Performing grief, performing the part of the young widow—well, youngish—left behind and grieving after her dear husband is taken far too soon.
Personally, it wouldn’t have bothered me ifCarterhad decided to shuffle off this mortal coil a good ten years earlier—at least thenImight have had a bit of my youth left.Ifthat sounds cold, wellI’msorry—asIsaid,Ilived through a cold, abusive marriage.
Out in public, he would sometimes hold my hand.Andof course, during myHeatCyclehe bred me, whetherIwanted him to or not.Otherthan those times, my husband never touched me.Iused to watch the other wives with their husbands and yearn to be touched and held and loved.Isaw the way the men held their mates close—the casual drape of an arm around her shoulders…a kiss on the cheek, or the mouth…the many timesIsaw a happy couple sneak off into the shadows together because herHeatCyclewas getting to be too much and her husband had to breed her…
I never had any of that.Theyears whenIshould have been wed to a warm, loving man who would wrap me in his arms and love me were behind me now.NowIwas nothing but a grieving widow and sinceIhad been married to thePackLeader,Iwas expected to stay that way the rest of my life.
There was even a law about it in myPack—TheMoonWidow, as the wife of the deadPackLeaderis called—is not allowed to marry again if she’s over a certain age.Shemust spend the rest of her life honoring her husband’s memory and bearing witness to his greatness.Theonly exception is if the nextPackLeaderwants to marry her.Butthat wasn’t considered likely, especially at my time of life.
IfIhad been even alittleyounger, they might have let me remarry.ButIwas past forty now—too old to have any urgentHeatCycles.Tooold to be given as a wife to anotherPackAlpha.Notthat any of them would want a used-upOmegalike me—even ifIdid have theRoyalRingedEyes.Istill bore my late husband’s crest tattooed on my upper right arm and his was the onlyMarkIwould ever wear.
“It’s a pity you never could bear him any sons.”Therewas a hint of reproach inFatherMacKaity’smellow tenor voice, as thoughIhad withheld the sons on purpose.“Iknow how desperately he wanted an heir, but alas, now thePackwill have to go through theAlphaChallengeand we’ll likely lose at least two or three good, strongAlphasin the fights.”
“I’m sorry,”Ioffered, my words sounding hollow in my own ears.“Itried,Father—trulyIdid.”
“Yes, of course you did, lass.Inever meant to imply otherwise,” he said, thoughIwas pretty sure that wasexactlywhat he had been implying.Heshook his head, looking sorrowful.“Ah, if only the curse could be broken!Thisis the fifth generation where thePackLeaderhas no son.Alwaysbefore theLeaderleft behind an heir—a younger brother or a nephew or cousin to take his place.Butalas,AlphaCarterhad no one.”
“I thought he had a younger brother, though,”Ioffered hesitantly.Iwas sureI’dheardCarterspeak of him before—though not in very good terms.Theyhad been estranged for longer thanIhad been alive—Carterheld onto a grudge like it was money, as myNanawould have said.
“Did he?”FatherMacKaityshook his head.“Nay, lass—Idon’t think so.Inever heard him speak of such.”
“He only spoke of him two or three times when we were first married,”Itold him.“Hewas a half-brother only—the two of them had the same father but different mothers,Ibelieve.”
“Well now,Isuppose if he could be located…butIwouldn’t even know where to begin.”Heshook his head.“Evenif anAlphawith theJamisoncrest on his right bicep walked through the door right now,Idoubt thePackwould accept him.TheAlphasare already gearing up for the challenge and we have several that think they’d be the best new leader of thePack.”
He nodded to the corner of the funeral parlor where a group of big, muscular men stood.TheAlphasof ourPackwere eyeing each other like they were ready to start theAlphaChallengeright then and there, thoughCarterwasn’t even cold in the ground yet.HarrisMurdoch, especially, looked ready to commit murder to get to the seat of power.Hewas a tall man in his early forties—just a year or two older than me—but still in his prime.Hewas strong as a bull and enjoyed lifting seemingly un-liftable objects for fun or just to show off.
Personally,Ithought he would make a terriblePackLeader—he was too vain and too worried about his own pride to steer thePackon a straight path.Carter, for all his faults, had kept thePackstrong—mostly by refusing to allow any kind of deviance from thePackLawsat all.
