Season of the Wolf Pt. 02

I wiggle from underneath the covers and elbow Han sharply in the ribs to get him to release his hold on me. He snorts awake and scrabbles to drag me to him. "Han, I have to pee," I whisper hoping that I'll appeal to his gentlemanly side and he'll let me go. He does and I snatch my cell phone off the nightstand and slip into the bathroom. I lock the door, knowing that a lock won't really keep Han out if he wants in, but I need the illusion of privacy. I send Christine a text and don't have to wait long to receive a reply.

There's only one way I'm going to find out the things I need to know, keep my promise to Coyote, and secure the future of the pack. I want Christine to arrange a little get together between her pack and Han and I. I need to know exactly what kind of people I'm dealing with. I want to meet the mastermind behind the deception that has been my life. I want answers. I need to look this person in the eye and find out why. Oh, I know the watered down version of the truth Christine told me and perhaps, she believes it herself. I don't. I want the truth, the real truth behind all the lies.

Christine ends her text with promises and emoticons. As if a few smiley faces will undo the damage that has been done and magically makes things better between us. I still feel the sting of her lies. But, I need to keep the lines of communication open. Despite all the things she's done to me deep down, she's my friend and I value that friendship more than I do my hurt feelings. The goofy smiley face I send in reply is a lie. I'm truly no better than Christine. I know I've given her hope that all is forgiven. Eventually, it will be, but not for a while yet.

I flush the toilet and take my time cleaning up, brushing my teeth and taking care of all the important parts with a warm soapy washcloth. Sometimes, I take comfort in the mundane and the wash, rinse, pat dry routine grounds me. Han's bite marks are a series of dark purple bruises against my tan skin. They're tender and he's made them impossible to hide beneath my hair or the collar of a shirt. He intended for them to be seen.

His possessiveness sends a surge of conflicting emotions racing through me. I like wearing his brand and I sure as hell enjoyed it at the time I was receiving them. But, a part of me resents that Han was so eager to mark what he considers as his, primarily me. I'm not an object. I'm a person, a woman, and I deserve to be treated as such. Han couldn't have helped it. I pushed him hard and wanted his wild side brought to the surface and that's what I got.

I'm hiding in the bathroom. I know it. By now, he's awake and knows it too. Last night I was a brazen wild thing. In the wee hours of the morning I'm completely human and a bit gingerly to traipse around in my bare skin in front of him. I've always seen my every flaw and imperfection. Han sees none of them. That should flatter me. It doesn't. I want nothing clouding his judgment, not even his love for me.

I hope Christine comes through for me and has something set up with her pack master. I wish I knew what to expect. I wish I knew what kind of person could steal an infant from her dying mother's embrace and plot such an elaborate scheme. I have to remember, I'm not dealing with an ordinary human, but a wolf in human skin with every bit of a wolf's cunning and ruthlessness.

Han hasn't revealed that side of himself to me yet. I've seen him furious and received the brunt of his rage. I've seen him deal with his pack and the way they respect him as their leader. I've seen him be loving and kind. I've seen him lost to memories and missing the ones who have died and left him behind.

I've watched the expressions flit across his face when he thinks I'm not watching. He thinks too much. He cares too much. He feels everything so intensely. I know what he's done to protect his pack. He battled my father in a fight to the death. I understand what that means and I see the weight of it hidden beneath the mask he shows the world. I know what he's capable of and it's terrifying, but I can't imagine him or his wolf as being ruthless and brutal.

I tiptoe back into bed and snuggle beneath the covers. I'm not going to tell Han a thing about my text to Christine until I have something concrete to say. Maybe, I'm protecting him from unnecessary worry. I have taken that particular job upon myself. Han's wolf is closer to the surface when Han's defenses are down, when he's sleeping or lost in passion or to intense emotion. His wolf is here now, totally aware, guarding over the both of us as Han slumbers.

Han gravitates toward me and wraps his warm body around my chilly limbs.

I cave to my exhaustion of the emotional roller coaster I've ridden all day and drift off. I dream and I dream hard. I dream about wolves, and pack, and chubby babies waving tiny fisted hands, and Han, of course, I dream of Han.

