Season of the Wolf Pt. 02

"Sense them?"

"My blood...A vampire always knows where his children are. Just one drop and I can find anyone anywhere. That I can't sense Christine and Rod means one of two things. Either they're dead or another vampire has left their mark on them." Van is so cold and matter of fact. It doesn't faze him that Christine and Rod haven't been heard from since the night they saved Han and my life. He doesn't care about them or these people he has become a self declared pack master of. He cares about one thing and one thing only. Blood.

I take a deep breath. My wolf is too close to the surface and this room filled with vampires is way too small. "You mean you fed me your blood to track me? You weren't concerned about the baby or me at all. You wanted a means to track Han through me. You know wherever he is I am." I'm focusing on that one fact instead of the truth of what he's said. I can't consider that Christine and Rod really could be dead or worse, marked by another vampire...an enemy. If Christine and Rod show up here, it will lead the enemy straight to us.

"A necessity, advantageous for the both of us, but necessary. We didn't want you to slip through our fingers again. Your baby is healthy and strong. See, we both win."

"You've turned me into a goddamned homing beacon! I didn't ask for your help or your blood! Break the link!"

"I believe I've already told you how it works. I don't suppose you really want to die. Perhaps, you'd prefer one of my associates rather than be linked to me. But, since they're loyal to me and me alone. It's all a matter of semantics. Isn't it? You see. There is no way out. At least not one that includes you walking away."

Rage burns through me and consumes my common sense in its heat. My wolf surges to the surface and the awfulness of the shift takes hold of our shared body. Pain grips my limbs. There is another way to break the bond and I find it suits me just fine. Killing Van would break the link. My wolf is pleased with the idea of consuming the prey. Michael is shouting, but his words don't break through. Michael is braver than I gave him credit for. He's hauling me out of the study and risking his life to toss me outside before the shift takes hold. He's in my face, screaming at me. "They'll kill you! If you kill him, if you threaten him, they'll kill you!"

Somehow I find the inner strength to reclaim my body. "No they won't. They want their precious daylight too much to kill us."

Michael pulls down the collar of his shirt and I see the fading bruises. "They already have it," he says. The sight of the marks on his neck douse the fuel feeding the fire of my rage. "We fed them last night to keep their fangs out of you. Don't you see? It's the only way. This truce is a joke. There is no truce. They only let you see what they want you to see."

"What about Christine and Rod?"

"Believe me, sometimes dead is better. I hope they're a million miles away from this place. But, I'd rather them be dead than for them to keep on living the way that we have and always will."

"No we won't."

"You got a better idea?"

"Not yet." My mind is churning. Christine and Rod are missing. I can tell by Van's reaction that he doesn't know where they are or what's happened to them. Michael, though he hasn't said so. I can tell he believes they're dead. I can't and won't give up on the thought that they're still alive.

I wish I could get over my bias and general hatred of vampires. I'd like to say that they're just like anybody else or like pack. But, they're not. I don't see one shred of good in them or anyone who takes lives in order to sustain their own. I know. Humans eat meat. Wolves hunt for food. But, vampires feed off beings with thoughts and hopes and dreams for the future. Animals don't dream or have hope. They live from one moment to the next. It's different. Animals aren't people.

I have a sinking feeling in my gut. My mind takes the thought and runs wild with it. I've watched enough horror movies to know or at least have a general idea of how a vampire is made. Maybe, if Christine and Rod weren't lucky enough to escape the vampires. Maybe, they weren't killed but something else happened to them instead. The thought makes me sick deep down inside. But, I suppose I'd rather cling to that small shred of hope than have no hope at all. "Michael, what happens if a vampire turns a wolf?"

Michael grunts and nods. He can't even meet my eye. He has thought of it too. "Sometimes, dead is better and that's one of the times." He leaves me standing in the yard alone. Well, not completely alone. Nobody is alone with this many people. But, I feel alone. I pull my cell phone out of my hip pocket and hit send. Christine's voice sounds loud and clear in my ear. It's a recording. Her voice asking me to leave a message, but I truly have nothing to say.

