by SJ Himes
“Is this him?” Simon snarled, a bad habit he’d picked up from consorting with monsters for nearly fifteen years. He grabbed the picture, and waved it under Roman’s nose.
“Is he an heir to Gray Shadow’s bloodline!?” Simon shouted, heart racing.
Roman went still, his body subtly shifting from tense uncertainty to lethal and vicious predator. Simon gulped, and took a small step back, reminded yet again that while Roman McLennan was a lesser alpha and no power figure in the clans, here, in the human world, he was a monster with very big teeth who had no compunction slaughtering anyone who annoyed him.
“If it is Luca, I will find him,” Roman growled past teeth suddenly longer and sharper, eyes glowing. “If Luca lives, and he is the shaman, then his power will be mine.”
Reign of the White Wolf
THE CABIN was small, with a tiny bathroom off the wall it shared with the kitchen, one full bed, a table, two chairs and a rug in front of the stone hearth, cool now and unlit. Wood was stacked beside it, and more was out on the porch under the overhang, dry and waiting to be burned. He breathed in deeply and scented nothing beyond small furry vermin and the smell of humans, weeks old. This cabin was off the beaten path, out near the boundaries of the park, miles from the center where Ghost recalled the gathering took place.
“Does it even have power?” Cat asked, coming in behind him as she dropped her bag beside the door. He looked up at his human packmate and huffed in amusement. He saw nothing wrong with the cabin, but perhaps it was a bit on the ….wild side for his humans. Cat looked exhausted and stressed; her red hair lightly streaked with gray was a mess, and her clothes were wrinkled and she smelled like she hadn’t bathed in two days. Which she hadn’t, actually.
Ghost moved out of the way, convinced the cabin was secure enough, and went back outside, dodging around Glen as he brought in more of their gear. He didn’t care if there was power in the cabin or not, he had his fur to keep him warm, but his humans needed the artificial warmth. He heard Glen reassuring Cat, but he lost interest in their conversation when he got the view of the park from the porch.
The cabin sat in a small clearing, the towering pines hovering high overhead, the downy verdant wings of their boughs waving in the soft breeze that came in fits and spurts. Behind and to the left side of the clearing rose the mountain, and the narrow drive wound its way up the hillside, the only tracks left by Glen’s truck. He smelled nothing on the wind but pine sap and wet things, but it was so weak that he would need to rely on his eyes and ears to sense his kindred, if they were here. He was relatively nose-blind unless the wind moved with more strength through the trees.
Were there still wolves here? Were his kindred here, even after all these years? A part of him, the part of his mind that still thought like a human, was afraid—afraid that after the violence of the gathering all those years ago, his people decided to leave, to hide. He remembered that keeping the secret was important, that only special humans knew. It was why he was taught at home by a woman he thought was his mother, instead of going to a human school like the older cubs did. The older cubs could keep secrets better than the littler ones.
He remembered being that small, wearing clothes… talking. Being able to say his own name. His name, the name his parents gave him…. he fought to recall their faces, but there was nothing but blurry, out of focus recollections and indistinct sounds.
He shook nose to tail, a tremendous shiver that wracked his whole body, and the planks of the porch under him moved as if they were alive. For a moment, the snow was gone, and the clearing before him was covered in tall sweet grass and wildflowers, the pine boughs waving in a high summer breeze. He shook himself, and the snow returned, the vision fading away. The sounds of summer were replaced by the oppressive weight of winter, and he wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of the sun on his back, smell the earthy breeze, and chase after the distant sound of running wolves.
Glen brought them into the park through an old access road, explaining to Cat that they didn’t want to bring attention to themselves by trying to get into the park in the off-season by the main gates. Ghost was glad—what he remembered of the main gates left him feeling sick, as if he’d eaten spoilt meat. He heard again the echo of gunfire, felt the ravaging pain of the silver bullet in his shoulder, and he heard the sharp fear and frustration in his grandfather’s mindvoice as he called for help.