Chapter 14

Last night, I slept like a baby. I don't know whether it was the warmth of Grace's body or the light press of her bare skin against mine that soothed me enough to fall and land hard into the world of dreams. But, I got the first good night's sleep I'd gotten since the night I woke up to find her gone.

Grace is beautiful at any time of day. But, when she's like this and all the defenses she hides behind are gone. She's more than beautiful. I can see the parts of her personality she tries so hard to stifle beneath the mask of her humanity. Grace is loyal and I know all will be forgiven in time. She is fierce and brave and maybe, just a little crazy. I don't mind Grace's version of insanity. Live long enough and your definition of crazy changes over the years.

Grace is tenacious. Once she sinks her teeth into something she doesn't let it go. If I had my way, we'd already be back home where I can keep her safe. That isn't going to happen until she unearths the truth. It isn't easy to learn the people you trusted the most aren't exactly who you thought they were. Oh, I understand, damn, do I ever. And I have to admit I'm more than a bit hurt that Nathaniel lied to me. But, like Grace, I'm also curious to get some answers.

I can't begin to fathom why Nathaniel never tried to make contact with this pack or why, if he did, he never told me about it. I also don't understand why, since Josiah and Angela, Grace's true parents, went through all this scheming and plotting to escape the pack, why they never breathed a word to me about their plans. All Coyote had were suspicions and even he didn't mention a thing.

I'm bruised, but much like Grace, I'll recover. Stroking a strand of Grace's dark hair away from her sleep slack cheek, I study her features. She takes after her father's side of the family. Her mother had the lightness of the Galloway branch of the tree as do I. Grace's features are bronzed with the high cheekbones and intense brown eyes of warriors from the distant past.

Grace's features are delicate as a China doll. Her petite frame was inherited from her mother, a distinct Galloway trait. I lounge against the headboard watching her sleep and try to imagine what she dreams of. It's Grace and if I had to guess, I'd guess that her subconscious mind is busy planning her next move. Grace is a wheel in motion and far be it from me to keep it from spinning.

I'm old as fuck. Hell, I've had so many birthdays that I stopped counting them long ago. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to live at all until Grace finally came into my life. I existed. I led the pack. I clung foolishly to traditions and to the lore of the past. And though my heart beat day after day, all I accomplished was merely staying alive.

I've always known we were destined to meet and to love. That hope was the only thing that kept me going decade after decade. As Winona and Winono, firstborn daughter and son, it's our duty to bring the next generation into being. Somehow though, I don't feel the burden of the weight. How could I when I've been in love with the promise of Grace for as long as I can remember?

What a twisted, gnarled thing our family tree truly is. A curse and a gift born from one single seed and passed down from generation to generation. Grace and I, our roots trace back to a mighty warrior and a cry for justice and vengeance. I wasn't there, of course. I was born ten years after the last warrior bled the ground red. But, I can easily recall the story I've always accepted as the truth. Though, I've never thought beyond a thing that I've been told before now.

I've been out to Prophet's Rock more times than I can count. The site borders the pack's lands. Prophet's Rock is nothing more than a boulder sticking up out of the ground, a place where the Prophet prayed to the Grandmother and brought down this mixed curse and blessing to avenge a battered people.

There were two brothers. I don't know why I've always believed that the Goddess would give this mixed blessing and curse to one and not the other. It makes sense that She wouldn't. In nature there's always a balance and a way to ensure survival. Our pack is in danger of dying out or risking inbreeding. We've hovered on the brink of extinction since the very beginning. There were two sons born of different mothers but of the same father. My branch of the family tree comes from one son and Grace's from the other. And between the lot of us, all the branches of the known family tree, there aren't enough of us to keep it going.

Grace and I are distantly related enough to pull it off, just barely. I've stayed awake many a night contemplating our shared relation, studying the family tree, and assuring myself of it. I've worried for the future of my pack. Worried about what would happen when the handful of us left exhausted all possibilities. I should have guessed the Goddess had a contingency plan. I just never thought I'd discover it in L.A.