Chapter 41

My mother steps out onto the porch and lingers in the shade. I'm somewhat embarrassed by listening to Christine's voicemail message over and over again. It's just that I don't know if I'll ever really hear her real voice and not a recording of it again. I don't want to deal with my mother ever. It's odd. I can forgive Christine for her part in the deception that is my life, but I can't find it in my heart to forgive the woman who gave birth to me.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about this woman and the circumstances that led to her giving me away. I want to know more about my father. But, if I were to ask that would mean I'd have to talk to her. I'd have to swallow my pride and soften my heart to my mother and I'm not ready to let her into that tender, fragile part of me simply because I don't trust her or her answers not to destroy it.

"Sometimes, the best of intentions end up with the worst of outcomes." My head is tilted in her general direction, but I don't turn to meet her eyes as she speaks to me. "Your father and I, we thought we were protecting you from your grandfather. Protecting you from this life and here you are standing in the shadow of this big house exactly where I stood twenty-four years ago."

"Better in the shadow of this damned house than kneeling at a vampire's feet," I counter.

"Van isn't the enemy. I'm not your enemy. I didn't return with your father when he sought to gain control of the pack. You know, he did it for you. He died right over there," she says pointing to the flat expanse of ground beyond the horse paddock. "He died for you. Life and fate are funny things. I didn't return with Josiah. We both thought it was best that I stayed dead and buried at the time. He was supposed to take control of the pack and then I was to return with you afterwards."

"It didn't quite happen that way, did it?" I don't want to listen to any of the words coming out of her mouth. She could be lying again. Trying to save her own skin. She knows her situation is precarious. She is nothing but a stranger to this pack and to me. Van is the only thing standing between her and quite possibly the pack's vengeance. I can't honestly say if it weren't for the threat of a bigger, badder enemy that Van would be sitting so smugly in the study pretending to be king of the world.

Pack vengeance is a bitter and bloody thing. I've never seen it first hand. But, I know the closeness of these people bound together by their secrets and common thread of DNA. If anything or anyone dares to threaten them they eliminate the threat. I cringe at imagining exactly how the pack executes justice. I don't have to guess to know it isn't pretty or that it's lethal though. "Maybe, you should have stayed dead."

"Maybe. You can't imagine what it's like for me to be back here again." I turn to face her. I'm about to open my mouth to tell her that I don't need a tour on her trip down memory when I see the bitterness in her smile. She is in pain and I don't hurt people already bleeding and battered. I snap my mouth shut. "It wasn't bad, you know. Living here. Times were different then. I was born knowing what I was born to do. Your father, he spent his whole life training for the day when Nathaniel would get too old to lead the pack. Josiah knew one day he'd have to kill him and take his place. He didn't want that. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do to escape his inevitable fate.

"When Josiah found out about the vampires, your grandfather's best kept secret, he thought it was an out, a way to keep from killing his father, and a way to keep you safe from the pack. I was pregnant with you at the time, too pregnant to pull up stakes and leave. The truth was that I didn't want to go. That was until after I gave birth and I saw the expression on Han's face when he held you for the very first time. I knew he'd finally found his mate.

"I saw your entire life mapped out for you, growing up, falling in love, and the inevitability of it all. There's one thing that having a virtual immortality teaches a person and that's the virtue of patience. Han is a very patient man. He had been waiting over a century for his one true love and what was another twenty years or so? I thought if I took you away you'd have a chance at a life of your own choosing. I thought you could escape him.

"Josiah made a pact with the vampires. They had something we needed and we had something they needed. Michael was a surprise. I can assure you of that. It wasn't till Michael came along that I realized the truth. We had traded one prison for another. Only this time, it wasn't so easy to leave. With Van's help be began to plan our escape, not only our escape and Michael's, but yours too. But, things don't always work out the way you plan that they will. Our return was supposed to be peaceful. Nathaniel didn't want a pact with Van. Han didn't know as many truths as he thought he did about the world."

