Page 19

Little Fox

PERCHED ON THE flat wooden top of the balcony guard, my tail swishing back and forth, I cast a discerning gaze on the scene below. My lips tug up on one side as I watch my mate, my alpha, X-Wolf, being who he’s meant to be in this moment, a commanding force with a one-pointed focus: Kill thine enemies. He’s not questioning the decisions he’s made or the actions he needs to take. No. He is holding true to his word. He offered these wolves options. He told them the consequences of denying his demands should they stay on pack lands, and yet they defied him, believing either his words were empty threats or that he didn’t possess the strength to follow through. They questioned his honor and his mettle.

Seeing the bodily destruction, hearing their agonizing cries of pain, and feeling the energetic drain of their life forces leaving this earthly existence, my heart aches. I wish they hadn’t questioned him. As a royal, I feel the pull to protect all shifters as if they are mine, but I am not a god. Their choices are theirs to make. Their will is theirs, and they are free to do as they wish. If they choose the path of war, the path of violence, and the path that leads them away from the Divine, then I must do what I can to protect who and what matters to me. I must protect my mates and those who stand with them. I must protect the force that is at the core of our sacred existence, the Divine. I must show the strength of my faith in the powers of our creation. I will both aid and protect those who believe in the Divine. I will not seek out opposition, but I will not stand idle in the face of it either. These wolves have shown me their true selves. Whether you’re a fox or a frog, one thing is certain: The scorpion will sting either regardless of its promises. Do not keep yourself blind when one has shown their true nature. I give my head a little shake, trying to dislodge these heavy thoughts weighing on me like a— well, damn , like a crown.

The front doors fly open, and a blast of cold air whips through the hall, pushing away the red smoke and exposing more wolves joining the battle. Inhaling and tasting the fresh air, the fur along my spine stands on end, and my hackles rise. My gut, my instincts, tell me to pay attention. I take another steadying inhale and focus on the pool of royal energy inside me, heating it up and thinning it out until it disperses from me in undetectable waves, seeking out the frequency range I’ve marked as wolf-shifter. It works like radar, transmitting a specific pulse or frequency that will be reflected back to me if wolf-shifters are present, letting me know each one’s distance and direction from my position as blips in the energetic field. And I feel them. I feel the pings and tings of their presence on my low-level exploratory waves. I grind my molars in aggravation, sensing approximately a dozen wolf-shifters, scattered around the building. They’re holding their positions far enough away. I assume they’re in the woods, waiting for the opportunity to strike, to let their presence be known and run us over when we least expect it.

My upper lip pulls back to my gums as I recognize the frequency of X-Wolf’s alpha waves, his energetic signature coming from the wolves he’s connected with and allowed to stay on his lands. Some he’s even accepted into his pack, seeing potential in them, however small, holding onto hope that they’d be willing to at least question what they were taught and be open to alternate views.

It’s more than a slap to the face—it’s a bite on the hand extended in good faith. Knowing what I must do, I think of my options. There is a cupola that provides access to the roof, not only serving as a good lookout but also offering a place of relative safety. Wolves would have a hard time accessing it, especially in wolf form. And I need a sense of security in my surroundings, a bunker to work from, because what I plan on doing will take intense mental concentration, immersing myself in my royal power. A sly smile slices across my lips at the thought, and Wilhelmina adds a cackling, Wah-ha-ha-ha!

With a sense of eagerness, I gaze around the hall and up at the ceiling, searching for access to the cupola. I follow the wooden beams of the arched ceiling, and my claws protract in readiness as I map my route. Wilhelmina follows my gaze, my plan. She arches a brow and expels an... I’m going to call it an “impressed” laugh.

The corners of my mouth curl up in answer, and I focus on the closest joint or truss or crossbeam or— Whatever, I’m not an architect. Pushing my weight into my hind legs and compressing my muscles, my eyes zoom in on where I want to land, my focus so intent I can almost feel the roughened timber of the beam under my paws. Inhaling and envisioning myself filling up with air like a balloon, on the exhale I vault from my perch, soaring through the air with my forelegs extended. When I’m close enough, my claws snatch onto the corner where several of the beams are attached with iron plates. After a few graceful swings of my back legs, I’m exactly where I wanted to be.

Wilhelmina releases a snarky scoff, and I arch a brow at her. Graceful? she questions. Really more like hanging by the tips of your claws and frantically kicking the air with your hind legs.

Perception is reality, Wilhemina , I retort, climbing my way toward the center until I’m positioned on an open section of the crossbeam, just to the side of the sloping top beam of the center truss. Again, the terms may be inaccurate, but I do know they are close... I think. Somewhat. The technical names are unimportant, especially when I’m facing the remaining half dozen or so I need to jump to in order to make it to the one below the cupola.