Grace stirs in her sleep, turning onto her back and trapping the covers tight beneath her hip. I smile at the softness of her belly highlighted by the snugness of the sheet. It's only been a few weeks and maybe, I'm imagining it, but I can see the beginnings of a baby bump starting to form. I'm a proud papa and I want to shout it out to the world. But, I'm hesitant in my enthusiasm. I'm fearful for Grace and what the next several months will mean for her...for us. In a way I regret getting her pregnant because of the risk it represents. Perhaps, it's just another means of checks and balances put in place by the Goddess. There are so few of us because so few conceive and if they do, even fewer survive.

I gently place my palm on Grace's stomach and as if by sheer force of my will I can command Grace and our unborn child to be strong enough to survive what will be the most terrifying months of my entire long life. I've seen war, famine, diseases that claimed thousands and nothing has ever terrified me more than the thought of this tiny woman, the woman I love, bringing our son into the world.

I love Grace so much it's on the border of physical pain. I wonder who she's trying to fool when she says she wants me to have choices in my life. For me, there's only one choice. There's always been one choice and it's her.

I don't know whose shoes I'd rather be in, mine or hers. I've walked in my moccasins a very long time. But, I don't think I'd want to walk a mile in Grace's. It's not just the baby. It's the way she fights everything she knows deep down to be the truth. There's no escaping this destiny. Maybe, it's because I was born and grew up knowing what I was going to become that had me embracing my part in the bigger scheme. Though she hides her fears well. Grace is afraid. She doesn't want this, to be what and who she is. But, she's got no choice and how wrong I was to tell her that she did. Fate has already been put into motion and much like her. There's no stopping it now.

Last night proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that the two of us were born to be together. If that, the bringing of the next generation into the world, the loving of each other, and living a long and happy life together were her only destiny. My job would be a whole lot easier. Unfortunately though, I don't think that's Grace's only part to play, or mine either for that matter.

Nathaniel, in his cryptic wisdom might have guessed that. Perhaps, he thought it better to let things play out than to tell me his thoughts on the subject. Regret slams home deep. If that's the case and he knew or at least suspected, then not only did he die for Grace. He died for me. I killed his son, Grace's father, to protect the pack. Nathaniel knew the cost of keeping these secrets and he chose to guard them anyway.

What of Angela, Grace's mother? She was running. She ran here and was running back. She died because of it. I've no doubt about that. I wonder if Nathaniel or Josiah truly calculated the cost of the secret. That at the end of the day, the only thing they accomplished was depriving Grace of the one thing that could have saved her all this agony. She needed her family, her true family, and they, in their guarding of the truth, took it away from her.

I secretly vow to Grace and our unborn child that I will protect them no matter what the cost and then I realize Nathaniel and Josiah might have thought the very same thing. There could be another pack master here, in L.A. who thinks the exact thoughts I'm thinking. Angela was murdered because she was running from or to. And I have to wonder what it was that had her running in the first place.

Christine is right. Grace is the key. She's the bridge between the human world and our world and between Christine's pack and mine. Grace's frame is so tiny and petite. I wonder if her shoulders are broad enough to carry the burdens placed on them. I'll help her in any way that I can. But, if the situation gets too dangerous, I'll get her to safety, protect her from herself, no matter what measures I have to take to do it.

My wolf bristles at every threat to Grace's safety my mind is capable of concocting. My wolf wants off his chain and it's true. I've had him leashed up for too long. He wants to piss on tree stumps and mark his turf. Only this city isn't my territory to claim. I play a dangerous game by keeping my wolf caged. He must have his due or he'll take it by force. I can't risk ignoring him any longer.

L.A. is probably as still and quiet as its ever going to get in the grayness of dawn. Carefully, I slide out of the bed and tiptoe to the door. I don't want to wake Grace. She needs her rest. I don't bother pulling on anything but a pair of shorts. There's not really any need since I'll be sliding into my wolf skin as soon as my feet hit the beach. The air is cool and nips at my fingers and toes. It's a relief to my fevered flesh. I'm hauling ass to find someplace to shift before my wolf gets the upper hand and pops out unwelcome and in plain view.