The expression of regret on my mother's face is too much to endure. Her eyes flick between the pasture and me. I'm furious with her and I can't let go of my rage. Han and I are pawns in a bigger game. My mother used me to ensure her welcome home. I was her way to get to Han. Van is using Han and Han's biggest weakness, his connection to the past and faithfulness to his family to gain access to the only thing a vampire needs to survive. Everyone is paying the price because of my mother and Van

"I hate you!" I'm shouting and my outburst earns more than its share of glares from the California pack. "Quit trying to explain things to me. I don't want to hear another word of it. I already have a mom and you will never take her place. I don't care what you have to say. There isn't any explanation good enough to convince me to forgive you for what you've done. This conversation...this little heart to heart confession is over. We...you and I...we're done. Don't. Say. Another. Word. To. Me. Ever!"

"Grace!" My mother shouts after me. "Everything your father did...everything I've done. It's all been for you. I love you!" I don't respond. My mind and emotions are on overload and I do the only thing I can. I run. I don't even care where I'm going. I don't give the pack of strangers prowling the woods or the vampires a second thought. I bolt for the trees and I keep going, pushing my body and increasing the distance between the woman who is my mother but could never be my mom and myself.

Chapter 42

I ran until my muscles ached and my lungs screamed for air. Han always had preferred the beauty and serenity of wild natural places to retreating behind to pages of a book to escape his problems. As I walked to cool down I was beginning to see why. The sunlight streaming through the patches of leaves too stubborn to relent to autumn's chill was resplendent. The woods were a riot of fall colors, brilliant oranges, soft soothing browns, vibrant shades of green, and yellow that shone more dazzling than solid gold.

The cemetery's rusty wrought iron gate looked out of place nestled in the midst of this autumn splendor. I didn't bother trying to wrestle the gate open. Finding footholds was easy enough with the intricate crisscross of the iron design and I simply climbed over the edge. Despite the frost thick green moss grew on the tombstones, hiding the names and dates from prying eyes. Some of the older stones were so worn by weather and time that the inscriptions were completely illegible. There seemed to be no discernable order as to who was buried were. Old stones intermingled with newer ones and some of the graves weren't marked at all, but you knew someone rested in the ground beneath your feet. The only common theme to the graveyard was that all the graves, both the old and the new centered around one focal point, the monument in the middle standing tall and solid as the stone from which it was built.

I wondered what the founder of our great pack would say about these new developments. He was a man of vision and of peace. He sought unity above all things and it landed him here amongst the dead. Looking back, knowing the tidbits I knew about history, his vision seemed more like a fool's errand than a cause worth dying for to me.

I toed the ground at the base of the stoic monument. Though carefully disguised beneath a scattering of dried leaves. I could see that someone had been digging in the dirt. I didn't bother with trying to unearth the box that contained our pack's past and guarantees of the future. As far as I'm concerned at this point, the present is the only thing I'm interested in.

I wander over to my mother's grave. Someone had been busy chiseling away the inscription on the stone. It wasn't her grave and nobody knew the identity of the woman that had been buried in her place. My father's grave is next to hers. I glare at the stone since I can't take out my anger on him. My mother bears the brunt of the future they both so carefully constructed. I can't blame her without blaming him for his part in it. But, hating a dead man isn't really as satisfying as taking out my wrath on her.

I no longer care what's fair and what's not. I don't give a damn about reasons why and excuses. It doesn't matter that she says she loves me and that my father loved me. They chose a path and dragged me along for the ride. I didn't ask for any of it and ultimately in the end even with their attempts to change my fate. I ended up here anyway. I'd like to say that I'm not a believer in destiny, but I can't dispute the facts. I was born to fall in love with Han. I'd like to think I have a choice about where that love takes the two of us. Maybe, I do and maybe I don't. I can't sit back and just let things happen and have absolute faith that whatever happens is supposed to happen though. I decide to play an active part in the plotting of my own course. Unfortunately though I have no idea where I'm supposed to go.

I glance up at the sound of hooves striking the narrow hard packed trail leading high up into the hills. Han, Bear, and Coyote are riding down the trail towards home. They stop and Bear gives me a wave. I've ridden these winding paths dozens of times with Han and he's never been armed, but I notice a rifle slung low across his back. Coyote shares a look with Han and slides out of the saddle. He doesn't bother with securing Ginger's reins and hops over the gate in one smooth motion. "Well, look at you out here pouting all by your lonesome," he says in his typical mocking Midwestern drawl.

