new ears.
Jiminy wasn’t sure he could offer any kind of opinion. Historically, Kith-kin surprised their unsuspecting families by suddenly taking speaking form. While not exactly scandalous, they weren’t entirely normal. Clans might embrace their special children, but they didn’t advertise their existence. Jiminy would never have known that Kith-kin existed if not for Kip.
Could he assess power or potential?
Reavers needed to be periodically assessed by an Amaranthine in order to be ranked. That was standard procedure. But reavers weren’t called upon to quantify the quality of clan members. He doubted such a thing was even possible, since the oldest and strongest personages were usually adept at disguising their true strength, like a fox hiding his flourish.
Although … lately, there were rumors about a person who could see into the souls of Amaranthine. A new breed of reaver, currently making the rounds of settlements and sanctuaries. The way the communiques went on, he was revered as some kind of messiah, since he could apparently tend to the Broken and make them well again.
Someone like that would probably know. But Jiminy’s talent centered around stones and sigilcraft. Even so, he recalled Michael’s mention of a new technique, invented on the fly in order to allow two souls into close enough contact to give each an impression of the other. Wasn’t that a kind of assessment?
Eyes shut. Mind open. Carefully, cautiously, Jiminy sought—and found—some sense of the cub in his arms. And since a means of comparison was readily available, he turned his attention to the cub’s littermates—one born, one unborn.
“He is strong.” Resting his forehead against the canine brow, Jiminy asked, “Will we have a proper chat one day, cub? I don’t recommend giving your elder sister any sass.”
Melissa bristled.
Doon-wen’s tail wagged with an extra lift, and the glance he shot Rook mingled triumph and trepidation.
“A fine son.” Rook’s smile was all affection. “What shall we call him?”
“He will be called Gate, to honor the farm where he can run.”
Gate licked Jiminy’s chin.
Melissa touched Doon-wen’s arm. “Is True all right?”
“Someone is eager to catch up to their brothers.”
Everyone hurried to welcome True’s third cub. But Jiminy sat with eyes half-shut, because that elusive presence flitted briefly into focus. Not True, nor any of her cubs. Not Doon-wen or Rook. The impression was there and gone so fast, it was frustrating.
“A daughter,” declared Doon-wen, sounding decidedly smug. “Her name will be Lace, for the ties binding her life to ours.”
Rook cleared his throat. “Two sons, two daughters. True is pleased.”
Melissa hugged the black cub to her chest. Her voice quavered a little when she asked, “Really?”
Doon-wen inclined his head. “I have been in communication with Christopher. He is not opposed to sharing paternity. Indeed, he and Cove have promised to attend your Whelping Feast.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Enough Said
Melissa texted both Aunt Hiro and Tami, letting them know she was planning on staying over. Doon-wen had insisted, purportedly on True’s behalf. Rook’s smile suggested that his brother was exercising some measure of paternal prerogative. No matter the reason, she was flattered and flustered and mostly unfazed when Jiminy showed every sign of lingering in the immediate vicinity.
“Take a picture for me?” she asked, holding out her phone.
Jiminy feigned surprise. “What’s the occasion?”
“I need to break it to my mothers that I have another mother.”
His brows lifted, and he leaned close to whisper, “Shouldn’t you get Rook over here, too?”
She probably shouldn’t have smiled. “I’ve sent pictures of Rook before. Lots of times.”
Several pictures were taken before True was satisfied, and Melissa tried to find words that fit the sudden turn her life was taking. How did you tell your parents that you no longer identified as a reaver?
Magda’s response came immediately.
We know.
Which part?
All of it.
One of your Nightspangles
arrived three days ago.
Spent the whole day
Doon-wen was there? But how could that be? He’d sworn not to go from True until the cubs were born. And Rook had been covering so many shifts.
I’m confused
Which wolf was there?
Lookha-soh Nightspangle,
Bellwether Enclave
I don’t know him
Interesting. You will
We were honored by his visit
He left with our permission
A wolf she’d never met had gone all the way to California in order to tell her mothers about Doon-wen’s plan to bring her into the pack?
Tell True we’ll meet soon
When?
Dichotomy Day at the latest
We’re proud, no matter what you choose
Melissa hadn’t realized Jiminy was watching her so closely until he brought over one of the warmed blankets and draped it around her shoulders.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Do you know someone called Lookha-soh?”
Jiminy blinked. “Yes. I can introduce you, if you like.”
“I think Doon-wen sent him to talk to my mothers. To get their permission or something.” She tucked her phone away and shoved straw into a better backrest.
“Melissa, there’s another possibility.” Jiminy sat beside her and toyed with a piece of straw. “And I swear to you, I knew nothing about it.”
She shrugged. “Why would you?”
He stared fixedly at the straw twirling between his fingers. “It’s very likely that Lookha-soh carried a message from Doon-wen. Wolves prefer firsthand communication. But I strongly suspect that Lookha volunteered for the journey in order to meet your family.”
Melissa was too tired for guessing games. “Why?”
“Lookha-soh Nightspangle is my foster father.” Jiminy glanced up at her through the fringe of his bangs. “He’s very protective.”
He had foster parents. They lived here, in the enclave. She’d known that in a detached sort of way, but she’d been so busy enforcing boundaries, she hadn�
�t looked beyond them.
Another detail sent her stomach plunging. “Do they know about the dagger thing?”
Jiminy chuckled. “If Denny knows something, everyone knows it.”
“Should I be worried about retaliation?”
“For a straightforward rebuff? Hardly. She-wolves aren’t renowned for their gentleness.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry. My mother likes you.”
Melissa drew a blank. “I’ve met your parents?”
“Sure. My father brings the milk deliveries, and my mother teaches at Bellwether. They went along when we brought the Kith to Red Gate Farm.”
“Your mom is Roonta-kiv?”
“When I arrived as a newborn, Roonta had recently given birth to a daughter. I was suckled alongside my new sister. Lookha fostered me, and their son Hanoo had the minding of me. I am theirs in much the same way that you belong to Doon-wen, True, and Rook.”
“I should have realized,” she murmured.
“Don’t feel bad.” He shifted closer. “Say, Melissa. Can I try something?”
She employed an elbow. “You’re always trying something.”
Jiminy charged ahead. “It was during the births that I first noticed something … different. A little like a song. A little like a soul. I’d like to rule out the obvious—your crystals, you.”
“Me?”
“Well, it’s possible.” Jiminy took an overtly submissive posture. “I want to talk to First-sensei about it. He’d find it interesting, too.”
“So this is for class?” Melissa checked.
“Purely academic.”
She gave in with a weary grumble. “I’m still armed.”
“No touching. Probably. And True’s here.”
Melissa asked, “What are you going to do?”
He waved his hands vaguely. “See if I can recapture the moment. Prolong the connection.”
“Reavers can’t give a true accounting of souls,” she reminded. Only an Amaranthine could determine a reaver’s quality and issue a grade.
