by Tamar Sloan
As the truck rumbles up to the intersection, I get an idea. I glance at my watch. Yep, I’ve got enough time. I take a quick right, accelerating with a smile on my face.
In a few short minutes I’m at her door, knocking a happy little rap. Eden opens it, surprise, then pleasure, then a frown trading places across her face. “I thought you were heading to the Glade.”
“I am.” I shoot out an arm, pulling her off balance so she falls against me. Her soft curves smash up against me, and my already high body temperature spikes. “But I missed you.”
A smile, a buoyant glow, lights up her face, from her tilted green eyes to her rose red lips. And it’s those lips that snare my attention and don’t let go.
With my own heart smiling, I kiss her. I trap those beaming lips with my own, aiming for a quick, sweet moment. I start on target as laughing lips touch then pull apart. But I quickly lose sight of my objective when they are drawn back together, and this time stay together. Man, she feels so good, so right, just where she is.
I almost forget that that I’m supposed to be elsewhere.
I’m all set to pull away when her arms ride up my shoulders, then drive into my hair. And I’m done for. With a groan, I throw up a white flag and toss out the half-hearted attempt to rein in this passion.
My arms band around her, hauling her as close as possible. All her soft curves meld against me, increasing the contact, multiplying the heat. I tighten my hold even more. Not because we need more contact or heat, but to keep my hands where they should be.
A thought almost evaporates in this sweltering passion as it clings to my consciousness. There’s somewhere I’m supposed to be.
With a great show of reluctance, I pull back, and Eden smiles a rueful smile. She leans back a little, but the flow of cool air makes no difference to my heated skin. Her hands slip down my shoulders to grip my upper arms. I loosen the Herculean hold I have on her waist.
I sigh. “I’d better get to this vote. Who knows where this is going to go.”
Eden’s eyes hold something my passion-muddled mind can’t quite decipher. “I know. You should be there for Tara and Mitch.”
And I wonder if she wants to be there, too. Does she know that I hate doing this on my own? I know I hate not telling her. But what girl would want to be told she is irreversibly the mate of a leader, of a bunch of Werewolves she barely knew existed, after only six months of dating?
So I smile, and Eden smiles. I wave and jump into the truck, and she waves and goes back into the house.
The Glade looks like it always does, a magical arena surrounded by whispering pines. Subdued conversation creates a low hum as I skirt around the Channons. As I head to the front left, there’s the odd hello, one or two smiles, a few closed-off scowls. I choose a spot close enough to the front to get a good view, far back enough to fade into the shadows of the trunks, and separate enough from the pack that is supposed to be an ally to the Phelans.
Silence settles on the Glade, and everyone turns their focus as four Weres step forward, all with their serious faces on. I got here just in time.
An older man stands at the head, Seth to one side, Tara and Mitch on the other, the rock with the Precepts carved into it stands between them. The old man is a Channon; that I can smell. But not of the Alpha line—no red hair. This guy will be the adjudicator, the mediator of the vote.
He steps forward into the silence. A light breeze brushes the small crowd.
Old dude puffs out his chest. “Welcome all. On this day, you will choose a new leader for our pack. Before you stand two candidates. Both Channons, each looking to become your Alpha.” He steps over to Seth. I wonder if he will lift each person’s hand, as if they are opponents in a boxing ring. “Seth. A member of your pack. A young, strong male.”
Another step and he’s beside Tara, whose toes stay still in her shoes. “Tara, daughter of Kurt, mated to a Phelan.”
Short, sweet, and factual. And everything he said was true. Except for the slight omissions, like never mentioning that Seth is not blood-related to the Alpha line or that Tara is Kurt’s firstborn. The slight emphasis on their genders, on Tara’s choice of mate. Each point makes my stomach clench, because each calculated piece of information reeks of propaganda.
I’d like to cross my arms, but that wouldn’t be a wise move here.
“You all know how this works. They will say a few words, and then we vote.”
