Page 26

Billie

THE PLUMES OF smoke billowing from the raging fire have all but blackened out the stars in the night sky, creating a living haze that obscures us from the outside world, like a blanket hides a child from the monsters waiting in their closet. Except we’re the monsters, standing around a pit, at least thirty feet in both diameter and depth, that has been completely overtaken by the yellow, orange, and red flames stretching beyond the perimeter, trying to crawl out from the stone-and-dirt grave from which they were born. Red sparks zip and float up with the smoke, riding the wind in their own attempt to escape, only to pop and fizzle into ash much too soon.

Wafting the smoke out of my eyes with several waves of my sweater-covered hand, I shake my head at the thoughts churning through my mind like the cedar-scented smoke swirling around me. Blowing out a breath, I scan the area, and, well, I guess if there were times to wade into the deep end of thinking, then this would be one of them. Fire killed my childhood by taking my parents. Tonight, it incinerates the bodies of the dead until there is nothing left but their ashes.

Eleven.

Eleven dead wolves lie equally spaced around the hungry inferno that is waiting to be fed. Four are still bleeding from their throats and spines being torn out upon arrival, their blood trickling over the edges, teasing the fire with drops of their life essence.

In addition to the dead, there are over a hundred pack members gathered, all in human form. Some are huddled in small groups around specific wolves that lie close enough to the fire that the sulfuric smell of their burning fur taints the normally comforting aroma. Others stand in the spaces between, like they’re bridging the gap, connecting those leaving this earthly plane. Some stand farther back, shrouded in the shadows of the tall pines beyond the boundary of the fire’s light. Although only the dead are in their animal form, not a pair of human eyes lack their shifter’s presence.

At the edge of the fire’s light, I stand with Ethan, Jax’s father, the mates of the elders, and a few others. Luna Ophelia, Xander, and Jax are standing a quarter way around the pit from where we stand, close enough to the pit that red sparks from the fire decorate the tips of their boots, with the elders behind them. The crackling of the fire and the whooshing of the wind weaving through the creaking trees provide a constant, comforting background to the unsettling and erratic sniffling and soft wails of the mourning pack members. The land and the fire are reminding us that even though tonight may be filled with death, life still surrounds us—that death is but part of life and not the other way around.

The sniffling dies down, and the scuffle of boots on gravel draws my attention to Xander, our alpha. The scars crisscrossing his bare chest are filled in with the smears of blood from the final execution X-Wolf fulfilled tonight. He, along with Luna Ophelia’s wolf, Elder Ralph’s wolf, and Blondie each owned one of the final deaths when we arrived here. They did so in front of everyone in an eerily synchronized manner. The killing may have been almost surgical, but there was a ritualistic quality to it.

Afterward they shifted and were draped in cloaks while they wiped their faces with washcloths from a large metal bowl filled with steaming hot water. All of them opted to wear boots, and while Xander and Jax changed into jeans, Elder Ralph and Luna Ophelia seemed content to wrap the dark, thick woolen cloaks tighter around themselves.

Xander’s eyes are glowing like blue flames, a startling contrast among all the orange and yellow. With his hands on his hips and a calculated gaze, he holds the posture of a general surveying his troops. Without even an intake of air, he breaks the silence.

“Death happens in nature,” he begins, his voice steady, clear, and holding an authoritative tone that seems to silence the buzz of the fire and the whistling of the wind. “If you live, then you also die. That is the truth of our existence, one our shifters accept without question. Meanwhile, our human brains still wonder. Wonder why.” He extends an arm out and gestures to the wolves waiting to be laid to rest. “We may burn them in animal form, leaving only the ashy remains of their wolves, but we must own their death as humans.”

His glowing eyes harden, and what were once flames are now icy orbs, clear and cold, much like some truths. He smacks his hand over his chest, and my head pulls back. I swipe a hand over my cheek, feeling a slap of cold, and I note others doing the same. Patting his chest several more times, Xander says, “We must own the part of us that can be swayed by emotions like jealousy, anger, insecurity, and hate. We must acknowledge the cost of giving in to those emotions.” Raking his fingers through his hair, now colored with the blood that is spattered across his chest, he scoffs a short laugh, baring red-streaked teeth. “We all know our shifters will gladly kill if they or we feel threatened.” A sense of weightiness pulls at his voice, and he points a finger at himself and then motions it around the circle. “It is us who determines what is a threat. It is us who can tip the scales. It is us who must value the sanctity of life and the finality of death. What is worth living for? What is worth killing for? What is worth dying for? How heavy is the burden of killing? No matter the situation, the reason, the cause... death...” His hands return to his hips, and he shrugs a shoulder. “It is not weightless. It is heavy, more so than the flesh left behind.” He waves a hand at the bodies before the fire. “These wolves came after us, willing to carry our deaths, and instead we now carry theirs. Think on this. Etch this into your psyche. Hold their deaths in your arms. Carry the future they once had on your backs. Let their deaths mean more. Give them life by learning from the end of theirs. What could we have done differently? What could you as their friends, family, and pack done to save them? Were there conversations you could have had? How hard did you plead with them to make different choices? Did you bite your tongue when you shouldn’t have? Did you let your tongue run when you should’ve bitten it?”

