by Tamar Sloan
When Tara wanted to stop by the art room on our way out, Mitch had grabbed her hand, changed direction down the hall, and walked off without another word. I wonder if I’ve done anything wrong.
Noah stares straight ahead, like he’s paying attention to where we have to go. The same car park in the same school he’s been going to his entire high school career. “I think he has a bit on his plate.”
I step closer so our arms are brushing, like the contact of our hands isn’t enough. “I suppose he’s coming to terms with becoming a leader,” I muse, “especially when it was something he never considered as a possibility.”
Those blue eyes flicker to me but then find the forward-facing position again. “Yeah, it takes some getting used to.”
“And we have grad coming up.”
“True. He still needs to keep his GPA up.”
I nod, although Noah can’t see it because the school grounds seem so fascinating. “That carpentry apprenticeship is pretty important to him. At least he has Tara.”
Noah’s body seems to sink in a way I don’t understand. “Yeah, at least he has his mate.”
When Noah continues to stare ahead, saying nothing, the unease grows. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s worried. The emotion carries loud and clear through our proximity, our clasped hands.
And I don’t know why. He hasn’t explained why he rushed home, why he’s worried now. It’s the unknown that makes me uneasy. It opens a space, no matter how small. And those niggling doubts, those undermining uncertainties, only need a little crack. A little gap to slip their insidious claws in and latch on.
Is he worried about Mitch?
Has something come between them?
Or someone…
I try to shake off those embryonic fears. “Why don’t we go to the Glade? It’s been ages.”
A run in the Glade is just what we need.
We’ve reached the Phelan truck, and Noah finally turns toward me, those chiseled lips tipping up on one side, eyebrows quirking up. “Like five days?”
“That’s what I said—ages. There was the extended siesta over winter, you know.”
“Making up for lost time, huh?”
I take in the spring sun touching that tousled hair, picking up the blond highlights, creating darker depths. Those eyes regard me with love and gentleness. And I feel my own love grow and expand. Almost, almost crowding out the uncertainty. The physical contact, the sheer emotional intensity of our runs with Noah as a wolf affirms our connection.
I could use some affirmation right about now.
“I think that’s a great idea.” We turn to see Mitch and Tara approach. Mitch grins, but there’s a seriousness in his dark eyes that doesn’t match the broad smile.
Tara skips on the spot, barely keeping hold of Mitch’s hand. “Oooh, I’m putting money on the black and red wolves!”
Noah snorts, his arm coming around my shoulders. “Eden hasn’t eaten that much cheesecake.”
It’s Tara’s turn to snort. “Who are you kidding? That girl’s moved on from consuming to dealing, just to supply her habit.”
I cross my arms. “Hey, I don’t think it can be called dealing if it’s free.”
Tara grins her mischievous grin. “That’s how they all start, get you hooked, then…” She punches her fist into her palm.
I tap my nose with a finger. “I do have a salted caramel number in my fridge.”
We giggle as Tara looks like she’s contemplating my offer. She puckers up her mouth in determination. “You’ve got to have gained a pound. It’ll be enough to give us a fighting edge.”
We turn to our respective guys. They’re both looking at each other; Mitch has his arms crossed, eyes narrowed, looking like he’s challenging Noah to something a bit more serious than a race at the Glade. “Scared?”
I realize Noah’s taking far longer to decide than I thought he would. Since when did he have to think twice? “If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”
“Of course we do,” Tara says, already opening the truck door.
I look to Noah, needing to know if he wants this. It feels like he does, but something is holding him back.
“Let’s do it.” Noah smiles, but it sounds more like an ultimatum.
The trip to the Glade mostly involves Tara and me talking about the upcoming Wyoming State Open Day. Noah turns to me once, mouth open like he’s going to say something. But those sculpted lips snap shut again. I pretend it doesn’t make me nervous.
We pull into the dirt carpark to find four other cars already lined up beneath the trees. Disappointment has me frowning. We’ve always had the Glade to ourselves.