Without waiting for an invite, Seth steps forward. Showing eagerness and poor manners.
He struts forward a few steps. “Weres are gifted with strength, power, superiority. As a strong and powerful pack, the Channons are the ones who can represent, uphold this honor, this duty. To do this, we need to acknowledge that patience is not always a virtue. Nor is silence always golden. I know the Channons are a pack that is destined for…” Seth stops, surveying the Channons before him.
Destined for what?
“Destined for more. With me as your Alpha, we will fulfill our potential.”
A handful of Channons nod. I try to note which ones agree with Seth’s charismatic, clichéd, but concerning sentiments.
Seth holds himself there for a few more seconds, head slowly scanning the crowd. The guy thinks he’s got it in the bag, and I’m worried that he’s right. He takes several steps backward, never taking his eyes off the audience.
Tara and Mitch step up hand in hand, united. I feel my chest swell a little. She’s making a strong statement. That she’s proud of her bonded mate, that our alliance is real and valuable.
Tara releases Mitch’s hand and takes another step, her little body solitary and strong. Her clear voice carries through the Glade. “Weres are unique. We span both the animal and the human world. A part of us rests in both. This does give us unique power, but you all know that with power comes responsibility, and the Channons are a pack that stands for what is right. The strength we possess we use to protect. The power we wield we use to safeguard the rights of all—friends, neighbors…allies. Our responsibility is to our kind—both Were and human. That will be our purpose and our direction.”
I want to clap so bad. She just rubbished Seth’s pseudo-Aryan sentiments, without once rubbishing him. And in those few sentences, summed up the rights and responsibilities of Weres. Man, it was practically the Were Bill of Rights.
The Channon crowd is silent. Holding their paws close to their chest.
Tara takes Mitch’s hand again, and I see him squeeze it. He’s tall and proud beside her. They turn and step back to their place beside Seth. Seth doesn’t acknowledge their presence. Or the awesome speech.
Now comes the very public vote. Weres are not averse to putting each other in their place. The winner publicly victorious. The loser openly displaying their defeat. It’s a bit like National Geographic meets the presidential election.
I shift from one foot to the other. Which way will it go?
Tara is a Channon, a first born.
But she’s female. And bonded to a Phelan. Although we’ve lived side by side for generations, a strong alliance keeping us peaceful, friends even, Weres still have their roots in the animal kingdom. Where there’s us, and there’s them. Survival DNA dictates you look out for your own first.
And although Seth has no Alpha blood whatsoever, he’s a strong, young male. We all know that counts for a whole lot in the animal world. And Seth represents a potential leader selling a whole new direction for the Channons. One independent of the Phelans. A worrying one.
The adjudicator steps forward, “And we vote.” The crowd shuffles as he turns to Seth. “Those of you who vote for Seth raise your hands.”
I stare straight ahead as those who nodded, and a few more, slowly raise hands into the air.
The adjudicator nods. “And those of you who vote for Tara raise your hands.”
Once again, my head doesn’t move as hands rise into the air above them.
It’s undisputed, a clear gap. Tara and Mitch look at each other, their chests d
eflating as their breaths escape. Seth comes forward to silently shake their hands. Now Tara’s toes can be seen doing a jig, the tips of her shoes dancing in the grass. The crowd swells forward as friends, cousins, and happy voters congratulate the victor.
Tara and Mitch are swallowed by a horde of celebrating Channons.
I want to applaud the voters. Those who knew what Weres stand for. Who didn’t want to see someone like Seth at their helm.
Seth scans the crowd, narrowed eyes and hard lips telling them what he thinks of their decision. He turns on his heel and strides into the trees. My stage-left vantage point means I’m the only one to notice a handful of men and one or two women follow him. Their square shoulders and stiff-legged gait mean they never fully blend into the shadows. Like tense, angled pegs trying to blend into shadowy round holes. Not one, especially not Seth, looks back.
A hint of metal hits my nose, and I know the Channons are getting ready to run–with their new Alpha.
