State of Independence

by Sherry L. Brown

  I’m waking up to my name, seizing all that I didn’t have before. He’s a leader; get-in-line and follow-my-orders type. So far, that hasn’t been an issue.

  Is my gift of peace and stability at stake? My chance gone?

  Chapter 7

  “Alright, you remember?” Marc asks me.

  “Yes. Clutch. Shift down to first. Slowly release it while turning the throttle.” I repeat the instructions back to Marc.

  He nods, and steps back.

  I shift, twist the throttle while releasing the clutch. I’m riding!

  The elation takes me two full loops around the house. Gotta love dirt bikes. This one handles the grass like smooth pavement. I even kick it up into second gear on the second loop, and come to a stop easily in front of Marc at the end.

  He laughs. “That’s great. You ready to give it a whirl down the drive?”

  “Hells yes.” I take off without waiting for more instruction. It feels good, natural, like the bike is an extension of me. In the long drive, I’m able to get up to third before having to downshift and slow for the turnaround at the end.

  I make the turn, get back into third before slowing back down again.

  “I’m ready to get on the road.” I lift the visor up as I tell Marc.

  “Hmm.” He rubs his chin back and forth.

  “It’s a good day for it.” I make the argument. It’s a clear, sunny, albeit cold, October day.

  “Let me go get my Harley, so I can ride behind you. Just a couple miles. Dinner’s in thirty minutes. And it smells like Gretchen’s got something Italian cooking in there.”

  I roll my eyes. Typical of Marc to be ruled by carbs.

  I get turned around while waiting for him to bring his Harley from the garage.

  When he backs out of the garage, he gives me the go ahead wave and I take off.

  It’s an exhilarating ride, even if I never get above fifty miles per hour.

  I pull into the garage, and Marc pulls in behind me, shutting off his bike as I climb off mine.

  I set my helmet onto the workbench that holds all our tools. Being that that the garage is just off the big kitchen, the smell of garlic and Italian spices is filling the space, overpowering even the smells of oil and exhaust. It makes me think of home.

  This is home.

  “Dad says your to be officially brought into the pack next week.” Marc undoes the chin strap of his own helmet, sliding it off his head, then hanging it from the handlebars of his bike.

  “Yeah.” I confirm for him, unzipping my leather jacket and laying it over the seat of the dirt bike.

  “You’ll always be pack to me, whether it’s official or not.” Marc tugs affectionately on the end of my braid.

  “Gee. Thanks.” I punch him in the shoulder. “Let’s go get some food, smells like Gretchen’s cooked up a feast.”

  And indeed, when I open the door to go inside, the smells are doubled. I inhale, filling my lungs with warmth and comfort.

  I ignore the pinch on my low right shoulder.

  Gretchen is at the oven, sliding garlic bread from its hot depths. She’s a kind of de facto housekeeper-slash-chef here. A staple in the household.

  Her face is flushed, and when she sees me and Marc come in, it lights up with a smile.

  “Oh good. You’re just in time.” She says.

  At the bar, Grayson leans, tossing cherry tomatoes into a salad. “Enjoy your ride?”

  His words, spoken innocently enough have a tone of...something I can’t identify.

  Is he still mad about the pool thing?

  Thankfully, Marc speaks up before I have to. “Yeah, it was real refreshing, and Indy here is a natural.”

  “Just make sure you go through the full training before you hit the road again.” Grayson’s words are a chastisement meant for Marc, but he eyes me as he says them.

  I have the urge to defend my skills, defend Marc’s training, but I keep the words locked behind my lips.

  If I’m reading Gray right, he’s not happy.

  Adam, Grayson’s beta, comes through the garage door then, interrupting the small staring contest Gray and I are in. He kisses Gretchen on the forehead, tears off a piece of garlic bread and stuffs it in his mouth.

  “The winter rye in the east field is coming up nicely.” Adam remarks unaware of the tension in the room.

  “Hmm...is anyone else expected for dinner?” Gretchen asks now stirring her sauce.

  Marc is rummaging through the refrigerator.

  The entire scene is normal. Except I’m not. Except Gray’s not.

  He’s still looking at me, not even remotely trying to pretend he’s not.

  Whatever Adam answers, it puts Gretchen into action. She’s clinking plates and silverware onto the island, cutting bread and dumping the finished pasta into a large serving bowl.

  “Everything’s ready! Serve yourselves!”

  The call is enough to force me into action, getting behind Marc and Adam to make my bowl of spaghetti and meatballs.

  Gray grabs his own bowl, leaning over my shoulder to sling noodles into it.

  His lips next to my ear, he whispers, “Learning to ride a motorcycle is dangerous, Independence. Take the utmost care every time you get on that bike. Or I won’t allow you to do it.”

  Egotistical alpha. He won’t allow me? I’m no submissive wolf, and I turn with a spoonful of sauce in my hand that I had intended for myself.

  “Nope, no problems here.” I dump it into his bowl, sarcastically serving him.

  At dinner, banter back and forth between Adam and Marc keep the atmosphere light. For my part, I eat in silence wondering at the change in Grayson.

  From nice guy to concerned control freak.