Ghost ran out into the snow of the cabin’s front yard, paws spread, head hanging low, shaking. He was swamped by memories, chaotic, none of them staying long enough to become clear before losing their place to a new one, all of them harsh and jagged and painful. He saw blood and a human man in black standing over them, a gun laden with silver-shot aimed for his grandfather’s head. He saw a great black shadow running over the rocks, big paws not making a sound, hunting the man who would take his grandfather’s life, the man who would pull him into the river and tear him from his family.
Ghost shook hard, so hard he fell, his heart pounding, mind besieged. He heard someone calling to him, a loved voice crying out in alarm, and felt soft hands running over his face. His eyes were blind as the memories began again, from waking that long ago morning before dawn, to climbing atop a gigantic gray wolf, to running through the wild pine groves, laughing and yelling in happiness. He saw his father! His father, Josiah! He remembered…he was Luca, son of Josiah and Marla, grandson of Clan Alpha Caius and the powerful Shaman Gray Shadow.
He cried out, thrashing in the snow, his howl full of aching, hollow loneliness. It poured out from his heart, past his fangs, and it was forceful enough that it was sufficient to break him free from the cycle of images. There was a susurration in his ears, familiar sounds that his mind tried to piece together into a whole he could understand. He caught a chorus of howls, the voices of many wolves blending and twining as their song rose to the moon. A single howl returned in the echoes, high and thin, fading away as the memories loosened their grip on his thoughts.
He opened his eyes and blinked the snowflakes away, panting hard, to find Cat and Glen kneeling beside him in the front yard. He whined, and Cat petted his face, brushing off the snow, crying. Glen held him, head and shoulders only as he was too large for the human to hold in his lap anymore. His human alpha’s heart was racing, smelling of nerves and worry.
“Hey buddy, you okay? C’mon Ghost, wake up.” Glen was speaking in his ear, leaning over him, and Ghost rolled his eyes up, meeting the human’s. He saw concern and affection, and Ghost again marveled at the man who helped raise him, wondering how a human could be so accepting, so unafraid. Would he be so brave if he knew Ghost was wolfkin, a werewolf, and a boy long trapped by a magic he claimed too early? How could this mortal man be so accepting, so at peace with the unknown, when he and his mate spent all their lives living in a world run by the barren philosophy they called science?
Ghost moaned, and rolled to his stomach, Glen leaving a hand on his shoulder. He waited, and when the world didn’t spin, he slowly stood. His legs held him, and he lifted his head, ears up, listening. His howl had been loud, and he knew full well that it could travel for miles before fading out. If there were wolves in Baxter, they may have heard him, and be on their way. He waited, but there was nothing but the sound of his humans and the snow falling.
“Back in the cabin, let’s go. We’re all feeling the stress of the last day. Food and sleep first, then we’ll think about what’s going on.” Glen patted him on his back, and Ghost nodded, waiting for his humans to go in first before following. He sent a quick look around the clearing in which the tiny cabin sat, a part of him expecting to see the glow of eyes in the shadows. He was haunted by memories, and he feared what would happen if he ever came across one of his own kind. Whether he would be welcomed or hunted.
“DO YOU hear that?” Andromeda paused in pouring the tea, the kettle suspended over a fine porcelain cup. She faced the window, open despite the cold, and Kane a
nd Burke turned to look as well. The cabin was huge, and the kitchen windows had a view to envy, the mountains covered in dark green pines and thick layers of snow. It was snowing now, and Kane heard the soft hissing noise that it made as it landed on the ground.
“What?” Kane listened, head tilted, but heard nothing but the snow and the gentle breeze. The cubs and their family were upstairs, where River, Sophia and Red Fern’s resident betas were tending to them. He heard voices, but not the words, not wanting to intrude on the family’s privacy. He looked to Burke, who shrugged, obviously not hearing anything.