Mitch looks over to me, blue eyes shining. I smile and nod, acknowledging the subtle, but justified twist to his lips.
Because after all we’ve been through, after all the rejections and retractions and ribbing, Mitch became an Alpha before I did.
6
Eden
“Okay, where do I set up?”
Set up? What sort of production is this? “Ah, I suppose my bedroom is the best place.”
“Then lead away.”
I head down the hallway, Tara skipping behind me, pulling along a small suitcase. Caesar, his big German shepherd body brushing mine, ears pricked backward to the sound of the wheels bouncing along with her, knows something is up. I open the door to my room and let Tara through.
“Eden, I think this room is the size of our lounge.”
“Now that’s an exaggeration. There is no way you could have fit all your brothers and sisters in here.”
The minute I say it, I regret it. Tara hasn’t heard from her family since Kurt was banished. Although she grumbled about being the eldest of the Channon menagerie, I’m guessing the Phelan house sounds like a school on summer break compared to her old house.
Tara’s hazel eyes look to mine. “It’s fine. I’m the one who started it. I keep forgetting that it’s not home anymore. It just takes some getting used to, I suppose.”
“I’d say it takes a lot of getting used to.”
“Yeah.”
“How is it going at the Phelans?” Having her bonding brought forward means Tara and Mitch, newly mated Weres, have to live with Mitch’s parents. Not the most romantic of honeymoons.
Tara sits on the bed, her deep red hair matching the earthy tones of the bedspread, then flops backward, arms flying out. “There’s no privacy for starters, and no one at school can know that Mitch is forever mine, that I’m his. I’m a bonded mate, living like I’m on a permanent sleepover.”
I sit beside her. “Sounds tough.”
She turns her head to look at me, her arms coming to fist together over the center of her chest. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been! I wake up with him, I eat with him, I go to school with him.”
That does sound pretty cool. Tara is where she is supposed to be—with Mitch.
Her eyes and chin drop. “And…” Her voice dips like she’s coming to the best bit. “I get to go to sleep with him.”
I shoot off the bed. “So, where do we set up?”
Tara’s giggle tinkles behind me. I head over to her abandoned suitcase, hoping it gives me enough time for my flaming cheeks to settle.
Thankfully taking my lead, she spins to the center of the room. “Right, make up over there”—she points to the timber dressing table—“wardrobe here.” She clicks the handle of her suitcase down with a flourish over by the bed. A full-length mirror, standing proud on its own wooden stand, reflects the sparkle in her eyes.
“Where’s your costume?”
“In the wardrobe.” I don’t want to mention the fact it’s a walk-in, so I just open the door adjacent to the bathroom.
She follows me in, giving a little whistle. “You could fit at least five of my siblings in here.”
I grab the hanger and indicate we can leave. But Tara steps in, surveying the right side of the wardrobe. The one full of my mother’s purchases. She doesn’t even glance at the smaller left side. I suppose denim and cotton are not nearly as eye catching as the kaleidoscope of jewel colors she’s gazing at.
“Oh, girlfriend, we are going to have some fun now that summer is coming up.”
“I don’t think so.”
I grab her by the shoulders and propel her back out. She peers over her shoulder, hazel eyes calculating, one set of fingers tapping her lips. “The blue top is going to go great with that skirt.”
“No,” I say this louder, more forcefully.
Her other hand comes to clasp her elbow. “Although there were those cute little shorts…”
I don’t think she’s aware I’m in the room. I’m not going to be Tara’s doll, getting primped and dressed in my mother’s designer costumes. I am not...
Please don’t let me be subjugated to that.
I sit on the bed, crossing my legs beside Caesar, as Tara does a real-life Mary Poppins and pulls out countless items from her magical suitcase. Her outfit, still on its hanger, is hooked over the bathroom door. It’s all purple satin and puffs of tulle. She unfolds a large set of glittery violet wings, and places them on my desk.
She glances around. “How’s your dress?”