He pauses and lets the weight of not only the dead but the questions that were never asked and the answers that were never given sink in. Many of those around the dead wolves hang their heads low, and tears are more prevalent than dry eyes. Xander holds the silence until it seems many are being suffocated under the weight of their own guilt. My skin prickles at a sudden sense of pressure building, pulling at my pant legs like the suction of a vacuum. Little Fox sits on her hind legs with an erect spine and lifted chin. Her claws dig in, and I do the same, grounding my boots into the hard-packed dirt and squaring my shoulders, bracing for the impending surge of power.

And it comes.

Xander sends out a tidal wave of his alpha power, strong enough to not only clear the air and blow the smoke free from the fire, but cause several pack members to stumble backward from the force. Others throw their heads and arms back, opening their chests, letting it crash over them—through them.

Little Fox and I welcome his power, letting it flow through us. But we do not get swept up by it. A prickle of awareness climbs up my spine, and I get the feeling she and I just made a statement—one she was more cognizant of than me, one that has to do with the altered energy I felt ignite or emerge upon seeing those wolves at the station, two in particular. Just the thought has the power stirring in my chest, like it’s a living entity I just called on.

Our wolves , Little Fox corrects, confirming what I’m having trouble acknowledging: that we somehow stepped further into our role as a royal, and with that step, another level of not just power but responsibilities have been placed on us.

My throat dries, and I feel my mind about to spin into never-ending circles of anxious thoughts, only to have them sliced to pieces by the sharp edge in Xander’s voice as he curtly declares, “I will protect my pack. I will protect our kind, even from ourselves if need be. I will protect the principles and ideals we live by. I will carry the weight of my decisions. I will learn from their weight; I will learn to make better decisions.” He turns to the dead wolf nearest to him, whom I believe is Merrick’s. Stepping over to the mangled body and grabbing it by the scruff of the neck, he hauls up the limp carcass. The tongue lulls, and blood drips from the open muzzle. His dark eyes, though opaque with death, are still wide with terror, while the rest of his body hangs. A mess of disjointed bones in a torn-up sack of flesh and fur. The light of the fire reflects off the exposed bones and adds a shine to the bulging intestines squeezing out from between the long gashes raked through his belly.

Raising the body higher, Xander shakes it, and in a dead calm voice, one that is more menacing than if he were to yell, he states, “Know that their weight also bolsters my words and my promises. Because this here...” He shakes the body again. This time, a long loop of intestine frees itself from the largest wound, uncurling all the way down to the ground. “These deaths were promised. I kept my promise to protect my mates and my pack, and I will continue to do so.” Bringing his mouth to the wolf’s ear, he closes his eyes and murmurs something too low to hear. Pain pinches his face, and the light of the fire catches the few tears rolling down his cheeks.

Then he launches the wolf into the blaze. Flames explode from the center, and a circle of smoke puffs out from the perimeter, looking like a cauldron made of dark mist. And the inferno consumes its first offering of the night with a voracious roar.

Xander half turns to appraise Luna Ophelia, Jax, and the elders. They lift their gazes to him, and he gives a definitive dip of his chin. They return the gesture and then confidentially stride around the fire. Jax is at Xander’s side, and Xander moves to the wolf that is lying to the right of where Merrick’s wolf was, while the elders and his mother spread out on either side of him, each stopping at a wolf of their own. From the shadows, four of the betas who were with us tonight take up a protective stance behind the elders and his mother.

With their appointed guards at their backs and a wolf at their feet, they stand tall, staring at one another through the fiery flames. Bright sparks and flares burst from their already-glowing eyes as they release their power. My scalp tingles, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and my hands run up and down my arms, trying to alleviate the zapping sensation of the ionized air around us. Only then do I feel a tug at the center of my chest. And another. And another. Each tug gets tighter and tighter. With wide eyes, I watch the flames of the fire split, opening paths between the five, the strength of their energies twisting and twining strong enough to not only move the fire but hold it back, forming a five-pointed star.

As one, they crouch down over a wolf and speak the words I assume Xander murmured before feeding Merrick’s wolf to the fire. The joining of their low murmurs is loud enough that I can hear their words. Words that sound like Latin and hold the cadence and repetitive quality of a chant.

The chanting continues, and as one, they each take hold of their wolf by the scruff of the neck and smoothly rise to standing, lifting the limp bodies above their heads and in front of them, close enough to the fire that the flames lick the dead’s back paws. With one last chant, they effortlessly toss the bodies into the inferno. Again, the fire rejoices, with loud crackling and sizzling, resounding in a blazing applause of appreciation. Explosions of red and white flames burst outward, and I twist my head away with my arm protecting my eyes from the blinding light. Thick ribbons of smoke snake and twist around the flames, reining them back in. With that, the five and their bodyguards move in synchronized steps to begin the process again, sending the spirits of the last five wolves to the heavens while giving their bodies to the earth.