Noah’s breath escapes in a huff. “Great.”
I hope we can still go for a run. “Why are they here?”
Noah looks at me with those serious eyes again, the ones that make me nervous. “I’ll show you.”
Tara pauses in opening her door. “You haven’t told her?”
Hasn’t told me what?
Noah frowns at Tara. “I was waiting for the right time.”
She smiles sweetly, a little artificially. “Well, it looks like you’ve been given the gift of the present.”
Noah doesn’t answer, just climbs out and waits for me to join him. Mitch still hasn’t said a word. He’s certainly epitomizing the strong, silent type.
We walk through the green tunnel to the Glade. Noah is quiet as he holds my hand, and Mitch is quieter as he holds Tara’s. Without the usual I’m-going-to-whoop-your-hairy-butt banter, the silence leaves an uninterrupted rein to my anxious imagination. I bite my lip, knowing the questions multiplying in my mind will probably be answered soon. The discomfort distracting me from the knowledge that I might not like the answers.
As we enter the Glade, we see a group of people at the head of the green circle; they’re all clustered around the Precept rock. Noah slows, one foot taking a split second longer to overtake its pair before picking up the pace again. If I didn’t spend every spare second watching, admiring…memorizing this guy then I would have missed it. The fact that I don’t recognize any of the Weres multiplies those questions until their overcrowded presence starts to hurt. My lip hasn’t left the grip of my teeth.
There is one person, one voice, which seems to stand at the head of the largely male group. I look to the three Weres with me to see what they think, looking for some clues of how to process this. Noah’s eyes have narrowed, his chest expanded. Tara straightens while, Mitch visibly hardens, lips thinning and muscles tensing.
I’m not sure why, but we just went on high alert.
The group has already sensed our approach, and they fall silent as they turn to watch us cross the grass.
Tara walks a little faster, coming to the front of our group. She releases Mitch’s hand, and he steps beside her. “Hello, Seth.”
Seth turns, the barest slip of a smile angling his lips. He scans us all slowly, tilting his head in what could only be described as arrogance.
“Hi, guys.” Tara addresses the rest of the group. They all nod, deference apparent in the way their eyes tilt down, their shoulders drop. There’s a round of rumbled ‘Tara’ or ‘Alpha’ as they return the greeting. So, these are all Channons.
“Great minds think alike, huh? We were discussing the game changer.”
Game changer?
Tara shakes her head. “We came here to run.”
I look to Noah, whose eyes flicker to me, and I feel something move and shift, but I don’t know what. It feels scratchy, prickly. My eyes scan the group, about five Weres, all young and strong, are all staring at me. At the only human.
And all of a sudden, instead of being part of the group, I instantly feel like the outsider I am.
What’s worse, I’ve figured out the emotions shifting within the tense body beside me. Noah is uncomfortable with me being here.
My eyes fall to the ground, instantly regretting that I suggested this outing. But wounded eyes never reach the grass. They’
re caught by the Precept rock. Trapped by an extra line that now sits below the original four. Fixed on the game changer.
He who is above the law is the law
Eyes wide with shock fly back to the tense bodies around me. Seth is the only one watching my reaction, his little posse are all watching the three Weres they face. Mitch and Tara are just as preoccupied with them. Noah doesn’t need to look; I know he can feel my shock and confusion. I wonder if he can sense the hurt that he didn’t tell me. At being excluded.
Seth crosses his arms, his head giving a single nod to the side. “It seems the food web just got a new top tier.”
“That’s not what the Prime Alpha is about, Seth.” Tara’s voice remains low, tight.
The Prime Alpha. The term sounds intimidating. All-encompassing and prescriptive at the same time. Final. Fated. Prophetic.
Seth doesn’t say a word. He just looks at Tara, never verbally disagreeing, but quite obviously disagreeing. I don’t know much about Were etiquette, but he looks quietly defiant.
Mitch shifts subtly, coming a little closer to Tara, skillfully creating a united front.