I think of the bag now hanging on the wardrobe door. I didn’t even try the thing on when it arrived. I have a teeny, tiny hope it might not fit, meaning I can arrive in jeans and a top. Knowing I can say in all honesty that I tried.
I wave toward the door. “Great, I think. It only arrived the other day.”
Tara rolls her eyes. She leans into the suitcase and comes out holding a flat iron. An assessing hazel gaze measures the unbound mass flowing down my back. “We’ll do yours first.”
My hand pulls up a strand, bringing it before my eyes, my eyes crossing as I focus on the brown lock. “But my hair’s already straight.”
Tara lets out a long sigh, shaking her head as she delves back into Pandora’s Box. Next, comes a large silver case. It’s metal and shiny and intimidating.
“What’s that for?” I squeak.
She puffs out another long-suffering sigh. “Makeup.”
“Oh. Is that really necessary?”
I get a pointed look. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Tara’s hand comes up to her hip. “Yes.”
Although I know I am being bullied by a tiny soon-to-be fairy, I remind myself that her little body can multiply exponentially into an intimidating red wolf. My lips want to smile. “Do you want to use one of your words right about now?”
Her own lips twitch a little. “Yes.”
“Which one?”
“Phooey fudge nuggets.”
I open my eyes in mock shock. “Can an Alpha use that sort of language?”
Tara juts out an arrogant hip. “Alphas make the rules.”
Not all of them. I smother that insidious thought with a smile. Tara is so excited and nervous at her recent rise to leadership, she doesn’t need my personal issues muddying her waters. “Right, what’s first, fearless leader?”
Tara giggles. “Hair,” she says, pointing at the chair sitting in front of the dresser.
I certainly don’t hop, skip, and jump toward the wooden contraption.
“It’s not electrified, you know.”
But that is.” I point to the ceramic tongs that are flashing an evil red light at me from the dresser.
“Sit.”
I sit on the chair like it is electrified—cautiously and gingerly.
Tara doesn’t seem to, or pretends not to, notice and starts brushing my hair. She pulls out two duck-bill-looking clips and takes the top half of my hair, halves it, twists it, and clips it in place. She repeats the process on the
other side with short, sharp movements. In three seconds flat, I’m staring back at my mouse-eared-reflection.
“Impressive.”
“I have five younger sisters, remember? It was always a production line every time we had a social engagement.” She pauses in brushing the bottom section of my hair. “Dana would ask me every morning.”
I remember Tara’s sister. Only a year behind her, Dana had been a pretty, vivacious, gob-struck-if-Noah-was-around girl. The last bit I recollect empathizing with.
“You miss them.”
Tara’s hazel eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Most of my life, I was hanging to leave.” She leans over to grab the hair straightener. “I just never thought they would.”
“And now you’re Alpha.”
Tara brushes a section of hair then sprays it with some chemical based, artificial flowery stuff. I tense as the heated flat iron heads toward my scalp then sizzles as the fake flower stuff is vaporized, rising to the roof. But all I feel is the radiant heat against the back of my skull, and then it’s gliding down, maintaining a constant pressure. I wonder if it’s time to change the subject when Tara speaks up, eyes still focused on my hair.
“Yeah. I’m the Alpha of a divided, unsettled pack. Meaning Mitch also inherits that bundle of joy.” Tara nibbles her lip uneasily, eyes catching mine in the mirror. “Do you think I’ve asked too much of him?”
I turn on my chair, meaning Tara has to meet my gaze. “Tara, Mitch would go vegetarian for you”—a slow red tint slips up Tara’s cheeks—“and he’d do it with a smile.”
Tara sucks in her bottom lip as her cheeks brighten to match her hair. Whoa, I just made Tara Channon blush. It could be time to buy a lotto ticket.
“Besides”—I turn back to face the mirror—“all that Alpha training would have gone to waste.”
Tara smiles as she grabs another piece of hair. Spritz. Clamp. Sizzle. Pull.