Andromeda stared out the window, her eyes focusing in the far distance, her head moving slowly side to side as if trying to get an angle on a sound only she could hear. Kane listened again and caught a sound so soft he thought he imagined it. It might have been a howl, either wolf or wind, but it was gone before he could be sure. It was lonely, that faint echo, and he rubbed a hand over his sternum as his heart ached. The wilder part of him wanted to go outside, and answer that lonely call. He shook his head, and dismissed it as wind through the mountains.
“Never mind, it was probably nothing.” Andromeda went back to pouring the tea and returned the kettle to the stovetop. She sat back down and sipped, her pale eyes closing in appreciation.
She was much like her brother in appearance, for all that they had different mothers. They shared a father, a shaman who was two centuries dead and gone, one of their races’ longest lived wolves in history, who sired River the same year he died of extreme old age. Elder Stormcloud was his name, in a time when wolfkin had use names and not the traditional names of the modern era. Legend had it he had been born in a storm, hence his name. It apparently suited his temperament too, which he then gave to his daughter.
Andromeda was old, yet her age lay on her lithe form delicately, only evident in the serenity in her eyes and the way she moved. Young wolves moved like humans—the older the wolf, the more time spent in their wolf-forms, and the more they moved like the spirit side of their natures. Her hair was nearly white, with a golden sheen over it that flashed in the light, and she was fair, her eyes a light blue. She was grace personified, with a dangerous undertone to her movements that left Kane with the impression she should be armed with a spear or sword and not a teacup. Her wit was as sharp as her fangs, and she routinely left lesser wolves feeling the sting of her words.
Humans would call her beautiful, by their measure of beauty, and she was stunning to wolfkin eyes, even his. He may prefer his own sex, but even he was swayed by her appeal, so magnetic was her presence. He didn’t doubt she could have him if she ever made the effort, and he would let her, if she didn’t leave him so terrified. She would not though, as he couldn’t see her ever having to seduce another wolf. She had plenty of cubs, birthed over her long lifetime, so she lacked not for suitors. She was mate-less, but that hadn’t stopped her from having children. She was a rarity among their kind, a female beta, unmated yet a mother, and a fully recognized Clan Leader. He would be willing to call her a female alpha, one of the mythical creatures from their histories, yet she ruled not out of possession of the gift of command or the Voice—she ruled by skill, love, and a ruthless personality that spared nothing when it came to the protection of her people. The gift of command was an old way of describing the mental dexterity of alphas that let them handle the multiple minds of a pack, their influence over those minds, and the charm they exuded to other wolves. Burke was a Speaker because of the exceptional depth and range of his gift of command. There was no sign of the Voice in her either; so she was pure beta, pure woman, and she was beloved of her people. Her wolves followed her out of respect and love.
And when she was in her wolf-form, there was no creature more beautiful, or deadly. She was the White Wolf, a living legend, a creature as sharp as arctic ice and just as pale, teeth as white as her fur, her eyes the eerie glow of glacial blue. Andromeda was fearsome as a woman and terrifying as a wolf.
“Keep staring, pup, and I’ll send you out in the snow to fetch more firewood.”
Kane jumped and gave her an apologetic smile. Burke snickered, but he shut up when she looked at him, one pale brow raised. It was rude to stare at another wolf; such a behavior often preceded a Challenge. He had no intention of Challenging Andromeda (he’d probably lose, she was scary, his possession of the Voice or not), and he sent his eyes back out the window.
“So Caius thinks they may be in danger, even after their removal from that hell house.” Not a question. Andromeda flicked a finger up to the second level, her eyes cool, her features impassive. There was no reading her. Kane withheld his smile at her audacity to call his Clan Alpha by name and not title. But then she was probably the only one left who could. According to legend, she grew up with him back in the Old World. Gray Shadow was another, but he was gone these fourteen and a half years.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s why he sent us along with them and River, to keep you all safe,” he said, drinking some of his tea when she leveled a glare at his untouched cup. It tasted like wintergreen candy and cinnamon, and he drank some more, letting it warm his bones. “Their captors may make a move on them, since they might be able to identify them.”