Seth’s posse starts to drift apart, some Weres moving to the right, others stepping back and heading to the tree line. They want this conversation to end.
“Who?” The word slips out before I can call it back. Those questions have finally gained substance and are demanding some answers.
Tara turns to look at me. “No one knows.”
Mitch speaks straight ahead. “No one’s stepped up.”
Noah takes a step forward, bringing me with him. “We don’t need some super-leader. Weres have their Alphas, their packs. They don’t need a dictator to tell them what to do.”
“You’re wrong.” Seth never raises his voice. He doesn’t need to. We are in nature’s auditorium with a bunch of super-hearing Weres. Each one would be registering every word. “Weres have no direction, no purpose. They’re a loaded gun without a target.”
“We don’t need a Prime Alpha,” Noah growls, his hand clenching around mine.
Seth smirks a little and continues like Noah’s angry words were never said. “It just needs the right Were.”
“Seth.” It’s Tara’s voice that cuts in, carrying the authority of an Alpha. “You should go home now.”
Seth’s head tilts down and a single brow arches up, giving the compliant gesture a sarcastic slant. “See you at the Council.” He takes two steps back and starts to turn. But as his body twists, he starts to change. There’s a flash of skin, the wolf tattoo with its Channon mark blazing across his chest, and four paws hit the ground. It is a brown wolf that powers toward the trees. He never looks back at the Alpha he just disobeyed.
The moment he changes, I feel it. His anger. But not the hot, wild anger you’d expect. No, it’s a hard anger. An anger contained by steely determination.
It looks like this gun has been loaded.
And it has a target.
“What’s a Council?”
Noah shifts, and I can feel his discomfort. Tara’s hands are on her hips, “You didn’t tell her that, either?”
“It was only decided yesterday.”
The excuse sounds lame, even to me.
Mitch is the one that answers. “A Council is like a court of law.”
I turn to Noah. So far, all I’m getting is half-answers. “A Were was filmed changing, and it got onto YouTube.”
“Actually, it went off the Richter Scale on YouTube,” Tara cuts in.
“And he’s been identified. Some guy from the far end of the state.”
“When was this?”
Noah’s mouth tightens. “Last week.”
There is so much to process. Mitch is watching me with his serious blue eyes. Tara is looking at Noah with her ticked-off hazel gaze. Noah is looking at me like he’s trying to tell me something with those compelling summer eyes. Is he trying to answer the question that is probably undeniable in mine?
Why didn’t you tell me?
But I look away. Because I already know the answer.
So instead, I smile as I grab Noah’s hand, heading for the trees. “So, I’m putting a chocolate cheesecake down on us. You ready, Tara?”
15
Noah
Yep, it’s him all right.
The strapping piece of stupidity standing all proud in the center of the Glade is the Were from the YouTube clip. All around him are the Alphas and pack representatives from the North West. Phelans, Channons, Lyalls, Tates. In front of Daniel—every Were now knows this guy’s name—stands his own Alpha, John Tate. Daniel looks straight ahead, no one but John in his vision. Certainly not the Precept rock right beside John, the one spelling out the law he disregarded. Despite the number of bodies, the Glade is a whole lot quieter than it usually is. A silence full of judgement.
This is my fist Council. Actually, it’s the first real Council in generations. Weres are generally Precept-abiding people. The last Alpha to banish a Were was me, and that was pretty extreme circumstances. Dad said they are short and sweet. The Alpha speaks, the Were responds, the Alpha makes the ruling. Bing, bang, absolute-irreversible-boom.
John Tate, Mr. Judge and Jury, steps up. Big and brawny like an Alpha, although a little more potbellied than most.
“We are here to discuss Daniel’s actions. We have all seen the evidence. It is irrefutable. This Council does not have the burden of proof, but the weight of his sentence. Daniel, what do you say about your actions?”
