Chapter 17

Chapter17

This disrespect won’t go unpunished. I will avenge you, my short-lived avatar.

Garou seemed to think Baptiste’s death a foregone conclusion, making it hard for him to keep any kind of hope. He’d spent hours lashed to the tree and while a few Pack members noticed, their loyalty—and fear—of his uncle meant they did nothing to free him. Attempts to talk sense into them failed. As did threats. Difficult to seem imposing when their supposed god couldn’t free himself.

I’m a wolf, not a wizard, grumbled Garou. I promise, if given a chance, they will pay. I will tear out their innards and slurp them like noodles.

While Baptiste appreciated the sentiment, he didn’t want people he’d known his whole life to be massacred just because they’d chosen to listen to the wrong man. His misguided uncle was to blame for this.

If you’d accepted the role they offered… Garou’s said slyly.

He’d have been trapped in a position he never wanted.

Uh-oh. Garou muttered.

“Now what?” he said aloud. Let the Pack hear him talking to Garou. If they thought him nuts, maybe they’d think twice about their actions.

Our favorite dryad is in Nexus.

Daphne had returned? How and why? Had she followed Circe here?

She’s here for us, dummy.

“How can you be so sure?”

Can’t you feel it?

“No.”

Because you’re back to stewing in self-pity. Pay attention.

He almost grumbled in reply, but instead took a steadying breath, then another, calming himself enough that he received a faint glimmer of emotions—anger and worry… about him. How was it he could feel Daphne’s concern for him?

His eyes shot open as the reason why hit him. “We’re mated!”

Ding. Ding. Ding. Give the dog a bone.

It must have been when they had sex, but… “I didn’t bite her.”

The biting is for appearance and to warn off other wolves. The true connection is at a whole different level.

“Wait a second, if I can sense her does that mean…”

She knows what you’re feeling. Or should I say despairing? Yet in spite of your self-pity, she’s determined to rescue you, which is really wolf-asculating by the way.

“She can’t come here!” Baptiste strained at the silver binding him, the burn of it barely noticeable in his newfound determination. “The whole Pack is about to converge on this clearing and the moon will rise soon.” They’d kill any intruder.

Too late.

“No, it’s not. Not so long as I am breathing. I have to get free,” he growled.

You mean you haven’t been trying this entire time?

“Save the sarcasm and try being useful for once.”

Even if I could transform while bound in silver, you can’t expect me to eat my subjects.

“What happened to slurping their intestines?”

I was trying to make you feel better.

“Those so-called subjects want to kill me, the body you’re inhabiting, and while it’s great you can resurrect in someone else, I won’t.”

It’s a good thing I like you, Garou grumbled. You’re insolent and not at all reverent about the honor I bestowed upon you.

“It’s not an honor if it only brings me grief,” he growled. “Tell me, exactly how has having you inside me improved my life?”

You’re never alone.

“Not a selling point.”

Because of me, you are bigger and stronger than everyone else.

“And? Have you seen how much my groceries cost to keep that body fueled?”

You know, most avatars are appreciative of having a piece of their god inhabiting their flesh, and they strive for greatness.

“You mean they go on a power trip that ends up in them being challenged and killed because they’ve become megalomaniacs.” The last Garou manifestation had led to Packs warring because two avatars rose during the same time period, leading to a split that pitted them against each other.

An unfortunate mistake in my resurrection. That’s the problem when your pieces are scattered. Although, you should feel honored that you have more of me than the previous scions.

“That honor is going to cost me my life,” he grumbled.

A distant shout turned his head.It wasn’t repeated and distraction arrived in the form of some Pack members gathering in the clearing before the massive oak tree. They were dressed in loose clothes and robes that would be easily shed before the moon rose and forced them to shift. Hooks were hammered into the trees at random, giving them a place to hang their garments so that they didn’t get soaked by the dew. It didn’t stop them from being chilly the next morning when pulled onto skin still warm from running in fur.

More than a few of the Pack stared openly at Baptiste. Some appeared disturbed and looked away. Others showed a strange excitement, the impending full moon shift rousing their bloodlust. Not one lifted a finger to help him.

It led to him growling in a voice deeper than usual, “Be it known that your scents have been marked. Your actions noted. Your betrayal will not be forgiven.” Garou spoke through him, and Baptiste allowed it. He enjoyed the way some of those watching shifted with discomfort.

“You’re not a worthy vessel,” someone shouted from the back.

His gaze lasered on them, and a wolfish grin split his lips. “Says the runt who, back in the day, would have been abandoned in the woods for being weak. An error I shall rectify.” His gaze then tracked the rest as he added in a low rumble, “You will regret following the false Alpha.” And then he howled, a long and eerie sound that echoed through the forest.

His uncle’s arrival ruined his chance at swaying any minds. Dressed in a long, velvet robe of midnight blue, Frederick uttered a loud rebuke. “Ignore my nephew and his last-ditch effort to save himself. He’s proven himself unworthy over and over. Tonight, the Garou will be given a new host. One better suited for a god.”

“I like this body.” Garou kept talking through Baptiste’s lips, and Uncle frowned.

“You’ll like mine even more.”

“As if I’d choose you,” he sneered. “You are not worthy of carrying my essence.”

“Stop pretending to speak with our god’s voice.”

“Foolish Freddie. Still so angry I didn’t choose you,” he mocked. “Do you know why I passed you over? Because I could see the weakness in your spirit.”

Ruddy color blossomed in Uncle’s cheeks. “Weak? Weak is my nephew who refuses to eat meat. Who won’t step up and rule. Who whines and cries because someone died.”