Steadying my breath and readying my body and mind, I bring forth my inner Mr. Miyagi. My lips cut into a wry grin, and I sing to myself, You’re the best around, nothing’s gonna ever keep you down . A little shake of my booty further lightens my mood and my body as I retract back onto my heels and then spring forward, eyes on the beam ahead of me. Landing effortlessly, I hone in my gaze on where I need to land next. I use the momentum, both the physical and the spiritual, and simply continue on my way, leaping and landing over and over again. Never looking down, never stopping, just having fun with the game, and testing my skills, trusting my body to do what needs to be done.

I quickly make it to the middle beam and take a moment to catch my breath and plan my next move. In my mind, I hear the jingling of coins and the eight-bit beeping of points as if I just completed a major obstacle in a video game. And wouldn’t you know, there’s a bonus treasure chest for flare! Wilhelmina releases a chuffing chuckle, more amused at the similarities in how we think than anything else.

I crane my head back and look at my next obstacle. My gaze focuses on the large square opening, noting that the planks of wood are horizontal instead of vertical.

Um , Wilhelmina mutters, her voice a little raspy. Did you, um, perhaps notice the distance we need to jump? The vertical distance? This is straight up. She blows out a breath. And there’s not much to hold on to.

I trail my eyes to the side, noting the strut, or whatever it’s called—the piece of wood that slopes from the beam I’m on—up to the peak, which is much closer to the bottom of the cupola. This is what we have to do , I assert, coming up on all fours and carefully swishing my fluffy tail from side to side, aiding my balance like a trapeze artist holding a horizontal pole while walking across a tight rope. So, we will do it , I add, spreading my paw out over the narrow top of the sloping piece of wood, letting my toes press against the sides. With my eyes focused on the peak, I scale to the top with the grace and confidence of the above-mentioned trapeze artist.

Definitely got the confidence , Wilhelmina mutters under her breath with a smartass lilt to her voice.

I ignore her and gaze at the cupola from just below the peak. The cool breeze from the opened hinge windows fluffs up my fur, evidence of how close I am to my goal. The opening is bigger than I thought, wider, and the angle I’m at has me crouching down. I’ll need to jump to the opposite side of the cupola. The trim at the bottom will provide a ledge for my back paws as I scale the interior planks that support the window above and then slip out the opening. Simple.

Right, simple . Wilhelmina affirms with a slight hitch to her voice. My heart beats a rapid pace as adrenaline continues to race through my veins. Peering over my shoulder and looking at what I’ve just accomplished, the evidence of my superior strength and agility, I turn back around and fill myself with that buoying assurance. I let myself believe in my own awesomeness and set my eyes on the wooden slats in front of me. I visualize myself launching into the air like a flying squirrel catching the breeze just before my claws hook into one of the seams and my back paws balance effortlessly on the thin bottom ledge. With the visualization solidified and a smile on my cute little face, I inhale, and on the exhale, I fly through the air, spreading out my body and—

SPLAT.

A coughing squeak slips through my grimacing lips as the air is knocked clear out of me. My front paws hastily scratch and claw at the wooden slats, my hind legs doing the same while my eyes widen in shock and, yes, a little bit of fear—fear of falling the thirty or so feet to land solidly in the middle of the bloody battle happening below. My front claws find purchase, and I dig them in, ignoring the immediate burning from the stress of holding the weight of my entire body on three little hardened pieces of keratin. Gritting my teeth, I reach up with my other front paw while I tuck my back legs under and—

I feel the ripping. I hear the tearing. My back paws find the ledge just as two of my claws detach from my paw, leaving them in the seam between the planks.

O kay, okay, you can do this. It’s a little awkward, but you’ve got this! Wilhelmina assures me, and I grunt in agreement.

I push off my back paws and reach my other foreleg up, my paw cresting over the ledge of the window, and I manage to hook onto the outer edge. Pressing down, I release the lone claw hanging on with a hiss of pain and bring my bloodied paw up to help my other one as my back claws continue to scrape and crawl their way up the short wall. With a little more effort, I squirm and wriggle my body until I’m under the opening. Plopping over the ledge, I roll several times before coming to a stop in repose on the slate roof. I take a minute to rest sprawled out on my back, panting with a racing heart, blood quickly clotting where the two claws used to be.

You did it! Wilhelmina cheers, then adds, I mean it was totally ugly. Like a floundering drunk trying to do cartwheels. But you did it. I scoff a dry laugh and roll my eyes before flipping myself around and taking up position in the shadows of the cupola.

