by Lola Gabriel
“With all the shit Luther did, we were surprised it didn't happen sooner,” DeGraw pointed out.
“Were they even in the house that night?” Cole asked, his insides torn apart bit by bit from the sharp edges around his heart, making it so much harder to breathe. His breathing became ragged as he watched them with wide eyes and asked the one thing he had not even considered until now. “Are they still alive?”
“No, Cole. They’re not,” DeGraw answered and approached him. “Your father and your mother locked themselves in the basement as soon as they heard the Crescents outside. They didn't want to be saved, and they knew that if they fled with you, the Crescents would find you all again.”
“They sacrificed themselves because they wanted to protect you,” Laswell added. “They wanted all the shit to end, for you boys to be safe.”
“But we split up anyway. I haven't seen any of my brothers since that night,” Cole muttered.
“That was your choice.”
Cole’s jaw clenched for a moment, and he sighed. “So, I’m supposed to thank you for this?”
“Cole, you can do whatever you want with it. It has been yours for a long time, and it’ll be yours for as long as you wish it to be,” DeGraw answered.
As the two men turned away, Cole was suddenly flooded with desperation. “Wait.”
They turned to him again and looked at him expectantly.
“Have you seen them?” Cole asked, his voice cracking. “My brothers?”
“We have. They’re doing just fine,” Laswell said with a smile.
“One last thing before we go, Cole. That little witch you imprinted on,” DeGraw said, and Cole narrowed his eyes at them. “Just be careful. Us wolves and them don’t really get along.”
“I know that, but it wasn't my choice, as you should know. I didn't choose it; it just happened. I know my father would have been pissed with me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s ‘the one’, and I will do everything in my power to keep her safe,” Cole stated.
“I respect that about you, Cole, but keep yourself safe in the process too, alright?” DeGraw requested.
“I will do. Thank you,” Cole whispered and watched as the two men smoothly transitioned into two large white wolves, the same crisp white color as his mother’s fur, and a pang of nostalgia ripped through him. The two wolves gave him a nod before running off into the woods.
Cole heaved a deep sigh and, looking down at the carved box in his hands, he opened it slowly. Much to his surprise, an old necklace made from leather straps was inside, which he recognized immediately. Attached to it was the long fang which had belonged to his grandfather, Skye’s father, and Cole lightly touched it with his index finger. He remembered his mother giving it to him when they arrived in Minnesota for the first time, and she had told him that it would protect him from ‘all the bad things’. Little did he know that she didn't mean it in the sense that it would keep bad people away from him, but it had kept bad emotions away from him. It didn't protect him from others, but from himself. He wore it when he tried to figure out what his purpose was, and when he was unsure about life.
Cole also recalled the last time he wore it. It was shortly after they arrived in Vermont after Kodiak and Wren discovered the abandoned cabin with the Crescent currency inside. Cole was frustrated that he couldn't tell his brothers the real reason why he kept the cabin a secret and also because his brothers were very resentful towards him because they had to move. Again.
Skye took him for a walk by the river, and Cole started to lash out because of his frustrations. When Skye tried to console him, Cole yanked the necklace from his neck, threw it at his mother’s feet and stormed off. He had spent two days in the woods, refusing to go home because he was convinced the family was better off without him. Luther eventually found him and dragged him back home.
Cole scowled at himself and shut the box when he heard Orin and Mash coming up from behind him.
“Is everything okay, buddy?” Mash asked.
Cole turned around and faced them. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s go,” he growled and walked back in the direction they came from without a word.
He didn't feel like talking about it.
Not now.
Not ever.
5
Asra sped up the driveway of her grandmother’s house and switched off the car. When she had gotten the call from her grandmother while she was in the bar with Cole, it didn't come as a surprise, but the words which came out of her grandmother’s mouth were the true shocker, which explained Asra’s abrupt departure.
Asra didn't want to leave the bar, or should she say, she didn't want to leave the bar without Cole, but the frantic tone of her grandmother’s voice had her rushing to her house.
She walked up the porch steps and unlocked the front door with her key. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“Grandma?” she called out and rushed into the kitchen, but there was no one there. Asra continued through the house until she found her grandmother, with her mother, in the conservatory, seeming much calmer than when she had spoken to her.
Her grandmother turned to her and Asra sighed. Asra immediately recognized the expression on her face and braced herself.
“What’s going on?” Asra asked as she approached them.
“You smell like smoke,” her grandmother pointed out, “and alcohol.”
“I was at a bar if you must know,” Asra said, not feeling the need to lie anymore.
Her mother and grandmother looked at her in utter disbelief, but she didn't really care. It was true what Cole had told her. Her grandmother would only dictate her life if she allowed her to. She didn't want to be the rebellious granddaughter and daughter, but she needed to take control of her life for a change.
“We’ll get to that later,” her grandmother said and began pacing along the tiles. “Your mother told me you were asking about the Wyldes.”