“Who has values that aren’t swayed by peer pressure.” Garou fixed those watching and listening wit ha stern gaze. “Who doesn’t chase after power. Who shows remorse for something he couldn’t control. All traits of a strong leader, unlike you. And worse, you can’t even see it. As to the rest of you…” Garou’s lip curled in a sneer. “Sheep. You’re not worthy to call yourself wolves.”

More and more of the pack looked away and swayed on their feet as if they wished to be anywhere else.

“Enough. Don’t listen to my nephew. He’s just pretending to speak for the Garou. Trying to sow doubt. Ignore him. He’s babbling because he’s afraid.”

“More like exposing you for the weakling that you are. A true Alpha would challenge me, not bind me to a tree because he’s a coward,” Garou spat.

“You left me no choice. Running away. Refusing to do your duty. No more!” Frederick pulled a knife, the silver blade glinting as the last rays of the sunset struck it. “You won’t escape this time. There is only one way forward, and it starts with your death.”

To Baptiste’s surprise, Diandra’s father stepped forward. “While I grieve for my daughter, it was made very clear Baptiste was not in control at the time of her death. Evil magic was at play.”

Frederick sneered. “What I do tonight has nothing to do with Diandra but everything to do with my nephew being unworthy to hold our god.”

“You speak of unworthy and yet plan to kill him so ignobly?” Diandra’s father waved a hand. “You have him bound in silver like a feral. It hardly seems fair or right. I think we should hold off and discuss this before doing something so extreme.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Uncle barked. “I know what I’m doing. For years I’ve been seeking out a way to right this travesty, and finally, I came across the solution.” Frederick held up the silver-coated blade. “Tonight, I shall make everything right.”

Ask him who gave him the knife, Garou slyly whispered.

“Where did you get that dagger?” Baptiste asked. “Who told you to kill me?”

“I did.” The feminine voice resolved into the shape of the witch he’d strangled only the day before. She sauntered into view, wearing an almost sheer white gown, her hair unbound and flowing down her back.

“Circe,” Baptiste growled.

“Surprised to see me?” The witch stood straight, her head no longer at a broken angle.

“Who are you?” Uncle asked, annoyance creasing his features. “You’re not allowed to be on Pack grounds.”

“Is that any way to speak to the person who told you where to find your nephew?” Circe asked in mocked indignation.

“I’ve never met you before,” Frederick declared.

“Not in person, no. But we had many conversations on the dark web. You had so many questions about how you could change the avatar holding your god.”

“That was you?” Frederick gaped at Circe.

“Surprise!” Her feral smile sent a chill down Baptiste’s spine.

Uncle blustered, “You lied to me. You’re not one of us.”

The revelation his uncle had colluded with Circe had Baptiste snapping, “You idiot. You’ve been taking advice from a witch who’s been killing indiscriminately in an attempt to become a god.”

“No.” Frederick shook his head. “The person I spoke to claimed to be a scholar in Europe, a lone wolf who’d studied our kind and history.”

Circe’s laughter might sound like tinkling bells, but it sent an uneasy ripple through those watching and listening. “So gullible. The internet makes it so easy to fool people and you were easier than most, so desperate to take what was given to your nephew. So jealous your god didn’t choose you. I have to admit, I never thought you’d go this far. Most people would balk at killing a close family member.”

“You told me if I cut out his heart with this dagger and ate it while it still beat, I could capture the Garou’s essence.” Uncle dug his own grave with his admission and the vibe from those watching changed.

“You took advice from a witch?” Diandra’s father spat.

Others in the pack shifted uneasily and murmurs arose that had Frederick’s expression turning stony. “I didn’t know. She misled me about her identity.”

“I did,” Circe admitted with a smile. “I never expected you’d be so gullible. No wonder your god passed you by. An avatar should be strong in conviction and character. But your weakness is to my benefit. Everyone is gathered, even your god. I couldn’t have prepared this better, given what I have planned.”

Frederick tried to save face by blustering, “Whatever it is you’ve plotted will fail. We will tear you to pieces.”

“Blood will run this night, but I promise you, it won’t be mine. Ever heard the expression moon madness?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Do you know what causes it? I do. It’s when the full moon rises, and the Pack shifts, but the Alpha dies, leaving them without a leader. The lack of an Alpha drives them to madness.”

A pale Frederick gripped his silver knife tighter—which had to burn—and spat, “The only person dying tonight is you!”

“We’ll see about that.” She glanced at the sky. “The moon’s almost here. Any last words?”

“Die, witch!” Uncle lunged with his silver knife, but Circe easily stepped aside.

She laughed. “How does it feel to know you’re the reason why your entire pack is going to perish?”

For a second, Baptiste saw fear on Frederick’s face. Then arrogance straightened Uncle’s spine as the full moon appeared in the darkening sky. “You chose the wrong night to confront, witch.” And with that threat, Uncle’s face began to change, elongating into a muzzle, his limbs contorting, the flesh sprouting fur. The dagger fell to the ground as his fingers turned to paws.

Rather than look afraid, Circe clapped her hands. “How delightful. I could use a fur coat, and a rug, ooh, and a blanket.” With that taunt the witch simply held up her hand and Uncle froze mid-shift, his body contorted and still standing on two legs. Circe bent and plucked the dagger from the ground. Before anyone realized her intent, she slashed it across Frederick’s throat.

There was something horrifying about watching him bleed out, his eyes full of panic and fear. The man who’d tried to murder Baptiste shouldn’t have deserved any sympathy, but Baptiste remembered the uncle who used to play football with him in the yard, who stood by his side when his father died and did his best to guide a young boy.

In the silence that followed the killing, the emerging moon struck the Pack standing still in shock. It changed them from men and women into wolves. Snarls filled the air as the beasts dropped into a low stance, readying to attack.

Circe’s lips curved in amusement as she said, “Now the real fun begins.”