The cold night air whirls around me, fluffing up my fur and making my eyes water while I survey the area. Thin wisps of clouds race across the sky, casting long shadows over the starlit forest that surrounds the pack house, only the gravel parking lot and the ceremonial circle offering any clear views of the land around us. Not that sight is the only way for me to take in my surroundings. Those wolves that pinged my royal radar—yeah, that’s what I’m going to call it—are creeping closer and begin barking and howling.

Feeling the physical state of my mates, I decide to send out a message to Wolf-E, his pulse and breathing the most even. I alert him to close the front doors and that I’ll handle the wolves out here. He doesn’t question the order or my confidence in my abilities—he simply confirms receipt of the request. Then I let my gaze blur and begin taking long inhales and exhales, calming my breath, settling my heart, and bringing my attention inward, readying myself to access the powers I have—to do what I can for those I love.

In my mind, I enter the new salon added to the Plotting Den, and I head to the wardrobe. In a flash, I’ve got my black tactile vest on along with my military hat that has holes for my ears and my thick black-rimmed glasses. The change in uniform helps me prepare for the mental battle I’m about to launch on those coming for my mates. Placing my paws on the plush, oversized dark-blue velvet ottoman, I push it to the side, uncovering the hidden trapdoor. What the fuck is that? Wilhelmina blurts out with surprise pitching her voice.

Oh, just something Biscotti uncovered for me , I breezily answer before pressing a button and watching the trapdoor lift open. Stepping down the metal stairs, the dim blue sensor lights turn on as I go, revealing a hidden chamber I’ve labeled the Royal Grotto. Located a few steps from the bottom of the stairs is Central Command, where several flat screens, displaying information on the surrounding environment and life energies, hang above the rounded black desk that holds levers, buttons, and keyboards. In the center of it all sits a black leather captain’s chair, which I launch myself into and begin swiveling around, taking in the data being broadcast.

I first focus on the primary screen containing up-to-date information on my mates’ health. All are alive and fighting. An orange dot lights up over the schematic of Blondie. Pressing the Mate button on the arm of my chair, I click twice until a three-dimensional image of Blondie fills the main screen. Before Wilhelmina can ask, I comment, No, I did not know I had the ability to assess their health at this depth before the assault. But I have been diligently practicing and experimenting with it since. She bobs her head and releases a long exhale in response.

The graphic outline of Blondie spins around, showing several areas lighting up with orange dots indicating he’s received numerous gashes and cuts. None are near any major arteries, and none of them are red, so the wounds aren’t too deep, and there are no broken bones. The absence of purple light is a relief, confirming no toxins have been detected. Clicking back until the main screen displays the summary of all my mates, I do note that X-Wolf’s and Blondie’s testosterone and adrenaline are slowly creeping to critical levels that will need to be managed once the fight is over. I bite my lower lip, and a purr ripples through my chest at the thought. Wilhelmina sends me a questioning look, which I just smirk at. She does get to have all the fun. My fur prickles, and my tongue darts out to lick my lips as I see how Wolf-E is managing, his head clear of any hormonal cloudiness and his heartbeat steady. His control over his body is such a turn-on.

Spinning around to my left, I push my glasses up and lean forward, reading the data provided on another screen, this one showing the wolves connected with X-Wolf that were present at the pack house. All seem to be alive, some more injured than others, in particular Shelly’s wolf, who I’ve yet to meet, and Sutherland’s. Both have sustained broken bones and enough damage to hinder their effectiveness.

Glancing back at the main screen, I note that X-Wolf is currently deep in battle, so I link up with Luna Ophelia’s wolf. She startles slightly at my unannounced and perhaps surprising mental intrusion. Understandable—I haven’t let anyone know about this ability but rather focused on collecting the energy signatures of each of the wolves linked to X-Wolf and then storing the information for future use... like right now.

Each shifter’s energy is like a specific radio station within a certain range based on their shifter form. For example, let’s say all wolf-shifters emit a frequency between 94.3 hertz and 98.9 hertz, meaning each one exists within that range. To connect to them individually, a finer receiver is needed, in particular a royal or, for wolf-shifters, an alpha. That means someone who can differentiate between 94.370 hertz and 94.371 hertz. I know, this is a lot of information, but as I said earlier, I find it fascinating.

Yeah, because it’s about you , Wilhelmina mutters under her breath. I don’t argue.

Now, normally I’d need to connect to each shifter individually in order to tune in with this level of accuracy. But because of my bond to X-Wolf, I can connect with little effort. The wolves who’ve yet to accept him as theirs will be a little trickier but not by much, I think. We’ll see.

