I. Wolf Pups and Wrestling

MARIGOLD

“D id you have to stick a crayon up your nose? Really?” Suppressing a smile, I tip Daisy’s chin up to get a better look. The end of a broken green crayon peeks out of her nostril. “Goddess help us when you start shifting,” I mutter under my breath while stretching to reach the nearest tissue box.

“Hold one side closed.” She pokes at her nose on the wrong side, wincing. “No, baby, this one. And then blow your nose hard. If it doesn’t come out, we’ll have to get your mama.”

Leaving the tiny menace to her task, I survey the rest of my class. My job isn't difficult with such a small class, but these students are a bit wilder than typical human children.

“Wrap it up, friends! It’s almost two,” I command, gathering spare art supplies from the closest table.

Buttery light streams in the massive windows. The walls of my one-room schoolhouse are wallpapered with their paintings and drawings between multiplication charts and historical timelines, handmade by yours truly. Students sprawl across benches, paint brushes and markers in their hands.

“I’m serious, I’m not cleaning up after you pups. Five minutes!”

At the sound of my scolding, a dishwater blonde head leans around the door frame. “Doing okay, Goldie? Need me to teach any of these kids a lesson?”

“Hey, Onyx,” I plant a hand on my hip, a wry smile curving my lips. “I think we’re good, but thanks.”

“Got any more of those cookies you made for your class?” he asks.

“They’re for my students,” I say, rolling my eyes. Wandering to the back table, I wrap a napkin around one of the remaining chocolate chip cookies and bring it to Onyx.

“You’re the best!” He says, a grin lighting up his face.

Leaning past him, I wave at his twin.

“You want a cookie too, Cedar?”

“I’m good.” The afternoon sunlight streaks his hair amber, contrasting with the deep tan from his hours outdoors. He’s handsome in a golden-age movie star way .

Onyx is more of a rebel, always dressed in grungy band shirts and ready with a joke or prank, but he’s a sweetheart under the shenanigans.

“You guys busy?” I ask, hearing a chorus of giggles behind me. Nosy little stinkers.

Cedar nods, “Getting some training in.”

“Have a good time! See you later.”

Ducking back inside, I find that Daisy managed to shoot the crayon out of her nose and now holds it up triumphantly. At least her mom won’t be mad at me, even if I now have to confiscate a booger crayon.

“Alright, my little artists, let’s get this place cleaned up!”

After the school day ends, I wander across the sun-drenched meadow toward my family’s cabin. Even though I moved in with my grandmother a couple of years ago, I like to check back every so often. A household of three men can get messy quickly and my father is hopeless with housekeeping.

It’s empty like I knew it would be. Dad is out patrolling, Cobalt is playing soccer in the clearing, and Indigo is finishing up his afternoon internship with my grandmother. She’s the pack’s healer, and Indie will take over for her someday.

The cabin smells like old leather and my father’s aftershave, with an undercurrent of sweaty socks. The warm wood kitchen is fairly tidy, but I toss the breakfast plates into the creaky dishwasher and start it. Padding across the ancient brown carpet toward the bedrooms, I pause to transfer the laundry from the washer to the dryer before it gets musty. My siblings’ shared bathroom needs a quick wipe down, and then I’m popping out the front door.

Sure, the boys could handle everything themselves, but my brothers are busy and my dad works so hard. My job ends early in the afternoon, so it makes sense for me to tackle a few chores and lighten the load on my dad’s shoulders.

On the way to my grandmother’s cottage, I dodge my students kicking a soccer ball back and forth. Despite my fatigue, I cheer them on. They love to play in the clearing between the diner, the school, and the supply shop.

Cedar’s garden spans the north side, centered around an archway covered in snow pea vines. The delicate tendrils climb the frame but it’s still too early for the soft pink flowers to bloom.

Cedar loves to talk about his garden, and I’m always happy to listen. With his smile in my mind, I veer toward the training building tucked into the edge of the trees. The garage doors are rolled up in the back, and two men grapple in a spray-painted circle.

