Only Justice We Know

On my run home, I spot Dad in the apple orchard with Old Man Wilson. They are both in their wolf forms, probably to increase their sense of smell while they inspect the apples for any rot or disease. My omega senses are stronger than his in both my human and wolf form, but with apple season around the corner, even a human would be able to smell the sweetly ripening fruit, which permeates the nearly fifty acres of golden trees.

I really don't want to instigate another argument, but I have to know. I reach out with my mind, calling to my father. He opens the link, looking around wildly until he locks eyes with me. "Cam? I'm working right now. What's up?"

"Can I talk with you for a second?" I send back.

I feel him withdraw from me slightly, and a couple seconds pass in silence. I think he might be saying something to Old Man Wilson, but, of course, I can't hear their mental conversation. Eventually he opens the link again with me and says, "Sure."

I cut the link momentarily as he trots over to me, preparing myself mentally for the following conversation. I generally hate speaking through the link, because it is difficult to control stray thoughts and nearly impossible to lie. Unlike verbal conversations, mental ones have no delay between thought and communication, everything is instantaneous. It is a convenient way for pack members to communicate while in wolf forms and, in the past, was used to efficiently coordinate attacks during hunting or warfare.

Now, the most fighting any werewolf does is putting down predators—including rabid rogues—who wander onto our lands, and the pack link is mostly used by overbearing mothers like mine to incessantly pester their children. I wouldn't normally choose to communicate through the pack link—it is too fast and direct for my preference—but I need Dad to be honest and upfront with me.

We connect again when he reaches where I am sitting anxiously on my haunches. "What did you want to talk about, bud? Did you change your mind about mating with Davy?"

Straight into what he is thinking about then. I'm not sure if he would have asked me this as a human. My father is not usually that direct.

"No," I feel annoyed, but there isn't really a tone to my mental voice. "I was wondering why the pack isn't helping the coven hunt down Ross."

My father furrows his thick wolf eyebrows at the same time that he thinks, "The werewolf who threatened Addy is a rogue now. He voluntarily cut his link to his pack before we could even question him."

"So? He's just going to get away with what he did?"

"He has returned to his natural form as an animal."

"How can you possibly know that? Not every rogue goes feral. Look at the Mansfield's."

"Taylor and his mother were blameless in their exile and protected by the Moon Goddess. When and if a rogue goes feral is not for us to know or understand. Ross, if he is guilty, has been abandoned by the Goddess, and his fate is now in the hands of Mother Earth."

"What about justice? What about making him pay for what he did?"

"Justice is of the Earth. We are children of the Moon, and it is not our place to interfere with the will of Mother Earth."

"But what about the witches!" The pack link is emotionaless as ever, but I can still communicate my frustration through growls and body language. "You told me everyone grieves in their own way. Don't you think they need closure?" I beg.

"Perhaps, but in my experience revenge rarely helps anyone. If the witches wish to act as judge, jury, and executioner, it is their prerogative to follow their conscience according to the dictates of their Goddess, but we will not risk the lives of our people to hunt down someone who cannot even be considered a man anymore."

"What if it had been me?! Would you be saying the same thing if I was the one who'd died?"

"Yes," Dad thinks back just as instantaneously as every thought before. He… he isn't lying. Holy shit. I'm shocked into a mental freeze. I always knew my father was more of a pacifist than most alphas, but this is… next level.

My father lets out a soft sigh before he continues sharing his reasoning with me. "Cam, you are feeling anger right now and want a place to direct that anger. I understand. That is normal, but as you grow older, you will begin to understand what separates werewolves from other creations of Mother Earth, even from other supernaturals."

I frown as best I can in my wolfish form, confused by his statement. "Creations of the Mother? I thought we were children of the Moon?"

"We are, but our ancestors were animals, created first by the Earth before the Moon Goddess adopted us and gave us her power."

"I've never heard it described that way before," I think skeptically.

"Not everyone understands it that way, but fundamentally, we believe the Moon Goddess chose us. She gave us her laws to lift us into a higher plane of existence. She gave us strong alphas to protect and provide and sensitive omegas to nurture and care. She gave us the pack link to dispel all lies. She gave us mates so children could have stable homes and loving parents to learn her ways. Her tenants—family, community, order, and truth—guide us. We do not follow our own will, but the will of the Goddess. Any among us who choose to not follow Her will are cast out from us and returned to the Earth. That is the only justice we seek. It is the only justice we know."

His every thought fills me with inexplicable rage, each sentence more confusing and baffling than the last as I try to consolidate his words with his recent actions and the man I thought he was. Everything he is saying sounds so much like "old Dad". Before Monday, I honestly thought my father was perfect. Now everything he does rings of hypocrisy. My jumbled feelings and thoughts manifest as a single message to him: "You're a fake."

His large blue, wolf eyes fill with hurt. "Cam—"

"No! It's my turn!" I growl as I think. "If you follow the will of the Goddess, why are you pressuring me to mate with David? You say you value community, but what about our relationship with the rest of the supernatural community? You talk about peacefully exiling werewolves who don't conform, but our alphas killed rogues who wandered on our lands for generations before the High Priestess suggested another way! You're a hypocrite and a liar, but the saddest part of it all is that you're lying to yourself!"