Wilhelmina wonders, How? How did you learn all this? Without thinking, I turn slightly in my chair to gaze under the stairs at the back wall of the Royal Grotto, where books and journals are housed on shelves behind glass doors. A pang of both love and loss lashes across my heart, and my eyes burn. Momma and Papa left them for us , I reply, swallowing a clogged breath. But they were hidden. Only once the royal switch was flipped did the room appear, and the books with them.

I’m well aware what I’m explaining is just thoughts, knowledge, and memories being released, but for us shifters who exist in mental space more often than not, we need to create a landscape, a world within. I needed a way to organize all the information, a way to remember and store it all so I could pull from and apply it with ease. Plus, a secret Royal Grotto hidden below the salon portion of the Plotting Den, housing Central Command with all the gadgets? How could I not?

Wilhelmina’s attention catches on the section where the glass is tinted and a sign with RESTRICTED in bold red block letters hangs on it. I nod. Yes, there’s more available. But we haven’t found the key or the switch needed to unlock them . She nods but arches a brow at the scratches and scuff marks on the glass doors. Shimmying up higher in my seat, I repeat, As I said, we need a key. She snorts a laugh of understanding because she would’ve done the same, and continues to take in the space, stilling on the posters I’ve put up around the room. I hitch a shoulder. You’ve got your heavy metal, and I’ve got Tupac, NWA, Dr. Dre, and Snoop .

Then I focus back on the task at hand, informing Luna Ophelia of the health status of the two most injured wolves. She calmly listens, and I feel her attention lock on those I’ve mentioned, determining how best to help her and her son’s pack. Her resolve and determination to take action are strong enough that I feel it through the connection, unrolling over her like chainmail. With a curt nod of thanks, she launches into the fight to save her wolves. Luna. She is a true luna.

Pressing a button on the armrest, I swing around to view the screen on my right. A little less than a dozen yellow dots blink in and out, indicating the energy signatures of the wolves making their way toward the pack house. They’ve been howling and barking like they’re ready to fight, ready to battle. Yet none of them are approaching with any speed, all of them proceeding through the forest as if they’re waiting for something. I can only assume they’re waiting for some sort of signal or for one of them to take the lead, to pick up the pace and charge. Squinting at the dots, I release a short huff. None of them are an alpha, and wolf-shifters are born with a pack mentality. No alpha, no leader, no one to follow.

Sitting up taller in my seat, I push the red lever on my left armrest forward. The sound of a seal breaking, and the whoosh of air being sucked up fills the room as a section of the metaled ceiling slides open, and a levitating steel tray containing glowing green energy descends before me. With a snap of my fingers, the sound system turns on. The smooth beats of “ Nuthin’ But a ‘G’ Thang ” steadies my nerves, and my head bobs back and forth, gettin’ ready to make an entrance .

Taking a significant amount of my royal energy from the pool, I begin twirling, flipping, spreading, and swirling it like I’m pulling and working with taffy. When it’s stretched and gooey, I add some of my own energy—literal caloric energy—to heat it up by raising my body temperature. Once it’s more syrup than taffy, I grab the long steel straw hanging with several other energy tools from the hole in the ceiling. I inhale several large gulps of air, and when my lungs are completely full, I bring the straw to my mouth and slowly blow into the hot mixture, aerating the syrup, and lightening it. Soon, with the additional heat and air, the syrup turns to bubbles of glowing green energy with a hard thin shell, as if made from syrupy sugar water that’s hardened.

A wave of dizziness washes over me, and my body temperature fluctuates, dropping a few degrees, and the bubbles begin to sink. Digging my claws in and screwing my snout up in determination, I raise my temperature through a force of will, and the bubbles rise once more. I set my inner thermostat at the elevated temperature and press the hatch button located on the desk. A whirring sounds as the ceiling above the main screen retracts like a sunroof. With one final inhale, I expand my ribs and diaphragm as much as I can, and on the exhale, I send the effervescent energy bubbles out through the hatch and watch them appear on the screen to my right, guiding them along my royal radar waves toward the approaching wolves.

Needles of nervous excitement poke at my insides because I’ve never actually done this. It’s mostly been theory paired with extensive visualizations and what I’ve learned through observing Biscotti and X-Wolf working their energies in similar ways. But both Wilhelmina and I are experiential learners. I’m confident any mistakes made will come as painful lessons, ensuring I do not repeat them again . Like getting a broken nose from Jimmy, because I got distracted by Marcus pantsing Jake and dropped my guard , Wilhelmina affirms with a nod of understanding.

I softly smile, loving my girl. Just like that.