He is his usual devil may care self, casually leaning against the headstone of some unknown ancestor. Han doesn't like confrontation and it seems that when there's any confronting to do between the two of us. He sends Coyote to do it. Coyote, for all his faults, instinctively knows when my attitude needs put in check and wastes no time getting down to the business of doing so.

Coyote doesn't bother with small talk. I can appreciate that quality in him since I don't like idle chitchat either. "You know you can think about whatever it is you're thinking about until you're on the flipside of one of these lovely graves or you can do something about it now while you still can. We might not age, but aint any of us getting any younger, Sweetness."

I ignore his sarcastic condescending tone and degrading nicknames. I know it's his way of getting me to talk. Once I've spoken what's on my mind aloud to someone other than myself I can begin the hard work of truly processing it. I want this hurt. I want my hatred. I need my rage. It's the only defense I have against my mother. Coyote adjusts his cowboy hat and shoots me a look. He knows what I really need, to let this poison out of my system. I turn away and refuse to give in to him. "Fuck you, Coyote."

He chuckles and tsks me. "About two months ago I would have taken you up on that kind offer, but now. Well, I don't think Han would really appreciate sharing you."

"I wasn't offering," I grumble. Coyote is perhaps my best friend and I hate that he can get into my head so easily. I stop to stand at the foot of my father's grave and stare at the inscription on the headstone. Idly, I kick at the leaves the wind has blown at the base of the simple grave marker. "How well did you know him...know them...my parents, I mean?"

"Before you came along, I was the baby of the pack. I must say," he says straightening his shoulders and shooting me a grin from beneath the wide brim of his cowboy hat. "Everyone adored me. Your parents included. I know the version of them you see in your mind's eye isn't what I see...what I remember. They were different people back then. Committed. Loving. Devoted to the pack and to each other.

"Your mama, God I remember her being so beautiful. Maybe, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I recall being a little boy, seven years old or so, and her, perhaps the most patient female in the pack because she put up with me. My mom wasn't nearly as kind, patient, or forgiving. She'd chase me out of her kitchen with a broom and order me to get out of her hair. I never minded...I got and do you know where I went...straight to the big house down there. Angela didn't mind having me hanging around. She'd bake me cookies and tell stories about the world out there. She'd tell me that one day I'd have to make a choice and that she hoped I'd choose, not what the pack wanted for me but what I wanted for myself.

"I was only seven years old. The only choice I wanted to make was whether to eat the chocolate chip or the peanut butter cookie first. I didn't understand what she was really telling me at the time. To me, well, to my seven year-old mind, the pack and this place was my world and your mother was smack dab in the center of it.

"I grew up, of course and my lazy afternoons with Angela came to an end. I was fascinated by the world in her stories. I wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge, Big Ben, and all the wonders of the real world outside of our fence. But, I didn't. I couldn't because that would mean leaving her and your dad.

"Your dad...damn I miss that son of a bitch. I wasn't born with the knowledge of how to make the best homebrew in the state, perhaps in the whole world. I learned it, from him. We'd spend hours, sometimes, days at the still perfecting the art of fermenting grain. My mother hated it and my dad he cussed Josiah on more than one occasion for sending his son home in such a state. You see. I'd wander home drunk as a skunk and proclaim it was in the name of science."

Coyote sits on the ground and props himself up against my father's headstone. He pats the dry patch of leaves next to him and I sit beside him. "I did get to see the world, you know. Vietnam. Twenty-something, young, dumb, and full of come, I enlisted. Two tours later, I came home, haunted by the version of the world I had seen. I spent the next year or so drunk off my ass trying to forget the horror humanity is capable of perpetuating. We're wolves and sometimes our world gets pretty ugly, but it's nothing compared to the hell on earth one human being can commit on another. Your parents got through to me when nobody else could. They saved my ass and kept me from losing my mind."