“Yes, I did, and Mom completely freaked out about it,” Asra answered and snuck a peek at her mother. “I’d still like to know why.”
“Have a seat, Asra,” her mother said.
“No, I’m fine right here, thank you,” Asra answered and crossed her arms.
Her mother sighed and exchanged glances with her grandmother briefly.
“Do you remember the tales I told you about the Wild Ones, Asra?”
“Yes, you told it to me every night since I was four,” Asra answered, and within an instant, her eyes widened. “The Wild Ones are the Wyldes?”
Her grandmother nodded, and Asra ran her fingers through her hair. “You want to tell me that he... he’s... he’s a wolf?”
“Yes, honey. All the Wyldes are wolf shifters.”
“That is not possible. There’s no such thing. You told me it was a story!” Asra glared accusingly at her grandmother.
“It is a story, dear, but you know all our stories are based on fact.”
“So great-grandma Lexi had a dragon as a pet, and great-great-grandma Bridget had familiars running around Salem?”
“My mother was senile, but she wasn't a liar,” her grandmother said defensively. “As for Bridget—”
“Stop, okay,” Asra said and raised her hands. “So, they’re wolves. Okay. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Why did you ask about them in the first place?” her grandmother asked.
“No, reason,” Asra muttered irately.
“Asra,” her grandmother warned.
“I met Cole today,” she answered.
“What?” the two women gasped.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Asra sighed. “He’s fine. He was really nice.”
“That is exactly what they want you to believe,” her grandmother said.
Asra cocked her head to the side and asked, “What did they do to you?”
“It’s not what they did to me, but what they did to the coven. Their foolish actions caused many of us to be hunted down like animals and murdered without reason or cause.
They were captured by the humans and hanged. Some of them were pressed to death. A savage way to die. An unnecessary tragedy, which could have been prevented if those savages knew how to act, and to respect life.”
“Grandma, you’re being so dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” her grandmother asked. “Am I being dramatic because I lost members of my family? Am I being dramatic because I cared for all of them? Am I dramatic for not wanting other members of my coven to perish at the hands of those monsters?”
“He’s not a monster,” Asra shrugged. “He’s a nice guy. Misunderstood, but nice.”
“He’s a wolf, Asra,” her mother said and slowly approached her. “Our kind isn't safe with them around. They know what we are; they can smell us. That’s why we have the protection spell around our houses.”
“They’re not to protect us from the humans?” Asra asked and narrowed her eyes when her mother nodded. “You lied to me, though.”
“We’re trying to protect you, Azzie.”
“You don’t protect someone from something by lying about the problem or the threat. The more you know of something that’s considered dangerous, the better prepared you will be. This crap about wanting to protect me is not flying. Besides, if he knew what I was, why didn't he run away or say something? Why am I still alive then?” Asra glared at her mother and grandmother, who did not respond at all.”
“Was he at the bar?” her mother asked.
“Yes, but...”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Azzie,” her mother said.
“I’m not playing anything, Mom. I just met him,” Asra explained.
“Is that it?” her grandmother asked. “You didn't talk to him, touch him?”
Asra opened her mouth to respond, but she hesitated.
“I knew it,” her grandmother sighed. “Asra, do you even know the implications of being in the same room as those wolves?”
“Right now, I’d rather be talking to him than to you!” Asra said furiously and stomped out of the conservatory.
“Asra, wait!” her mother called after her, but Asra didn't stop walking. It was only when she reached for the front door that her mother raised her hand in the air, magically securing the door to the frame.
“Mom, let me out!” Asra exclaimed as she whirled around angrily, her eyes flaming like two orbs of molten lava. Pure anger ran through her veins, and she was on the verge of exploding into flames.
“Asra, please listen to me.” Her mother approached her with caution, not wanting to upset her any further. When Asra’s eyes glowed like they were doing right at that moment, it wasn't wise to piss her off any more than she already was.
Since Asra was born under a fire sign, she could be very hot-headed at times, and her temper was uncontrollable, like a wildfire, when she was angry. There was very little her mother or anyone could do to stop her from losing her grip on her temper, and normally she had to work to calm herself down.
Her mother held her hands up in defeat, still slowly approaching her. “Deep breaths, Asra. You don’t want a repeat of what happened last time.”
The memory of the fire on the lake a few years ago reminded Asra of her true power, and she took a few deep breaths. As her anger started to melt away, her eyes returned to normal, which made her mother feel much more at ease.
“I’m good now,” Asra said in a low tone, and her shoulders eased.
“I’m glad to hear that,” her mother said with a breath of relief.
“I have to go. I don’t really know how to process this,” Asra said.
“I’m here if you want to talk,” her mother offered.
“I know, I think I just have to deal with this on my own,” Asra answered.
“Deal with what? Him being a wolf, or is there something else?” her mother inquired.
“There’s nothing else, Mom.”
“Azzie, please promise me that you’ll stay away from him,” her mother pleaded.