  Chapter 8

  The ritual for being accepted into the pack is explained to me by Gretchen a few days later.

  And tonight that ritual is being carried out.

  I sit nervously in the woods, by myself, naked. I fasted for three days and am as light as a feather as I watch the sunset behind the trees.

  I count to one hundred, then start making my way to the sacred grounds.

  As I do, wolves and men alike filter through the woods after me.

  Grayson’s pack is near a hundred, and I’ve met less than a quarter of those.

  My nerves jumble through my body - a butterfly stomach, muscles twitching in my legs and hands, tight shoulders and a face of tenseness.

  I work to keep my steps light, my face relaxed, my shoulders back. Relaxed and in control.

  There are predators at my back, and I must be strong.

  I stop on the edge of the clearing to the sacred grounds.

  There is a dusting of snow in this small space, the moonlight glinting off it’s white coldness.

  Grayson is standing at the back of the clearing, wearing jeans and no shirt.

  Adam stands behind him to one side, Marc to the other.

  I fight to keep my hands to my side, to not cover myself.

  Wolves are no prudes, and bodies are seen in all states of undress fairly regularly.

  This next part I find harder than I imagined.

  I am to go to Grayson, drop to my knees, and lick his hand and wait for his approval.

  It is an action meant to invoke the spirit of true wolves. A submissive to her alpha.

  In my mind, it is too much like kissing a king’s ring, and the move rankles.

  I must pause too long, gazing at this man that I am about to pledge my allegiance to, because his eyebrow raises, and a small smile dares me to come forward.

  I am there, two feet from him, throwing that dare in his face.

  I am no coward. I am no submissive. And no man shall be alpha to me.

  An echo of pain and fire zings through my shoulder. I remember Grayson’s power from my weakest moments. The electricity of it.

  “Independence.” His eyes bore into my own, and that ice-blue burns me with it’s strength and perusal. There’s so much weight and question and
emotion in the way he says my name.

  I stand, not looking from his eyes.

  The world narrows.

  Who will break first?

  Seconds tick by into minutes. There is unrest among those gathered here with us.

  I can hear it in the shuffle of their feet.

  I’m not sure what is keeping me from supplication.

  Silly stubbornness.

  Grayson’s eyes seem to say, I have fed you, clothed you, provided for you, protected you and slaughtered your enemies and you won’t even give me this?

  No.

  I do the only thing available to me.

  I bend at my waist bowing slightly and take Grayson’s hand lifting it up to my lips.

  Here I hesitate again. Forcing myself to curl my tongue the barest inch on the back of his hand before I let go and step back.

  His eyes are blazing orbs of blue fire.

  The urge to look away is strong, the silence of the collected pack around us palpable.

  “Independence Skollen has come to us without ties to a pack. She has...supplicated herself and made her allegiance known here tonight.” Grayson hesitates enough on the word supplication to let us all know he barely finds my ‘supplication’ acceptable.

  “I find her worthy, and welcome her into the pack with open arms. Now, let’s run!”

  Cheers and excited yips fill the silence at his pronouncement.

  This next part I’d had to practice.

  Transitioning to my wolf. It’d been hard before that dagger went into my shoulder, and it had been excruciating when I experienced a forced shift.

  So for the last four nights, I’d shifted. It still wasn’t the seamless transition I’d seen Justice pull-off, but it was better than the painful, slow change I’d had the first time I became my wolf.

  Paws first, the fingers shaping into toes, black fur sprouting.

  Legs, stomach, chest, tail sprouting too.

  Finally, my face, the elongated snout, the pointed ears, and perhaps the most painful, the re-shaping of my very bones- my teeth.

  For me the process takes a full minute to minute and a half. For others, like Justice, maybe seconds.

  But it’s done. My transition and the ritual.

  Grayson stands above me, a man still.

  He bends, coming down to eye-level with me.

  “Don’t think you can go toe-to-toe with me, Independence. There will be repercussions for the stunt you pulled here tonight.”

  He stands and I lope past him.

  He’ll have to catch me first.

  The night is alive with something I’ve never experienced before – running with a pack defined by strength, numbers and camaraderie. Two deer are brought down easily, and I make sure to take a bite as one of the first wolves to do so, establishing myself in the pack.

  After that first bite though, I leave to continue the run. Raw venison is not my thing.

  Crossing a stream, I quench my thirst, and listen to the excited pack around me.

  The yips and playful growls.

  Grayson’s got a close pack here. The closeness is easy to see, easy to feel.

  Chapter 9

  A week later, and the fall weather has turned straight to winter. Grayson has yet to fulfill his words of any retribution.

  He’s been somewhat absent, working on whatever he does when he’s not at home, and I’ve been paying bills, taking messages and filing paperwork like normal.

  Today, I am drafting a letter to his lawyer. He comes in, gives me a brief nod, says my name and sits down at his computer.

  I keep my eyes glued to my own computer screen, but in truth, the text before me is blurring with my lack of concentration.

  “I’d like you to start training, self-defense and boxing lessons, with Marc.” He doesn’t even turn his gaze from the screen in front of him.

  “Oh?” I ask.