A tall, tattooed figure leans against the steel siding beside Cedar. Slate serves as the pack’s Beta or second-in-command. He’s quiet like Cedar, but in more of a brooding artist way, instead of being lost in thought.

At the moment, their attention is fixed on the duo currently throwing punches and evading kicks. Onyx’s swirling black tattoos curl over his biceps and across his chest. Opposite him, Slate’s brother Jasper dodges Onyx’s offense .

Jasper joined the pack last fall. He’s all sharp lines and high contrast - startlingly bright teal irises and pale gold hair, against warm tanned skin. He defected from our rival pack and has been trying to earn his place here ever since.

Onyx ducks as Jasper swings high, but Jasper is clever and he jabs with his other fist, hitting Onyx in the shoulder. Onyx lurches back and attempts to turn his motion into a rotating kick, but Jasper darts in and sweeps his feet, tossing him onto the dirt.

With a dramatic groan, Onyx pushes up to sit. “I’m getting tired of that. Someone else needs to go next.”

“Sorry, man,” Jasper says with a laugh, offering his hand. Pulling Onyx to his feet, he turns my way, his bright eyes widening. “Marigold, do you want to join in?”

My nose wrinkles. “Not today, thanks.”

“Too bad. I’d love to see what you can do,” Jasper murmurs. A blush blooms over my cheeks. I avoid sparring with the boys, preferring to fight Hazel or even Cassia, one of the pack’s Zetas, or warriors.

I settle against the wall beside Cedar. Slate stretches his arms and arches his back to loosen up before he faces his younger half-brother. Slate is leaner and taller, though Jasper has a few more pounds of muscle on him.

Jasper clenches and unclenches his fists. Swallowing, I avert my gaze from his glistening back and the way the muscles narrow to his waist .

“Did you have a good day with your students?” Cedar asks quietly.

My mouth curves into a smile. “Yeah, aside from a crayon incident with Daisy, it was a quiet day. Oh, and Starling brought a lizard in after lunch.”

“Was it one of those geckos?” His head tips toward mine. He’s a great listener.

“Yeah, I think?” I purse my lips, trying to remember. Once I saw the creature in her little hands, we hustled outside to release the poor reptile.

He nods thoughtfully. “Next time, let it go in the garden. I can always use more help with the grasshoppers.”

“Sure thing.”

My eyes are drawn back to the sparring brothers. Last fall, they fought in a formal challenge in this very ring over Hazel, Slate’s mate. Jasper’s birth pack attempted to steal her, but the end result was Jasper being disowned and joining our pack. He’s proven himself loyal with how hard he works and how grateful he is for a life away from the militant pack his parents lead.

Like lightning, Slate steps closer and swings. Jasper’s forearm knocks it away, but he’s ready with a roundhouse kick. Slate’s strike lands on Jasper’s side and he grimaces. Stumbling back, Jasper sucks in a breath, as if he’s in pain. I bite the inside of my cheek.

Regaining his footing, Jasper attacks, landing a succession of boxing-style hits before Slate hooks his leg around Jasper’s ankle and shoves him backward. His back hits the dirt .

“You okay?” Slate asks, pulling Jasper up by the hand.

“Fine. I think I’m ready to call it a day. I gotta get cleaned up,” Jasper says, wincing as he prods his ribs.

“Me too.” Slate waves at us and walks into the training building to retrieve his belongings.

Still catching his breath, Jasper faces Cedar and me. Onyx laughs and shoves his shoulder, showing off the soil clinging to his sweaty skin.

Slate passes us, giving Jasper an apologetic shrug when he sees the dirt. “See you guys.” I suspect his haste is an attempt to see Hazel before dinner.

Jasper steps closer to me, his typical cocky smirk in place. It softens his sharp features. “Did you enjoy seeing me get my ass kicked?”

“Always.” I return the wink he gives me. Jasper wipes his bunched-up shirt over his forehead and neck. I take it from him and use it to gently brush his back off.