Asra nodded wordlessly. “Fine. I’ll stay away from him,” she huffed.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, honey, I just don’t want you to get hurt. Those Wyldes are dangerous, especially for us.”
“Is Grandma telling the truth about how they got coven members killed?”
“They were the reason behind it, yes.”
“So, they didn't actually kill them?” Asra asked.
“The one is not better than the other,” her mother answered vaguely.
Asra scowled, as she despised when her mother answered her questions in such a manner, and she turned away. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” her mother said and walked up to her, taking her hand. “If you want,” she said, lowering her voice significantly, “there is a whole section on them at the very back of your grimoire.”
“I don’t think so. Those pages are blank.”
“Just use the opening incantation, and the words will appear.”
Asra nodded and left her grandmother’s house.
A million thoughts ran through her mind as she drove home. Luckily it was a short drive to her house, and once she was inside, she closed the curtains, entered the kitchen where her grimoire still lay on the counter and opened it to the first blank pages.
She rolled her shoulders, relaxing them completely, and said in a low voice, “Thaim tholach thechembaor theagen pentatheschi boti, sauamboch mer cheozaph ossal bymbel pouo toutho oirerei arnoch.”
The grimoire vibrated, the intensity increasing with every second that passed until finally, the words appeared on the pages, and Asra gasped in wonder.
“That was amazing,” she whispered. What was even more amazing to her was that she managed to remember that entire incantation. She started to read about the history of the clan way back in Italy, where Cole and his four brothers were born. It spoke a lot about his father, Luther, who was the Alpha of the pack in Minnesota, and also how they traveled around from place to place over the span of five centuries.
“He sure looks good for being almost six hundred years old,” she mumbled absentmindedly.
She spent the rest of the evening reading through the information, not shocked about what she read, simply unsettled because her family never let on that wolf shifters were actually real.
Asra went to bed a short while after midnight, with a brain consumed with so much information that it felt as though it would explode.
A few days later, she was at work, trying out a new recipe for a delicious dessert. Asra loved to experiment with flavors and textures and was completely in her element when her boss told her to try a few new things. If they were tasty enough, the dishes would be added to the menu, and Asra would get a big, fat raise.
As she whipped the cream, Ben, who her mother had previously set her up with, walked over and stood beside her.
“Trying something new again?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she answered and flashed him a smile.
Truthfully, Ben wasn't a bad-looking guy; in fact, he was gorgeous. He had dark brown hair and warm brown eyes, reminding her of dark chocolate mousse. He was sweet and funny, and he was an amazing chef. He just wasn't what she was looking for.
Truth be told, he wasn't Cole.
She still hadn't called him, or sent him a message, and she knew he'd probably be pissed at her for that, but she still couldn’t really wrap her head around the fact that he was a wolf, or that his family, specifically his father, did the horrible things described in the grimoire.
Asra knew well that just because his father was a bad guy didn't mean that he was one as well, but there was something unsettling about their family.
The fact that Cole was a wolf didn't exactly bother her the way she thought it would. Secretly she found it rather hot, but would never tell anyone—but reading about what his father did, putting his own family at risk as well, was reckless and irresponsible to Asra.
Another unsettling thing was the section on imprinting. It was written that there was one mate for every wolf, regardless of
whether they were human or wolf, and both parties experienced an overwhelming flood of desire, feelings, and emotions when they met their mate for the first time. Imprinting was for life, but there were several instances recorded where a wolf could re-imprint on someone new because of their original mate’s death. It wasn’t like a crush or even love. It was insanely intense and more often than not impaired one’s ability to be selfish. Everything revolved around their mate, and their mates' safety and happiness.
There were several notes in the book written by others—indicated by different handwriting—where imprinting was described by different people, wolves and humans, and it fascinated Asra to no end.
“Asra?”
Asra blinked as she heard Ben’s voice beside her and she realized she was still whipping the cream in the kitchen. For a moment she felt as though she was back inside her kitchen, reading about all things wolf.
“Yes?” she quickly responded and glanced at him.
“Where did you go?” Ben asked with a chuckle.
“Just home. I had a long weekend. My grandmother was being particularly annoying,” she sighed.
“More than usual?” he asked.
“Way more,” she answered and scooped the whipped cream out of the bowl and into the small, square-shaped glass dessert bowls.
“That looks amazing,” Ben said. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“Yeah, I ground up a few Columbian beans and mixed it into the batter,” Asra nodded.
“How do you stay so inspired?” he asked, clearly envious of her creativity when it came to experimenting with flavors.
“When my grandmother isn't trying to fix me up with another ‘suitable’ mate who turns out to be yet another mismatch, she can be a pretty amazing cook herself. Also experimenting with everything,” she answered and glanced at his face.
Ben seemed taken aback by her comment, and it was only then when she realized exactly what she said. “I am so sorry. I didn't mean you.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m not your type, you made that part clear,” Ben said wryly, “but for future reference, what exactly is your type?”
