22. Twenty-Two
twenty-two
I didn’t ask questions about Grace and the other women who’d arrived at the cave as we left. I recognized most of them as part of her knitting club. Frann and Harold were there, too, along with a gaggle of women in the century-plus age demographic.
I’d become so used to the stares and the sneers from the pack, their respectful nods would’ve made me blush in human form.
Penn and I left the cave on four paws each, stopping by the tree to retrieve our clothes and shoes. He carried them in his mouth back to my house, which was a sight to behold. His enormous, muscular wolf with my strappy heels dangling from his jaws that had stolen life made me smile.
Elton and Oscar patrolled my front porch. It was from them that Penn and I learned Finneus had declared a day of mourning. Not specifically for Belinda, but for all of us to acknowledge her sacrifice for our greater good.
The twisted logic sickened me. Everything about this farce disgusted me. How many women would Finneus kill while calling it a noble sacrifice? How many daughters would the Ophiuchus lose so their alpha could find his mate? How many sisters would we let die before someone stood up to him?
Penn dropped my shoes and dress on the couch and then shifted.
“No,” he snapped, glaring down at me like I’d peed on the carpet.
I switched to two feet, temper already raging. “Excuse me?”
“No,” he repeated. “I don’t like where your thoughts are going.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Which is where, exactly? I don’t even know where my own thoughts are going.”
His whole chest puffed out when he sighed. “I need to see Finn.” He took a step closer. “Will you be okay by yourself?”
My heart continued to race. “I think I can manage.”
He played with a tangle of my hair. “Your dad is in good hands. Grace and the widows have something planned.”
I ran my fingertips down his forearm, tracing the corded muscles. “Thank you. For last night. And for everything you’ve done for my father.” My throat tightened, tears threatening in the corners of my eyes. “And for taking me to the Widows’ Den, even though I got hurt.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” He brushed a tear from my lashes.
“No.” I shook my head. “I do.”
It might have been my time in a child’s head, but I could now see a common thread in these dreams; my stand-in was a spoiled brat in every single one. I had been typecast. Maybe these dreams were like the humans’ holiday story about a curmudgeonly old man who gets visited by ghosts. Like him, I could become a better person.
Penn wound my hair around his finger. “Stay inside. Don’t let anyone through the door.”
“I know the drill,” I said. “I’ll play princess in the tower while you go talk to the dragon.”
He threaded his fingers in my hair and tugged, lips brushing mine in an almost-kiss on the way to whisper in my ear. “Just don’t let down your hair for anyone else while I’m gone.”
For once, I embraced Finneus’ demands and observed his day of mourning. Typically, people went to the Temple to light a candle for the deceased. I considered it, but I didn’t want to ruin my day with the inevitable glares from our pack’s turncoats. Instead, I texted Evera and asked her to come over with three white candles.
She arrived ten minutes later with a cooler of Grace’s home-cooked potpies and duck casserole. Dependable as ever, she also brought the candles.
I’d never specified the reason for my request, yet Evera had guessed I wanted to hold my own mourning ceremony for my father. She had dressed accordingly.
“Where did you get that outfit?” I laughed as she handed me the candles.
She twirled her black lace parasol. “It’s my mom’s. I think she wore it to her prom. Isn’t it fantastic?”
It was something, all right. The black lace sleeves and bodice led into a velvet mermaid dress that only Evera could pull off. On her, it was beautiful. On me, it would’ve looked like a costume, especially with the fascinator she’d thrown in for good measure.
Evera suggested the mantel over the living room fireplace as an altar. We arranged the three candles and stood side by side. She lit the first one.
“For Belinda Ridgemore, may her soul return to our ancestors,” Evera said in a low, reverent voice.
She lit the second candle, but I said the words.
“For Basil Aspen, may his soul return to our ancestors.”
Evera went to light the third wick but hesitated. “Who is this one for?”
Even when I made the request, I didn’t know why I wanted three. It was bad luck to light a candle for someone living, and yet I did.
“For Finneus Williams,” I said.
She blinked but lit the candle and echoed my words, adding, “You do know this is probably treason, right?”
“He killed an innocent girl,” I reminded her.
“Oh, I totally agree. I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” She studied me for a second. “Do you have a plan?”
“No,” I admitted.
We both turned back to face the candles. In the Temple, it would’ve been a minute of silence for reflection, so I reflected on my dreams. When I closed my eyes, I could taste the lake water on my tongue. That fall through the ice had been the catalyst for the child’s shift.
Nothing so traumatic had prompted my wolf’s first appearance, though the first transformation was branded in my memory. Just like Drea, it was what came after that mattered now.
Our fathers’ reactions.
Hers had demanded her life. My father obviously didn’t go so far. In fact, he had said nothing when he saw my white wolf. It was the only time I’d seen disappointment in his eyes when he looked at me, and I never wanted to experience that level of shame again.
After that, my life’s goal was to never disappoint him.
I might’ve dismissed the dream as nothing more than my own subconscious at work if not for the red wolf. If I conjured a fantasy scenario involving Penn, it would be much more X-rated.
“There’s dissension,” Evera whispered. “Belinda’s death is splitting the pack. People agree with us that he’s gone too far.”
I nodded with my eyes still closed.
“The contingent is small right now.” She hesitated. “I saw Donnelle today. He’s a wreck. Hates that he wasn’t there. Better he wasn’t. Mr. Ridgemore was bad enough.”
I cracked one eyelid open. “What happened? Penn made me leave right after it happened.”
Evera lowered her voice even farther. “He fought one of the strays and then went for Finneus. Malia used her magic to freeze him. Everyone thought Finneus would kill Mr. Ridgemore.”
“But he didn’t?” I guessed.
“Nope. Worse. He said since Malia used her magic on him, she could take it back as punishment.”