“Thanks,” he says.

Cedar straightens. “See you at dinner,” he says. Onyx follows after his twin, waving his goodbye.

Jasper strolls beside me, the evening light highlighting his blonde eyelashes. “We were talking about a campfire after dinner. Sound good to you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Looking pleased, Jasper waves before turning back to his cabin.

I finally resign myself to checking on my grandmother before dinner. The door jingles as I step into the stone structure Sable has lived in for decades. Her cottage sits just north of Cedar’s garden, making harvesting herbs and medicinal plants convenient.

Grandmother hovers over the dining table, bundles of herbs spread around her hands as she sorts and stacks leaves of lemon balm. Her rolling pin thuds on the table, startling me. With gusto, she flattens the spikey leaves before tying twine around them and setting each in the pile. Lemon balm is good for insomnia, something that often bothers shifters with all of our wolf energy.

“Good afternoon!” I chime, slipping my sandals off and plopping onto the floral couch serving as my bed. The card table I use as my nightstand has been overrun by tiny bottles of pink liquid - rowanberry concentrate. It’s not toxic like wolfsbane, but the bitter juice incapacitates our magic for a few hours and is helpful during a crisis. Superstition says rowan wood blocks enchantment, and I’ve always wondered if the berry’s effect on our physiology may have played a role in that mythology. As fascinating as the compound is, I would prefer it if my space wasn’t covered in individual doses of it.

“Hello, dear,” my grandmother murmurs absently.

I draw a calming breath. “Grandmother, can I move these bottles somewhere for you?”

“Why would you do that?” She doesn’t even look up.

“I’m trying to keep my area tidy. ”

“That’s not necessary.” Her eyes are stormy when she glances back at me. “Indigo will move them tomorrow when he finishes the task. You know better.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

Her silver braid undulates like a snake as she shakes her head. “I’d think you’d understand by now - healing others comes first. Before personal space.” She exaggerates those last two words, repeating phrases I’ve said in previous arguments.

I flinch, but she’s only prioritizing her work over our comfort. It’s understandable. Shame weighs me down, causing my shoulders to round.

“I’m sorry.” My chest aches with resentment, but I won’t upset her, not when everyone relies on her constantly. More than a few times, I’ve been woken by an injured packmate stumbling in at three in the morning.

Her frustration is clear in the way her fingers crawl across her plants. Sable is an incredible healer, but her compassion and gentleness seem reserved for her patients only. Her sharp words cut me.

I don’t need personal space. I have a warm bed and a roof. The mantra repeats in my head as I change my shirt and wash up to my elbows. We don’t get sick often, but I have no interest in being covered with children’s fingerprints and whatever dirt or germs they carry on them.

My grandma forgot me in my two minutes at the sink, her face serene as she stacks the herb bundles into woven baskets. I should offer to help her or something useful, but it’s easier to slip out the back door and enjoy the peaceful lull of the forest for an hour or so before dinner.

JASPER

My cabin is all knotty pine and classic plaids. It might be small and several decades out of date, but compared to the cold concrete houses of my birth pack, it’s a haven. It’s one of the older structures in the pack’s community, serving as a guest cabin when needed.

I’m welcome to stay here as long as I need, but eventually, I’ll get my own place. I’ve considered finding a roommate or maybe buying a trailer like some single wolves in our pack have done, but nothing seems like the right fit.

The front door squeaks as I push it open. I’ve learned no one locks their doors here. There’s a sense of mutual trust and safety that feels like I’ve won the lottery.

I shed the remainder of my clothing and step into a steaming shower. The hot water eases the soreness in my muscles and the pain from my fresh bruises. For a few minutes, I tip my head back and let the water sluice down my body, feeling utterly content.

Scrubbed clean, I pull on black sweats and a fresh t-shirt before heading out. But as my hand lands on the doorknob, a knock echoes from the other side. Swinging the door open, I’m greeted by my mentor.