  “Yes. In the spring we’ll take up shooting lessons too.”

  His gaze finally turns to me.

  “Ok.”

  He nods once at my acceptance.

  At the door, a familiar face enters. It’s Lockewood O’Connell. A handsome wolf that comes and goes often; we’d sat at the same dinner table a good number of times since I’ve been here. He works for the council of werewolves.

  “Grayson. Good morning. Indy.” Locke greets us as he sits down in one of the leather chairs in front of Grayson’s desk.

  I push back from my own corner of Gray’s desk, intending to leave them to do their business in private.

  “No, Indy, stay. I want you to hear this.” Grayson’s eyes never look to me, never leave Locke’s.

  Locke’s eyes, however, flick to me then back to Gray’s before continuing on with his delivery of the news.

  Locke and I share the same surprise. He wants me to stay here? To be privy to privileged information?

  Locke starts, “The last of the Lyell pack have split. Thaddeus has crossed the border into Nova Scotia with Emily. They’ll be easy to rundown on an island with no escape.”

  My stomach clenches. After all this time, I had not thought of what had become of my old pack. Sure, I knew Justice and a few others had been relocated to the headquarters in Big Sky, but the fact was just that...a fact.

  Out of sight, out of mind. But now my brain is spinning with memories.

  That night. The pain. I close my eyes a second, willing it to go away.

  “And Cade?” Grayson asks.

  “Turned west. I’d guess he’s heading to Montreal. Maybe he hopes to get in with the pack there.”

  “I’ll call Vale.” Grayson returns.

  “Orders the same?” Locke’s face remains a mask of serious coolness.

  Grayson tips back in his chair, and turns contemplative eyes on me.

  “Independence. Originally my plan was to have Emily stand trial for her crime of treachery in an official challenge. She planned with Jonah; She conspired that should she be losing, he was to step in. Found guilty, her punishment would be death.”

  I nod, not at all surprised by such a severe punishment. What I am surprised about? There is no anger within me. No flash of rage, no fury, nothing. I was violently stabbed, brought to the edge of death, and I have no feelings towards the guilty party. I don’t care what happens to Emily, her boyfriend, Jonah, or her brothers, Thaddeus and Cade.

  Grayson and Locke are both looking at me. Waiting.

  I clear my throat. “Rick is dead?” It is perhaps the only vital piece of information I need.

  Grayson’s chin dips once in the affirmative.

  He doesn’t give details, and I see in his eyes a weight.

  I did it. I did it to protect you. Is what they seem to say.

  He wants me to understand. What - I’m not exactly sure - but in this moment there are unspoken things, loyal vows, and shifted burdens that I feel too young to grasp.

  In this moment, I want to be older.

  I want to be everything Grayson believes I am.

  “Let Emily and Thaddeus live as free and lone wolves. Cade too. Or if he finds a pack willing to accept him…” I shrug my shoulders up and let them drop.

  I could probably demand her death. Could probably demand to be her executioner. But as a lone female wolf? Emily’s days will be a torture unto themselves. Surviving, fighting, and should she find peace...well, then good for her.

  “She gives mercy.” Grayson presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows in mock astonishment.

  Did he want me to call for all their heads?

  “The trackers are all still active?” He asks Locke.

  Locke nods.

  “Then it’s decided. We’ll pull back and do checks only when required. I’ll let Vale know what’s bordering his territory, what’s heading his way, and he can decide if any action should be taken for the protection of his pack.”

  Locke nods again, and I get the distinct impression that he only verbalizes when absolutely necessary.

  “Any developmen
ts on Glory?” Grayson drums his fingers on his desktop.

  Locke slashes his head in the negative.

  “Alright. You down for a match today? Eric said you’re getting rusty.”

  I sit in silence as their conversation winds up. No news on Glory.

  I have a gut feeling...she’ll be gone a while. Not because she’s in danger, but because she’s on the hunt for herself. She’s been gone five months already.

  Something in my soul knows she can take care of herself. She’s a survivor.

  And survivor’s don’t give up.

  “Indy, will you send an email to Greg about wrapping up the transfer of the properties on park street, see if he needs any paperwork from us?” Grayson asks as Locke leaves the room.

  I nod, “Of course.”

  Grayson stands then, walking into my space and leaning his hip against the corner of desk I occupy.

  “I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, Indy. I want you to learn all that is involved with running a pack.”

  His blue eyes are solemn and again I wish I had the capacity to understand what he is trying to tell me. He pushes off the edge of the desk and walks out the door.

  Chapter 10

  It’s the first ride of spring. I’ve got long johns and three layers on under my leather jacket.

  Today is the day I get to really ride my new bike. It’s a second hand Kawasaki, but a real street bike. I’d near-drained my bank account, and all the money I’d made so far being Grayson’s assistant on it. But it is mine.

  An upgrade from Marc’s dirt bike, I found it through a local ad in the paper, and we trailered it home two months ago when there was still snow on the ground.

  Now, as I listen throw my leg over the seat, Marc and I are taking it for a real Saturday ride. All the way to another town. Sixty miles one way.

  Under clear cloudless skies, I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant we decided upon as our destination for this inaugural run.