Chapter 9: One Of The Pack

My return to the palace is slower, my pace more steady and regular than the all-out pounding of my original run as I circle around and head for home. The wolf pack drops off when I near the edge of the trees, all but the white female. She stops with me as I bend to retrieve my clothing, head tilted to one side, ears perked. I slip into my shirt and jacket, holding her gaze. I've never tried to approach her before, not in human shape. She seems fearless as I cross to her and crouch, only a few feet from her.

She whines, licking her snout, but not out of worry or fear. That I would sense. She instead seems concerned for me, a fact I find odd, considering she's just an animal. And then I shake my head and laugh at myself, my own wolf huffy at the "just" reference. Of course, she's much more than that. She's a wolf.

I offer my hand and she comes forward to lick my fingers. "Thank you for running with me," I say. "It means a lot, knowing you are out there."

She bobs her head, sniffing the air around me before barking, a soft but urgent sound.

"I'll be back tomorrow." I stand, still holding her eyes with mine, wishing I could understand her better. "We'll do it again, if you'd like." This pleasure I will never give up, no matter who tries to stop me.

Her tail wags, ruffling the dead leaves as she barks again. I turn from her, feeling her gaze still on me, and, once I'm halfway across the broad, manicured lawn, I turn and look back.

She still stands, remaining in place until I'm almost to the palace doors, motionless, a ghost flickering white in the dark. But when I look back one last time, my feet passing over the stone of the first step, she's finally gone and her loss makes me sad.

I pause at the top of the wide front steps, hovering behind the threshold to the foyer, feeling the walls I built within softening all over again. Thanks to the wolf? Maybe. Can it be I'm no longer able to sustain the protections I once wore as easily as the clothes on my back? I should be upset I can't live in anger for long, not anymore. But I'm not. I will have to find another means to guard myself than the endless bitter rage I used to use to my advantage, that much is clear. I must find a balance if I'm going to be part of the werepack for real without allowing myself to become a softened victim of emotion.

The scent of Sage intrudes as I enter the still air of the massive entry to the palace. With the wind no longer carrying his scent from me, I'm trapped. I thought I'd run him off of me, but it is obvious it will take a long, hot shower to succeed. My feet scuff over the carpet as I walk toward the well-lit throne room entrance, knowing my grandfather will still be awake, waiting for my report. I will have to keep my distance or he will catch the aroma of a stranger from me and now I've parted ways with Sage, I don't want to have to answer questions about him.

I remember only the feeling of being watched, and a spark of rebellion returns. If my grandfather has been having me followed, he already knows about Sage. Only a tiny whisper of worry wonders if it's not Oleksander... who could it be?

My rebellion grows into a flare of recklessness widening my stride and bringing a snarl to my lips. What if I told Sage what I was and let him make his own decision? This question circles me, has been making the rounds in my head for months now. I only assume the werepack won't accept him-am I right? Do I really care?

He's not a werewolf, my anger tells me. And never will be. I shiver as I reach the doors and stop to gather myself. The only way Sage could become a were would be if he were infected by our blood. And that would mean disaster. Bad enough we can't be together, but for him to be turned to a revenant?

My little tryst with revolt dies in fear. Being born were is one thing. Devolving from an infected bite into an animal-like creature with no heart and no soul, living only in madness is quite another. There is a very good reason creating werewolves is illegal in all territories. And my own personal experience watching a local hunter turn into a revenant is enough to cut short any fantasies I might have about Sage and I being together as weremates.

I was still a little girl, but the recollection is as vivid as my mother's face because of the horror. The sorcerers brought in the man after he tried to shoot one of our pack and was bitten in the melee. My young psyche had been sorely damaged by the sight of the frothing monster writhing on the floor of the throne room. They killed him slowly, the dark sorcerers, in front of us all, torturing and tormenting him first before putting him down like a rabid dog while his stink, the taint of decay and death, stained the air of the vast chamber for weeks afterward.

"You see," the Czar, our former leader, laughed as though the man's plight and our witnessing his death were the utmost in amusement. "You must never try to make others of your kind. Only those born to your affliction, your filthy burden, will be allowed to live."

I believed for a long time the Czar was right, that I and my people were diseased and unworthy of anything but slavery. Syd changed my mind, slowly, by example.

So much for hardening myself to the woman I'd become under her care. I sigh and toss my blonde hair back as I finally enter the throne room to face my grandfather, ready for a fight if I have to argue over Sage, but happy to sidestep Oleksander's surveillance otherwise. It's not like there is anything I can do if he indeed had me followed.

And who knows? By now, Syd's influence might be the better choice. At least I would have memories of her and her family, reminders of who I could have been, to keep me warm through the coming days. And it is possible I may find a mate who understands and loves me to the best of his ability, despite the drawbacks and failings of my race.

I'm not holding my breath.

As I look up the long expanse, I forget everything I've been thinking about, embracing the distraction of the tall, handsome blond standing with one foot on the bottom step of the throne dais. My feet quicken and a real smile blossoms on my face. As hard as tonight has been, I have to remember I'm not alone. And from the sparkling grin on Piers Southway's face, he's as happy to see me as I am to see him.

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