He may be a greater alpha, and Heir, but he had no power in this room. She may be a female and a beta, but Andromeda was pure authority. Red Fern had no alpha, lesser or greater, and she ruled it with complete and total dominance. Her wolves followed her without question, and while their numbers may be small compared to other clans, Red Fern had the longest ruling leader of any Clan in the North America, even beating out Caius for that honor. She had a generation on Caius, taking over after the death of Red Fern’s last alpha, centuries earlier. Red Fern was an anomalous Clan; they produced only betas and shamans. No alpha had been born in the Clan in over two hundred years.
She even had the distinction of defeating several alphas who had, over the years, foolishly attempted to usurp her place in the Clan and take over. After the last Challenge and the headless alpha she left on the killing grounds about fifty years earlier, Red Fern and its leader were left in peace. He would not antagonize their hosts and her wrath by acting the Heir. Red Fern may bow before Black Pine, but they were a power to be reckoned with, especially Andromeda. He knew who he was, and so did she, and Kane was content to follow her lead.
“There’s been no activity here in Baxter. Some humans on cross country skiing trips, some hunters we reported to the human authorities, and a couple of wandering idiots. No camping is allowed here in the winter months, not that many humans think to do so, but we send out routine sweeps to make sure. As of yesterday, all outlying cabins were clear. I have a continuous watch on the entrances, and sentries are posted a mile outside all the gates so we have advance warning of approaching humans. The human authorities are aware we hold the park, so as to avoid any chaos akin to what happened here fifteen years ago.” Andromeda paused, and sent him a quick look, one he thought might be tinged with something soft, caring. He blinked, and it was gone. “I thought it prudent to inform the park service here of our existence after the tragedy years ago. They know enough to stay away unless it’s an incident involving only humans, then we bring them in.”
She meant the attempted kidnapping and killing of the wolves here at the gathering, where Gray Shadow and his three grandchildren, along with his son’s mate, all died. Kane still refused to count Luca among the dead, his heart refusing to believe it, even after all these years.
It was an attempt by a private corporation to kidnap shamans, and it took Caius making a few calls and killing Sebastien Remus, the human leader of the company, to avenge the loss. The human had been taken from his home in the night, and deposited at Caius’ feet, and Kane remembered with a heavy heart full of fruitless rage and satisfaction as the man bled to death after his throat was torn out by the grieving Clan Leader.
The human governments of the world were aware that werewolves, the wolfkin, existed
and guarded the information from the wider populations of humans just as the wolves did. It was a secret impossible to keep, considering modern day technology and the sheer number of wolves and humans. There was an uneasy stalemate across species’ lines—the wolves left humans alone as much as possible, and the same for the humans. The few organizations that did know about the wolves were restricted to the upper reaches of power, and while the secret did get out occasionally, it was dealt with ruthlessly. As long as the governments of the world kept their hands off wolfkin, the wolves never turned on the humans in wholesale slaughter. The human numbers were great, and while they could do serious damage with their modern weapons and tactics, they lacked the power of the alphas, and the clans’ greatest defense—the magic of shamans. Humans had no magic, and nothing in their sciences could counter the spirit-magic of the shamans.
Kane long theorized that it was the lure of the shamans’ magic that led to the abduction attempts at the gathering, and they never learned who hired Remus Acquisitions to try it. Gray Shadow’s parting words to Caius confirmed his suspicions. The trail died with Sebastien Remus, and the traitors among the wolves were unknown. In a gathering it wasn’t unusual to have wolves present who weren’t known to all, and there were hundreds of wolves at the gathering almost fifteen years before. The wolves they theorized were involved in the attempt were long gone and were never tracked down. The scents were similar to the wolves involved with the new abductions taking place in the Northeastern States, and Kane wanted to know who was responsible for betraying their own kind and sink his teeth into their necks. His instincts were telling him the same traitors were responsible for all of it.
“Your measures are impressive. I’m going to focus on the lesser known ways to enter Baxter and patrols. My team works well with strange wolves, but I think we know each other well enough to get along without issue.” Kane nodded to her respectfully, and then he remembered the less pleasurable reason for his visit this afternoon.