Both eyes wide, I met her gaze. “He did what now?”
“It’s getting bad, D,” she whispered. “Mr. Ridgemore did not look awesome when she was done with him.”
As if I didn’t have enough reasons to hate Finneus. This was a new low, and I’d thought he hit rock bottom before. Degrading members of his pack by allowing a caster to inflict punishment, to take magic that was the very essence of our wolf—that was worth committing treason.
We heated Grace’s food in the microwave and even set the table, but we ended up eating around the island straight out of the plastic containers. I told her about my visit to Gold Cave, skirting around how many nights her mother had spent there.
Evera didn’t seem to find Grace’s sudden devotion to my father strange. I had dismissed the first few comments she made but sleeping in her mother’s vigil bed gave the situation a different spin. Maybe I was looking for something that wasn’t there. Maybe the reason for Grace’s frequent and prolonged visits to the cave was uncomplicated.
I didn’t know, so I didn’t bring it up to my best friend. Instead, I told her about my dream.
“Was Penn there?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
I recounted the fall through the ice and the red wolf’s rescue. When I got to the part about the transformation, she set her fork down.
“Her father said to kill her before people find out what she is,” I finished. “What does that mean? She just looked like a wolf.”
She drank water while she considered how to answer. “I don’t know, sweetie. White wolves are rare.” She wrinkled her nose. “The fae believed they were a bad omen.”
I had heard the superstition, though Ophiuchus wolves had no interest in the fae or their beliefs. Or so I’d thought.
“So bad it would drive a father to murder his daughter?”
She tilted her head to the side and gave me a sad smile. “It was just a dream.”
I didn’t argue or try to explain that it was more than that. If the ice dream was real, so were the others, and the Ophiuchus had truly been exiled.
Penn returned in a foul mood after seeing his brother. He helped himself to a large bowl of Grace’s potpie and ate it at the table like a civilized shifter.
Evera left just before nightfall. Penn sent Elton to escort her home, and something in his demeanor suggested the protection wasn’t entirely cautionary.
“Has something happened?” I asked once Evera was gone and Penn joined me in the kitchen.
He came over to help me cover the plastic containers from the Matthews’ house. “Finn intends to root out dissenters.”
My fingers suddenly didn’t work right, and I couldn’t make the lid fit the container. Penn reached across the island and gently tugged it from my hands.
“You think he’ll come for Evera?” I asked, cold spreading like a fog over my body.
“Probably not. At least, not right away.” Penn stacked the containers and carried them to my fridge. “He will name his next potential true mate tomorrow.”
“So soon,” I muttered, not surprised Finneus planned to try again. “Did the caster see this great bond in her crystal ball? Do you know who it is?”
“No. Neither does Finn. Malia hasn’t named her yet.” His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the display. “Fuck. I have to deal with this.”
“What’s wrong?”
Penn pursed his lips. “Breach near the south watch post.”
“Strays trying to get in?” I asked, a little confused since Finneus had seemingly made an open invitation.
He stared at me across the kitchen for a long minute. “No. Defectors trying to get out.”
Hours passed while I waited alone in my house for Penn to return. I worried for both him and whoever he came across. I didn’t blame those who wanted to run. The urge had seized me more than once.
I grabbed my father’s fairy-tale book, curled up on the couch, and flipped through the pages, appreciating for the first time just how many of the same symbols were in Gold Cave. It made sense, I supposed. Fae had lived in these mountains for generations before the Ophiuchus claimed them.
My eyes grew heavy, and the book toppled from my hands. It had been a long, very emotional day, and I succumbed to sleep quickly. I never heard the scuffle on the porch or the door bursting open.
I woke to six glowing yellow eyes bearing down on me. A scream gathered in my throat, but I never let it loose. Fear only invigorated them. Instead, I stayed very still and watched them peer at me.
“What do you want?” I demanded, not really expecting a verbal reply.
“No Penn to protect you?” a cold, familiar voice asked from the doorway.
I spared a glanced in Donnelle’s direction. He had seen better days. His eyes were bloodshot and crazed, his hair standing on end like he’d been pulling on it.
“You think you’re so special, don’t you?” he asked me. “Too good for a Ridgemore.” He sauntered inside the house, leaving the front door wide open.
“I’m sorry about Belinda,” I said, appealing to his humanity.
This made Donnelle cackle as he stood between two strays. “She knew the risks.”
I couldn’t believe his callous attitude. “You don’t mean that.”
The stray closest to me growled, low and menacing. Donnelle smiled at the wolf and then swung his gaze back toward me. “The alpha wants all the traitors brought in.”
My breath quickened. The wolves moved closer to the couch.
“If Finneus wishes to speak to me, he can come over himself,” I snapped with more confidence than I felt.
“ Alpha Williams,” Donnelle roared, stomping over to leer down at me. “Someone needs to teach you respect.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled something metal from his pocket, slapping it around my wrist. He yanked me to my feet, and I smacked his arm.
“Get your filthy hands off of me,” I hissed, calling my wolf to the surface.
She stirred but didn’t answer my pleas.
The strays moved in, snapping at my satin pajama shorts. I kicked one in the muzzle with the heel of my foot. The blow dazed him momentarily, but then he came back at me and sank his teeth into my calf.
Panic emboldened me. With blood streaming down my leg, I lashed out again. This time, my foot connected with the side of his head, and he flew backward into the fireplace.
Donnelle tightened his grip on my arm and twisted so I’d look at him. “I’ll call them off if you stop fighting and come like a good girl.”
One of the wolves nipped at my thigh, while the other tore my tank top.
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
Then, I felt him, in my head, like an answer to my prayers.
Calm settled over me, and I had all the confidence in the world when I looked up into Donnelle’s wild eyes. “He’s coming,” I whispered.