Luna Aurora must simply be dealing with something witch-related. That’s why she’s being weird.
“I think the pack is already accepting of it, Aurora,” I remind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done a lot to protect us from the demon attacks.”
Aurora sighs. “It’s not enough,” she admits tersely, her shoulders slouching as she stares into my eyes. “There’s something else. I’m here as a messenger for the council.”
Her thoughtful expression as she stares at me is confusing. “What do you mean, Aurora? What message, and for whom?”
Aurora bites her bottom lip contemplatively, then straightens up. “The Elders are requesting your presence in the pack den for a meeting.”
“Me?!” I scoff with a nervous chuckle, but it soon fades when that unwarranted restlessness comes over me, a faint thumping in my eardrums signaling the rise of panic. I gasp as a hand flies to my neck, where bile gathers in my throat behind my warm flesh. “Am I in trouble?”
Aurora purses her lips, but shakes her head. “No, of course not, Rissa. But you have to go right now. They’re waiting in the den.”
“But why, Aurora?” I prod further, even as Aurora gently takes my arm and leads me toward the door. Something about the gentle coercion is insistent, adamant, but it’s strange.
Aurora sighs heavily, her lips a straight, unsmiling line. “I told you I’m just the messenger. I have no idea why,” she shrugs diffidently, and I have no reason not to trust her except that she’s the main luna of the Snehvolk Pack.
Why wouldn’t she know what they want?
Nonetheless, I relent without further questions. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over these past few months, it’s that Luna Aurora is the most powerful member of this pack, and there’s no need to question anything she does when she always has the pack’s safety in mind.
She’s always trusted her intuition, her gut instincts always leading her in the right direction. This can’t be any different, so I decide to go along with her and end up on my way through the village toward the pack den.
The newly-built clinic near the north side of Girdwood is a long way from the pack den in the south, so I have a long way to go. Thanks to the warmer weather, the ground isn’t covered in snow, allowing for the walk to be a pleasant one, the previously frost-bitten chocolate lilies growing along the stone pathway slowly turning a deep purplish color as if to signal the arrival of summer.
Slowing down to let my fingers ghost across the fragile petals without really touching them, I feel a smile warming my lips, distracting me from the unknown that lies ahead in that pack den. As I continue my journey through the village, coming out at the south side near Alpha Brooks’s quarter of the village, a dreadfully cold shiver courses down my spine.
Is this why I’ve been feeling particularly restless these past few days, like impending doom awaits me as I turn the corner? A trembling hand reaches out to give a timid, hesitant knock on the wooden door that wouldn’t be audible to ordinary human ears.
But the elder werewolves inside the pack den hear the knock, and a crackly, deep voice responds.
“Come on in, Omega Rissa Rudolph.”
The commanding tone has me quickly gathering my wits with a deep breath and straightening out to open the door and enter the pack den. As soon as I step inside, the breath I just took is knocked right out of my gut by the wary pairs of eyes that bore into my soul as they stare at my face.
Every elder from every sect that makes up the Snehvolk Pack is in the den, seated at the log benches that form a rectangle around the unlit fire pit in the center of the room. I’ve only ever heard from Aurora and Yvonne about the sacred, private rituals that take place in the pack den between the alphas and elders of the Snehvolk Council, but I’ve never experienced it myself. As an omega, it’s hardly my place to even be here amongst the higher-ups.
Unless I’m in trouble. Unless my head is on the chopping block, and I’m about to be led to my demise.
But Aurora would have told me. She would have warned me. She would have given me a heads-up and even helped me escape such a terrible fate.
She’s the closest thing I have to a sister, and she’s the first true friend I’ve made since my fall from grace, thanks to Alpha Brooks.
As the council elders continue to stare at me, brows raised in expectation, one of them signals me to the bench across from him. My eyes fall to the empty seat beside a figure whose hair isn’t graying like the cloaked figures in the room. A mop of thick, pin-straight hair sits atop a head that’s perched on broad shoulders, the hair at the nape growing out and brushing the collar of a black shirt that covers the arms.
Who is that? I think with every step I take, alternating between the thought that I probably should have pestered Aurora with more questions as to why I’d been called here, and wondering who’s seated before the elders.
Has someone accused me of something? Is this a trial of some sort?
Surely Aurora would have warned me about this.
I do as I’m instructed by the elder, who points to the empty side of the bench, keeping my head lowered respectfully until I’m close enough to the polished wood edge to round it. I only lift my head up, be careful stepping around the corner, but a small flicker of curiosity makes me lift my eyes to the man seated on the far end of the bench.
Brooks Howell…?
My breath catches in my throat as I gasp, seeing his immaculate side profile, the restriction of airflow in my lungs bringing me so close to the verge of passing out that it weakens my knees enough to force me to sit beside him. Quickly turning my horror-stricken eyes away, I tear my attention to the elders, gathered in front of us as if this were an interrogation.
Is this the final blow in Brooks’s endless quest to belittle me?
