Despite the reverence with which he addressed me earlier he looks at me skeptically, as if I might be one of the pack wolves he’s talking about.
“What are two doing out here anyways? Thought you’d be at the Sanc by now,” Malachi says, mostly to Omar.
“I was. But things got complicated,” he replies. “And the wolves who attacked you, they’re planning something big.”
“What’s that then?”
“They want to destroy my pack,” I say. “Or control it. Either way, the wolves who did this, they’re after us as well.”
“And why’s that brought you out to rogue territory?”
“We need the rogues’ help. If we’re going to fight back and defend ourselves, we need the rogues to stand with us.”
He scoffs. “Pack wolves wanting to fight alongside rogues? Now that’s an idea I’ve never heard before.”
Omar jumps in. “We thought we might find rogues with influence here. We need to speak with the rogue leaders.”
“Never thought I’d see you working with a pack either,” Malachi says, a judgmental edge to his voice.
“What happened here is happening in other places,” Omar says. “The wolves who are attacking Max’s pack are the same wolves coming after the rogues. I may never be able to fully trust the pack system again, but for right now, we have a common enemy. And Max’s mate ... well, he’s in charge of their pack right now and ...” Omar looks at me, speaking through clenched teeth: “He’s a good man. I trust that he’ll do right by the rogues if we stand with him.”
For a moment, Malachi nods his head slowly, taking it all in. It’s clear his distrust for the packs runs deep, it must if he spent the last forty years living alone.
Eventually, he smacks his lips and pats Omar’s knee encouragingly. “If you say these pack wolves want to help us, I trust your word. But I’m afraid I don’t know what I can do to help. I’m not much of a fighter these days.”
“That’s okay,” Omar says. “You’ve done enough.”
“What’s the next step in your plan?” Malachi asks.
“First, we need to get you someplace safe. I know of a settlement a few hours from here. We’ll head there next and see if they can direct us to more rogue camps.”
“Sounds good to me,” Malachi says, wheezing slightly. “Though you’ll have a hard time convincing the rogues to fight alongside a pack.”
“We know,” I say. “But we have to try.”
Malachi and I lock eyes for a brief moment. While I was communing with him, our wolf souls were connected, and while I’ve always thought of it as a one-way exchange, I wonder now if his wolf self maybe had a glimpse of mine as well. If by opening my mind to him I’ve let him in more than I’ve realized. And I wonder how that makes him feel. Does it endear him to me, or does it make him distrust me even more?
After a long while, until I start to feel a little awkward about how he’s looking at me, he simply nods and says, “All right, Blood Wolf.”
It’s late when we finally find the settlement Omar has been talking about. Our headlights shine along a dusty road, leading across the open fields flanking us on either side. In the dark I can’t see the horizon, just an abyss where the grass meets the shadows. Up ahead is a small farmhouse, and behind that a barn. String lights hang between the two buildings, swooping in glowing arches. Off to the side and a little farther back are a handful of caravans. More lights linking them like circus wagons.
The car judders as we roll over rocks and stones, and eventually we pull up in front of the single-story farmhouse. A woman with two braids and a shotgun steps through the front door, letting the screen bang behind her.
She watches us carefully as we exit the car, Malachi leaning on Omar for support. I hang back as they limp to the woman, sighing with relief when they get close enough for her to take a good look and she puts the gun down, leaning it against the doorframe.
She gestures Malachi inside, yelling something through the door, I guess to whoever is in there, and I wait as he shufflesout of sight. Omar and the woman speak for a while under the dim light of the porch, moths flitting about like crazy. The woman keeps glancing at me like she doesn’t trust me, which is fair. Though eventually she nods, placing a hand on Omar’s shoulder, casts one more distrusting look in my direction then heads inside.
“There’s a place we can sleep in the barn,” Omar says when he returns.
We grab our bags from the trunk and make our way to the back of the property.
Under the golden glow of the string lights are two picnic tables, with a few wolves sitting at each. One table is playing cards. They look up and nod at us as we head to the barn, then return to their game. The other doesn’t pay us much attention. A mother and her pup are reading a book, while an older man tinkers with what looks like an old-school radio. I feel weird about disturbing their night and I’m sure they feel super weird about having a pack wolf on their land. But no one says anything.
Inside the barn, long tables stand in lines with benches running alongside. This must be where they eat or gather. We head up a steep ladder to the mezzanine at one end where a sort of living room is set up, a ratty-looking sofa with a floral pattern and stuffing spewing from the armrests, a lamp, a stumpy coffee table. Together Omar and I pull out the sofa bed.
“There’s a washroom downstairs,” Omar says, grabbing his toothbrush. “Mind if I go first?”
“Go ahead.”