I can't stay to listen to his excuses anymore. I can't believe he is suggesting we do nothing to avenge Addy's death. I can't… I just can't.

I cut the link and run. Fueled by anger, I feel overflowing with restless energy. I need to do something. I race through the familiar landscape of my home, keeping to the roads in order to push my limbs to their max speed on the flat path. I don't care if I'm seen by humans at this point, I just need to go. It's faster to cut through the forests, but I'm not going anywhere in particular, and I'm faster if I'm running on even ground. The wind in my ears is deafening, and I tune out the entire world, trying to forget. Trying to not be angry.

Angry at Dad. Angry at Mom. Angry at Alpha Edmund. Angry at David.

But most of all, angry at myself.

Angry that I can't do anything. Angry that I'm so damn useless.

I don't even notice I'm heading back to the school until I'm in the parking lot, cutting a direct line to the place where Addy died. I'm breathing heavily when I reach the cracked pavement, but that only helps me take in gulping lungfuls of every lingering scent. I circle the ground, sniffing.

Residual rubber from car tires, spilt car oil, uncut weeds, fallen lunch meat, dropped bubble gum, dog shit, spray paint, and underneath it all: iron.

Blood seeped into the concrete. I try to follow the scent, but it goes nowhere. Just pools right in the spot where Alastair found Addy. Shouldn't Ross have left a trail of blood? I try again, seeking the traces of anything familiar, but again I come up with nothing except indistinct wafts of wolves, witches, and humans passing through this area recently.

I try to remember what Ross smelled like, focusing on the moment when he released his nauseating alpha pheromones, but it's been nearly five days since Addy died, and I've never been the best at recalling specific scents. I can't even tell the difference between Taylor and David half the time, let alone an alpha I met only once. Now if I had a point of reference to work from—a piece of clothing or something—that would be a different matter.

I sit on my haunches, thinking, staring off into space, when my eyes meet those of an older man's from across the parking lot. He is wearing a gray jumpsuit and is frozen halfway through a sweep of his large push broom, staring at me. I quickly duck my head to hide my glowing blue eyes and try to look busy licking my golden fur.

I don't hear him screaming or moving to get anyone, so that's good. Time to get out of here. I stand up and walk as calmly as I can back to the treeline. When I am safe back within the cover of the dense forest, I point my nose northeast with a new destination in mind. I've never been there before, but I know the general direction and unlike finding one wolf, finding a group of them is easy enough.

As soon as I cross into Clearview territory, I know it is only a matter of time before patrols catch me. That's fine, though. I don't even know exactly where to look for what I need, so trying to sneak in is pointless. Sure enough, within minutes, a large brown wolf tackles me to the ground, and snaps at my neck with his sharp fangs. I roll out of the way of his teeth just before he rips into my flesh.

It is in this moment that I realize just how stupid my plan—if it could even be considered a plan—really was. This patrol might very well assume I'm a rogue and kill me long before I have even have a chance to talk. I normally never release pheromones purposefully, but right now I'm more than a little terrified.

I let these feelings coalesce until they seep into my scent. The patrol draws back, surprised to smell an omega. I lie on my hind legs, trying to appear very small and meet his gaze. When he sees my shining blue eyes, rather than rogue red, he visibly relaxes.

The patrol shifts in front of me, apparently unbothered by his lack of modesty. I look away quickly from the muscular young man, but I think I recognize him as one of their Alpha's sons who played in the game on Saturday.

"Can you shift so we can talk, omega?" he asks calmly.

I nod, trying to cover myself with my arms and legs as I shift back to human.

"Are you a rogue?" he asks.

"N—no, sir." I bow my head, hoping if I show him respect he will be more likely to give me what I want. "I'm from the Grandville Pack."

"What are you doing here?" the other wolf demands.

"I—a friend of mine was killed by one of your own. A man named Ross."

"Yeah, I heard about it. What of it?"

"I was hoping… I would like something with his scent on it. A shirt or sheet… to use for tracking."

My head snaps up when the alpha explodes in a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny! I—I need to find Ross and…"

And then what? What was I even doing? Even if I could successfully track Ross, what would I do when I found him? Probably die a horrible death at his hands too.

"Sorry, sorry," the alpha says, wiping away stray tears from his leaking eyes, "you just don't know how ironic what you just said was."

I have no idea what this man is talking about, but I'm not amused by him laughing at me. "Please, I just need to help our allied coven—" I try again.

"I know exactly what you're trying to do, because Ross tried to do the same thing when his supposed mate died. Only girl within a hundred miles who died the same day he felt his bond snap was killed by rogues, and I'm gonna tell you what our Alpha told him: let it go and stop trying to be some hero."

My patience snaps at his words. "What the fuck is wrong with you people? Maybe if you had helped Ross find some closure after his mate died, he wouldn't have turned out to be an angry psycho capable of murder!"

The alpha's expression darkens when I abandon my submissive persona. "This conversation is over, omega. I lost a friend, too, and I won't have you disrespecting his memory by helping those witches hunt him down. Now get off our land, before I decide you are a stray rogue who needs to be put down after all."