No matter whether anyone would believe it's real or not. I don't want my shift captured on someone's cell phone and posted on Youtube. I duck behind a public restroom at the edge of the beach and let my human side go. My wolf punishes me by taking his sweet time claiming our shared body. I'm writhing on the sand naked and drenched in sweat. Every bone in my body pops and groans as it splinters and takes on a new shape. I scrabble at air as my fingers disappear and my nails lengthen into sharp claws. Then, there's the unmistakable calm, a sensation not unlike an orgasm, as my wolf assumes command and whatever there is of me that's human fades into the background and nothing but instinct governs us both.

The wolf hates the stink of the city and the constant reek of humanity. He sniffs and growls in determination to mark his territory. The human inside of him can't hold him back and the wolf does what he does best. Takes complete dominion over everything he perceives as his.

The sweet odor of rot strikes his nostrils and he tips over a garbage can. After nosing through the contents, he decides there's nothing appealing in there to eat and moves on in search of prey. A cat captures his attention and he's on the prowl. His human banters at the edges of their shared consciousness. The bastard would starve them both if the wolf didn't step in and keep them fed. A cat might not be either of their first choices in meals. But, the wolf enjoys the chase far too much to bypass the opportunity. The cat outsmarts the wolf as he leaps up onto a high fence where the wolf cannot follow. The shore birds also provide no easy source of sustenance for the wolf and are far too impossible to catch.

The wolf stalks the beach, sticking to the shadows and prowling with a watchful eye. The human wants control of their shared body, but the wolf isn't going to give up so easily. The inborn need to protect, to mark, to provide for their mate is too intense to be put off so soon. Lifting his long snout into the breeze, the wolf sorts out the various scents. The human provides the names of unfamiliar things the wolf smells. But, the wolf really doesn't have any use for words. Something, a scent in the air catches the fragments of their shared attention. The unmistakable scent of wolf musk hits their sense of smell and sends their collective mind reeling in the need to defend.

Prowling like the powerful, cunning hunter that he is, the wolf stalks across the beach, tracking the scent. This isn't the familiar aroma of pack, but the smell of a wolf unknown to them. The human is pounding on the periphery of the wolf's mind, demanding possession of their body. The wolf won't have it until he determines the threat. In times of true danger there's little the human can do. It's the wolf's job to protect them both from harm.

The wolf rounds a sand dune and spots his adversary, a large gray, sleek and powerful. The human supplies the name and the wolf remembers. The wolves stand their ground, sniffing and curling their lips over huge canine fangs. The female's eyes spark in recognition before she turns to bolt away, across the shoreline. The wolf doesn't follow. He doesn't understand human words or the meaning behind a subtle nuance. He doesn't comprehend what the presence of this female means and gives his body back to the human sharing his skin.

I awake shivering, naked face down in the sand. I push my body up onto wobbly hands and knees, crouching and swallowing back bile. My shorts are in an abandoned heap within reach and I should dress before someone spots me and calls the cops. But, I can't muster the wherewithal to accomplish the task. I don't need my wolf to supply the information in the missing blanks in my mind. I know what he saw. I know who he saw. I just simply don't know how it's possible. Nathaniel was so sure. He brought her body home and laid it to rest. I trusted that he knew what he was doing and exactly who he was burying. I didn't check for myself. I just assumed. I was wrong.

My first thoughts are of Grace. And it's my concern for her that gets me onto my feet, into my shorts, and tracking the trail of paw prints along the shoreline before the incoming tide washes them away. This is the worst lie of them all and I don't know what it means for anybody, especially for Grace.

I'm running as fast as my human legs will carry me. Sharp bits of rock buried in the sand cut the soles of my bare feet. The pain doesn't even register. My heart is pounding from the exertion of running. The L.A. skyline isn't visible from beyond the tall dunes and rocky cliffs. I'm chasing paw prints and see them suddenly transform into human footprints. That this wolf can accomplish such a feat and turn from one shape into another without pause hints at a power not even I possess.

Preternatural energy ripples over my skin and sends shivers down my spine. But, as quickly as I felt that spark of energy it's gone and so is the trail. I'm beginning to wonder if I truly am chasing a ghost and something not of this world of flesh and bone. She is as gone as the footprints in the sand. But, I know I haven't seen the last of her. I don't know who Nathaniel buried in that grave, but it wasn't Grace's mother. Angela is alive and well and living in L.A.