They resume their earlier positions at Xander’s back, with the four betas blending into the shadows once more. The fire continues to feast, and Xander stretches one arm up in the air, his fingers splayed and straining with his effort, as if he’s willing himself to touch the night sky. He booms, “Know that if I make a promise, I will deliver on it! Know I didn’t want this. But I can and will carry out the sentence if needed, as will those with me.” Xander holds the moment, his entire body lengthened, muscles rippling with his heaving breath, veins popping out from his fingers all the way down to the V of his lower abs. The dried blood on his chest has become war paint, and the lines and splatters expand with his inhales. The wind picks up, causing loose strands of my hair to blow in my face. The smoke spins with the whipping gusts, spiraling upward. The stars that have been hidden for so long seem to emerge from the edges as the wind pulls the smoke into tight spirals like a dozen upside-down tornadoes. Xander’s glowing eyes sparkle, as he calls to the stars, to the Divine, asking to collect their power.

The wind twirls around Little Fox, ruffling her fur. And she basks in it, chin lifted skyward, and a light beams down on her from above. How, I don’t know. I reach out for Ethan’s hand just as he reaches for mine. My eyes are watering from the smoke and the wind, and I watch Xander’s outstretched hand shake as what looks like tiny dots of starlight dance their way from the sky into his fingertips. Speckles of soft-blue luminescence disappear into his flesh, only to glow under his skin, through his veins. When the last dot floats down and enters him, he snaps his hand into a fist, capturing the power, holding it there. The whirling wind begins to recede while his clenched hand glows even brighter.

When he speaks again, it’s in a voice that is somehow deep yet soft. A time-worn voice that holds the wisdom of the universe. “Let us take these deaths into ourselves. Feel their weight, own it. And then set them free. We’ve fed them to the fire, and now they will feed the lands that feed us. Their deaths will give life to the forests we hunt through. Their spirits will color the grass and the flowers of the fields our pups play in. And their flames of death will forever be seared into our souls.” On an inhale, he recoils his arm and arches his spine, and on the exhale, he bends forward at the waist, and his arm lashes through the air, throwing the light—the power from the universe—into the fire.

The ground under my feet quakes, and the orange-yellow flames burst into white and blue. An energetic lattice like a radioactive fishing net launches out in all directions from the fire. Glowing strands of energy pierce each member of his pack. It slams into my chest, taking over my senses, my nervous system, my existence. Time seems to stop as each of us is connected through his power—the web of power that Xander pulled down from the stars—and as one, because we are one, we all arch our spines and throw our heads back to howl.

Howls of pain, of love, of remorse, of acceptance, and most of all, of hope erupt from us. The flames fan higher, and our howls bounce off the surrounding trees, which echo them back. There is no differentiation in our howls as our shifters have all come together, matching pitch, tone, and frequency. We are pack.

As one, we snap our mouths shut, and the sudden silence is just as deafening as the bellowing of our pack howl. My feet stay grounded, while my body sways, as does Ethan’s. It’s only then I realize my other hand is held by another. I don’t need to look to know, because he and I are one. Gabe. Gabe holds my hand. I give his hand a squeeze, which he returns. When I turn to gaze at him, his glowing green eyes are shining with tears, his face wet with them as they trickle down his rosy cheeks into the curve of his wide, joyous smile. A smile that mimics mine. A smile of naked connection, of long-awaited hope.

Inside my chest, Little Fox turns to a screen where two lighted dots are overlapping each other. She drags the back of one of her claws through the dots. They shimmer and flicker and glow brighter, and I feel the two wolves that are ours. I hear their howls in my head, and I share them with Ethan and Gabe, including my wolves in this moment.

Both Gabe and Ethan tighten their holds on my hands, and Gabe releases a garbled moan. “Pack,” he croaks in a beautifully broken voice. “We are pack, all of us. And we hold the Divine in us.”

“It grows,” I exhale as innate knowledge rains down on me. “When we share, when we connect, it grows.” And there on the screen, several more dots light up, and they merge with my two. My head snaps up to meet Xander’s intense gaze. We hold each other’s stares while our dots burn brighter, and Ethan and Gabe and Jax, whose hand is on Xander’s shoulder, feel the power that we’re not just sharing, but growing and nurturing.

Xander’s lips tick up on one side, and he dips his chin. As if it’s part of some weird leader insider lingo, I return his gesture and avow, “You are my alpha.” Little Fox sits high but bows her head deeply to him.

“And you are my duchessa ,” he proclaims, and X-Wolf sits high, returning Little Fox’s deep bow with one of his own. “We will protect these wolves and all shifters under us.” Our shifters declare, and this time Xander and I bow to each other in affirmation of their statement, our joined purpose.

“We all will,” Jax, Ethan, and Gabe assert. And though I can only see Blondie and Wolf-E bow to us, I feel Gabe’s wolf do the same.

The lights on the screen inside the Royal Grotto seem to yawn, and I feel the wolves release long exhales before snuggling deeper into one another, peacefully content with the decisions they’ve made. Even if their choice to be ours brings on future battles, they’ll still stand by their decision—stand by us, our shared purpose, and the truths of our existence.

We are pack.

We are shifters.

We are Divine.