Most notably, he refused to allow anyone of hisAlphasto break theUnbreakableLaws.He’dhad a youngAlphaput to death for breeding his mate inFurFormonce—even though the girl had cried and begged and said she wanted it.Afterher husband was dead, she had been turned out into the forest, naked and alone to die as her own punishment.
It was a vivid memory for me because it was the one timeCarterhad struck me.Ihad begged and pleaded for the young wife’s life at her trial—Marcellahad been one of my only friends in thePack.Mostof the other women shunned me, fearing my barrenness might be catching.Itwas whispered thatIwas cursed by theMoonGoddessand that was whyIcouldn’t bear any children.
“Stupid bitch!Shebroke theUnbreakableLaws—shemustdie!Don’tyoueverquestion my decisions in front of thePackagain!”Carterhad shouted and had backhanded me so hard, he’d split my lip with the heavy gold ring he always wore.Itbore his family crest on it—a wolf’s head howling at a crescent moon with a single diamond star above it.
It was the same crestIhad tattooed on my right upper arm to show his ownership of me.Forthough the males in ourPackshow aMoonMark—which appears naturally, like a birthmark from the day of their birth—the females do not.Wemust take our husband’sMoonMarkor crest as a tattoo or a brand when we get mated to them.
I eyed the ring now, my tongue exploring the inside of my lip, where the cut had been.Itwas easy to see because the mortician had foldedCarter’shands on his chest, and it gleamed in the chilly overhead light.Ifhe’d had a son or an heir, the ring would have been passed to them.Butsince he had died without either, it would be buried with him and a new ring would be made for the newPackLeader, when he emerged victorious from theAlphaChallengein a few weeks’ time.
The memory of that ring hitting my mouth filled me with sudden rage andIsucked in a muffled breath.HowdareCarterturn my only friend out to die?Ididn’t understand why she and her husband had done what they had done, butIdidn’t believe that he had forced her.Shehad lovedJackwith all her heart—they’d had a warm and caring marriage—the exact opposite of my cold, dry joining withCarter.Theyshould have been allowed to leave thePackand go their own way instead of being killed.
“Ah,Ican see that you miss him—please take this, lass.”FatherMacKaity—clearly mistaking my sudden emotion for grief—pressed a clean white handkerchief into my hand.
“Thank you,Father.”Itook it with a nod and pretended to dab at my eyes.Iwas glad thatIhad chosen to wear a veil.Noone could see my face under the black lace, soIwas free to let my expressions show whatIfelt.Thoughto be honest,I’dspent so many years with a pleasant smile frozen on my face,Iwasn’t even sure my facecouldshow true emotion anymore.
It had showed plenty when we’d first been married butCarterused to lock me in my room when my face twisted into what he considered “inappropriate” expressions when we were out in the town.SoIlearned to show nothing—to feel nothing.
Which was whyIfelt nothing now asIstared down at his corpse—or soItold myself.Ifelt nothing asIstared at the man who had robbed me of the best years of my life, who had left me cold and lonely for the entire time we’d been together.Imight have gotten over the gap in our ages if he had been kind to me—if he’d cared even a little.Iwas so young and so starved for affection whenIfirst came to him—Ihad just wanted someone to love me…to hold me…
“Well, well—sorry the old boy is gone.”
This new voice came from my right.FatherMacKaityhad wandered off to speak to other grievingPackmembers.Ijerked my head up and sawHarrisMurdochlooking speculatively at the corpse.Hedidn’t sound sorry thatCarterwas gone—no sorrier thanIwas, anyway.Asalways, he brought a strong smell of sour beer, stale body odor, and cigarettes with him that made my nose want to shrivel in disgust.
“He was a good husband,”Isaid, because that is what a grieving widow is supposed to say.
“Good enough to you, anyway—Ihear he left you everything, even though you never gave him any pups.”Heran a hand over his balding head, eyeing me speculatively.
“I…tried my best,”Ifaltered, hating him for bringing up my shortcomings again.Wouldno one in thePackever let me forget my barren womb?Didno one care or understand how much it hurt—howIstill mourned my empty arms and the fact thatIwould never hold a baby of my own?