The audience turns to Daniel. Even I know remorse earns leniency in any court of law. But Daniel isn’t a poster boy for hunched shoulders, downcast eyes. He turns slowly, tall and straight, looking at those around him with an open, challenging gaze. Like this was the audience he was waiting for rather than dreading.
“I did what needed to be done.”
What?
Daniel is still turning, addressing each and every Were. “The time for Weres is changing.” He stops, his arm shooting straight out like an arrow, his finger pointing at the Precepts. “That proves it.”
The Tate Alpha doesn’t move to look at the rock, but quite a few heads do. I resist the urge to shuffle. This is not how a Council goes.
John crosses his arms. “You broke a Precept, undermining the trust, and risking the lives of all Weres.”
With his arm still pointing at the blasted rock with the blasted extra Precept, Daniel shouts, “Why do we hide?”
A collective breath is sucked in around the Glade. It practically draws the trees in as all the air is dragged into shocked lungs.
Daniel stops, his back to the Precept rock, his Alpha. “How many of you have asked yourself this question?”
Although no one answers, there’s a low hum of noise. A few feet are shuffling, that collective breath held, some Weres’ eyes searching others, some sliding and looking away.
“I have.” Stunned faces turn and all that air is expelled in Seth’s direction. What did he just say?
Tara turns to face her pack member behind her. Seth steps forward, until he is almost flush with Tara. Almost. “Daniel gives voice to a question many Weres have been asking themselves.”
Tara pulls herself up, going all Alpha on Seth. No one speaks up at Council, certainly not a non-Alpha. “That’s enough, Seth.”
“It’s a valid question…Alpha.” Seth finishes the statement, the one that just defied his Alpha’s command, with a submissive incline of his head, the deferent use of Tara’s title. My teeth clench at the blatant pseudo-compliance.
Mitch steps behind Tara, angry and dark. Seth practically curls his lip at the Phelan behind his Alpha.
Tara has a decision on her hands. Command Seth step back and shut up, and risk him defying her in front of dozens of Weres. Or respond to his question…essentially backing down.
It’s a lose-lose situation.
Tara’s chin has just jutted up when Daniel’s voice booms through the Glade. “There is no reason.”
Everyone swings th
eir focus back to Daniel, who has again fanned the winds of discontent, and neatly taken the spotlight off Tara and Seth. Everyone focuses on him but me. I watch Seth cross his arms as he watches Daniel along with everyone else. Why do I get the sense that even without a resolution to his little mutiny, Seth is satisfied with the outcome?
“What could we be if we didn’t hide?” My attention joins the other Weres. Daniel seems intent on digging himself deeper. He does another slow pirouette. “Our strength, our presence on every continent, our unique skills are wasted if we act as if they don’t exist.” His fist thumps his chest, a low thud that carries in the silent Glade. “That we don’t exist.” He’s almost finished the complete circle. “You can’t say you don’t feel it.”
Everyone’s eyes are scanning everyone else’s. I’m not sure what they’re looking for. Looking to see who thinks that’s a load of crap?
Who agrees?
Daniel’s mouth opens again, and I really don’t want to hear what he has to say next.
“Silence!” John roars.
It appears obeying his Alpha is not totally forgotten because Daniel complies.
“Your words do nothing but incite discontent through generations of peace. Our children deserve better than the world you propose. For breaking our law, for treason against all Weres hold true, Daniel Tate, you are banished.”
Daniel doesn’t react, doesn’t even blink. He was either expecting this…or he doesn’t care. He squares his shoulders and schools his face. I can’t tell if he’s hiding a scowl or a smile. Daniel exits stage left, past his Alpha and his pack, never looking back at the kind that have now exiled him.
No one moves, shocked at what just happened. Banishment is unheard of. And this is the second in the space of a few months. That feeling is moving inside me again, and there’s little I can do to calm it.
From the corner of my eye, I see one person move. Seth’s arms drop to his sides as his chest expands, like there’s something inside feeding and growing.
Shoulders that want to drop a few feet stay still and tense. I wish Eden were here, so I knew whether I was reading this right.