Keeping my eyes on the screen, I watch tiny bubbles of green energy float along my energetic field like a swarm of germs—no, microscopic bees; I like that analogy better—toward the yellow dots. My mouth opens with my panting breath, and my ears heat up as my body tries to regulate the changes I’ve temporarily made to our internal thermostat. Once the bubbles reach their targets, I feel a pull in my chest as the wolves unknowingly inhale the energetic bees that are mine. Please note, that if Biscotti were explaining what I’m doing, I’m sure he’d explain it differently. But the process is the same. My energy is infiltrating theirs, and once inside, it sticks to their shifter’s energy like a flea on a dog but in their brain. I hold still and keep my breath even, panting but rhythmic, not wanting to alert them to my presence. Not until I’ve reached them all.

Wilhelmina tries to pull my attention to some alarms going off just outside the Royal Grotto, but I can’t afford the break in concentration nor can I do anything to shut them off, not without losing everything I’ve been working on. Pawing around I find the volume knob on our connection and turn it down to just above muted. Whatever’s happening we’ll heal. We’re in my form, in which the healing program is always running in the background.

I’ve linked with almost all of the wolves, two of which seem to burn brighter, calling to me and I feel their awareness of my presence, pulling me to them, as if their energies recognize mine. Trusting the Divine, trusting in what some may call The Law of Attraction I don’t pull back, but rather let our energies mingle, communicate, and connect. Let our energies decide what this means and who we are to each other.

The sound of a sizzling shot being fired breaks through the smooth nineties rap, and the hazy background between my mental picture and the physical world brightens on one side with the light of a flare exploding in the night sky. I don’t look up from my mental screen. I don’t dare give it too much attention.

It soon becomes clear that was the signal, what these wolves were waiting for, as their yellow dots begin to speed across the screen toward the pack house—except for the two whose energies are still weaving with mine. I note more of my bubbles have been pulled into the interaction. Not wanting to end or disrupt the process, I look for other options. On the right side of the desk, I find the Emergency Surplus Energy lever. The clear plastic shield covering the lever and the labeling of it as EMERGENCY does little to deter to me because I will not fail my mates, and I will not cause harm to these two wolves that I’ve unknowingly activated... something with. A frustrated growl rumbles through my chest. Maybe if all the books were available, I’d know exactly what was going on. I do hear the squeak of concern from Wilhelmina but ignore her and the fact that she’s close to muted, meaning that squeak must be more like a yell. My claw catches on the red plastic latch, and I pull it down, releasing the clear protective shield over the surplus energy supply lever. I then push the lever up halfway and feel several jolts of energy zap through me like I just shot up liquid cocaine. My eyes widen, and my heart beats a rapid, tripping-over-each-beat type of pace, while my mind reawakens with a laser-like focus.

Now with renewed determination and focus, I return my attention to the wolves I’ve covertly infiltrated. I’m able to sense their feelings—some unsure, some scared, but all preparing to fight, to hunt, and to kill. At this moment, I know I can’t stay hidden for too long, not with them getting closer and closer to bloodlust and possible mob mentality. With my unblinking eyes on the screen, I start bringing my energy on board. Green specks of light begin flickering inside their yellow dots. Once the green light is solid, I order, HEEL , from my mind to theirs.

All but one of the moving dots abruptly stop. I feel the wolves startle and search the area. Some respond to the command immediately, dropping back on their haunches in waiting, others shake their heads and bare their teeth, snarling in defiance. Upping the potency of my royal command, I repeat into their minds, HEEL and STAY. More wolves drop back, some even lying on their bellies, awaiting further instruction. I push my power into them, making the green light brighten and sending warm, comforting energy along the waves.

The one I didn’t have a chance to infiltrate stops and assesses his fellow wolves, growling for them to continue and yipping in worry. I don’t want death to come to all of these wolves. Connected as I am, I can feel what X-Wolf felt for some of them. They’re more scared than anything, and perhaps if we can eliminate the few rotten apples from the bushel, the mold and decay and the fear and judgment will not spread. But we cannot take on this many wolves by ourselves, not without loss of life and devasting causalities to those fighting on our side.

Cementing my connection with the wolves, I reach out to X-Wolf and ask him to call for backup, for the pack to corral and pen these wolves in. I can hold them where they are, but I can do no more than that—and I can’t hold them forever. He confirms receipt.

I feel them push and pull at my command, poking at my bubbles as they try to pop me from their minds. My ears and paws begin to heat with the effort it’s taking for me to hold the connections, not to mention the process with the other two wolves, which is nearing its end. I narrow my eyes and grind my teeth in determination. I will hold them until help arrives.