Hawthorne is the pack’s Gamma, a mediator and ambassador, as well as our Alpha Heath’s cousin. With his tall frame and dark hair, he’s imposing, which serves him well in negotiations. When I first joined the pack, he questioned me about my father, and that became an ongoing discussion until I was helping him with gathering information on other packs as well. I'm endlessly grateful that Hawthorne took me under his wing.

Among our pack, he’s patient and supportive. Watching him with his two daughters makes my chest ache. My father mostly ignored me during my childhood. So Hawthorne has become my role model for when I have my own family.

“Hey, what’s up?” I dip my head in respect and hold the door open.

He waves his hand, indicating he doesn’t need to come in. “I wanted to stop by and tell you the news. It looks like the Alpha Counsel is going to happen.”

I want to pump my fist in the air and holler “Yes!” but I restrain myself. The Alpha Counsel is our most recent project. It used to be an annual meeting between all the local Alphas, but it hasn’t happened in many years. Hawthorne feels that it’s the most effective way to begin repairing the relationships between our neighboring packs and I agree.

“That’s awesome,” I say, unable to stop my giddy smile.

“They still haven’t agreed to a location, but your dad finally confirmed, so that makes four of the five Alphas.”

“Still no Nyx?” I ask, frowning. The sole leader of the Raven pack avoids gatherings when she can help it. I’ve never met her, but it still seems strange she would refuse to meet with all the other Alphas.

“We can’t win them all.” He quirks his mouth. “And Ironcrest wants to meet with us tomorrow. So that should be interesting.”

“Really? What do they want?”

“I believe it’ll be some sort of apology. Anyway, I’d like you to join in,” Hawthorne rests his hand on my shoulder.

“Okay, I’d be honored.”

“You did good, Jasper. You deserve the credit for making this happen. I know how many messages you had to send to finally convince them to participate.”

“Thank you,” I say, pride surging in me. It feels like I’m finally earning a place here - as long as the Alpha Counsel goes well.

“Let’s head to dinner, I need to get the girls from Marigold,” he says, pulling me from my mental celebration. Still smiling like an idiot, I follow him toward the diner.

Most of the pack is milling about waiting for Heath to arrive. Marigold stands chatting with Slate and Hazel, a toddler balanced on her hip. Her strawberry blonde hair tumbles from a claw clip and cascades down her back in gleaming waves. I love her hair.

“Dahlia,” Hawthorne croons, lifting her from Marigold’s arms. The toddler’s brown hair is barely long enough to be pulled into two curly pigtails atop her head.

She excitedly squeals, “Daddy, dadda! ”

“Ready to see what Mama made for dinner?” he says, his voice pitched higher. His mate, Crickett, serves as the pack’s lead chef, and she makes most of the dinners we share together.

“She’s so cute,” I say to Marigold, watching Dahlia bob her little head. She hums in response, rubbing the spot on her arm Dahlia has been sitting against.

“I’m flipping-dipping starving,” Hazel mutters.

Alpha Heath strides across the meadow. His pack members lower their heads in a sign of respect that ripples through the crowd, though conversations continue. He’s an Alpha who is loved and respected, not feared. It’s been enlightening to learn the difference.

True to shifter etiquette, Heath gets his food first. Slate and Hazel follow him through the line. Hawthorne goes next, taking food one-handed while holding Dahlia and coaching Daisy on how much food to put on her own plate.

After those senior leaders, it’s open to anyone.

“Come on.” I usher Marigold in and grab a plate.

Onyx bounds behind us, jostling Marigold. “Tamales!”

“Watch out,” I warn, my hand going to the small of Marigold’s back. She smiles prettily at me. But then Cedar walks in after his brother, and Marigold immediately diverts her attention from me to him. Sighing, I stack two tamales on my plate with a sizable scoop of rice and beans.

We eat at our usual table on the outskirts of the clearing where the trees cluster in as if to swallow us up entirely. Conversation is light, while Hazel reviews her training for the day and Marigold entertains us with her students’ antics. I soak up every second, reveling in the connection and affection between everyone.