Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 14

14

WEST

I t’s strange how so much can change in less than a week. I may have had a lifetime of waking to an empty bed prior to meeting her, but the moment I realise Bronte isn’t lying next to me I panic, bolting upright, not properly processing that the space beside me was still warm, that her scent is everywhere, that I can hear her voice speaking softly outside. It takes a handful of shaky breaths to calm the fuck down, to realise that the mess of dreams I’d had — of bloodshed, of being trapped, of death and dying — had been just that. Dreams, and nothing more.

It’s only dawn, the sky pale, and the majority of the pack will be asleep. I don’t bother with clothes — nudity isn’t an issue in shifter culture, and Bronte has alluded to it being the same for weres. We’re not nudists, but we also have the philosophy that no one has time to care about what your body looks like when you need to shift quickly.

I step out into the cool air and spot Bronte immediately, surrounded by a mixture of shifted and unshifted pack members at the edge of the clearing. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved tee, she stands barefoot on a mossy log, a werewolf among shifters, holding their rapt attention as she speaks. “… so that’s the crux of ward theory. It’s not a difficult spell, and there’s so many variations, but the results are usually the same.”

I close the door quietly behind me, none from my pack noticing my presence bar the youngest enforcer, currently shifted and on guard — and Bronte. She pauses, glancing towards me, smiling as our eyes meet, the rest of the small crowd following her lead, mouths gaping and eyes bugging when they realise I’ve been watching. Bronte looks at home here, and I am in awe of her.

“I thought I told you to wait,” I say, crossing the clearing. Her smile widens into a grin.

“You suggested I wait until morning, and I did,” she retorts, gesturing around her. “It’s morning.”

“Barely.”

Bronte’s expression softens, growing thoughtful, her eyes giving me the once-over. “I’m sorry I scared you,” she says, somehow knowing what first went through my mind this morning. “I didn’t want to wake you, that’s all.”

A short bark draws our attention, reminding me that we have an audience. I look at Sam, his grey wolf standing almost as tall as me, and his lips pull back into the cheesiest grin a wolf can make. “You’re an idiot,” I tell him, and he barks again in an obvious you’re welcome.

When I look back at Bronte she’s trying hard not to laugh, and clears her throat. “I was just about to start applying the ward. Sunrise is a good time for it. I don’t think you should go anywhere until the ward is in place.”

I nod, agreeing with her. “I’m not going anywhere when you’re in the middle of a spell.” She’d explained the process to me last night — the meditation, the visible walls her magic will create, and the trance she will inevitably fall into. Someone would have to kill me to get me to leave her unprotected, knowing that she’ll be in that state.

“Are you going to shift?”

I bite my tongue, holding back from giving her a sarcastic No, I just like walking around naked. I know she likes my brand of humour, which Sam once said ‘exists somewhere on a spectrum between dry and fucking asshole ’ , but there’s a difference between talking shit alone in the privacy of our own home and saying it here, in front of the pack. I’m here to uplift my mate, not tear her down.

“I’ll shift and wait with you,” I tell her instead.

“I’d like that. I think everyone is going to stay and watch.” She glances at the sky above, her pupils reflecting the light as she does so. “It’s almost time.”

I get the hint, and inside my wolf rejoices at the chance to be set free again so soon. The process of shifting is always near-instant; driven by a sudden, overwhelming force of magic that comes naturally. Stretching and pulling, and the sense inside that the two halves of our whole are switching places, the more instinctual wolf taking the front seat. I am him and he is me, just the same as Bronte is her wolf, despite the fact that we both talk about our wolves as if they are truly separate entities. It’s a shared cultural thing, another example of where Bronte and I are more similar than we are different.

I’m looking forward to meeting her wolf under the full moon.

I crouch down, and within the blink of an eye I am my wolf. My tail wags when my mate smiles at me — embarrassing, perhaps, but I can’t find it within me to care about the audience we have.

“How is that leg?” she asks, stepping forward, her hand rising to scratch behind my ear without hesitation. Not even members of my own pack would dare to approach my wolf in such a casual way, and I see the look of shock in their body language now.

Reluctantly, I allow Bronte to examine my leg, letting her lift my paw off the ground, her fingers prodding where the wound was as she kneels in the leaf litter. I give her a warning growl when she begins to use her healing magic; I recognise the warmth of that feeling now and pull my leg out of her grasp. I don’t want her wasting her energy on me when it will be healed fully in a day or two; she’s already done enough, and she needs to save it for the ward, for putting the glamour back in place over the pack, and all the other little things she does.

She sighs dramatically. “ Fine , I’ll leave it. Are you going to sit with me?”

I let out a huff of air. Of course . She seems to understand, rising to her feet, waiting with her hands on hips for me to move. I settle down, facing out into the clearing, my belly to the ground, snorting when I realise what Bronte had been waiting for.

“Look, I’m a very relaxed witch,” she says, sitting down at my side, just behind my shoulder. I turn my head towards her as she grins, leaning back against me, making herself comfortable as if I’m a piece of furniture. “I’m not into flashy displays of magic. I just need to be at ease for a spell like this, and nothing is going to make me feel safer than having you quite literally at my back. Ready? The sun is almost here.”

She has, I’ve realised, an innate ability to read the positions of the sun and stars in the same way that I can feel the position of the moon deep in my bones. Even when it’s a new moon and the sight of it is hidden from our world, its face completely in shadow, I can feel its presence, and know the moment it rises and the moment it sets. Bronte seems to have all the celestial bodies mapped out in her head.

“You might as well all get comfy,” she says to the rest of the pack, and around us the other wolves adopt similar positions to mine, with the exception of Sam, who remains standing and alert.

Those that are not shifted sit cross-legged on the ground. “How long will this take?” one of the teens asks.

“Twenty minutes, give or take. It’s a large area.”

“How do you know the boundaries?” someone else questions.

“I searched for it this morning… it’s hard to explain, but I can sense it.” Her fingers wiggle as she speaks, as if to indicate that it’s a tangible thing she can feel. I suppose it is. “There’s currently no ward but there was one, I realise that now,” she adds, looking at me. “Faint traces of elvish magic remain, enough to give me a good idea of where the ward lay before. I’m going to push my ward farther than those lines, just to be certain.” There’s a long pause, and nothing but the sounds of the forest fill the air, the dawn chorus of birds loud. “I’m going to start now,” Bronte whispers.

Starting looks like nothing much at first; her eyes closed, her posture relaxed as she sits cross-legged, hands resting in her lap. Her breaths are even, her heartbeat slow and steady, and at first I don’t notice anything different.

“Oh, wow. ”

I look up, following everyone else’s gaze. What I had mistaken for light from the rising sun is actually Bronte’s magic shining high above the canopy in a visible ceiling.

It’s a dome. She’d said as much, but with all things, the reality is far different to the imagined. I’ve witnessed elvish magic before — I was here when the elf witch put the last ward in place. That process had been full of flashy displays, as Bronte described it. The elf had looked like a princess in her magical gown, and the forest floor had been painted with elvish script during the spell. My mate is a princess, for lack of a better term, and yet here she is, cross legged on the forest floor, her magic doing exactly the same thing in a much simpler way.

I can tell some of the pack members are disappointed at the lack of a magical display. Were you expecting fireworks? is what I’d ask if I were in my other form. As it is, I settle for staring at the restless ones until they settle down once more. It’s only then that I notice how quiet the world has become. There is no birdsong, no hum of bees or chirp of crickets, no rustling in the foliage. Bronte’s magic is something I can feel now, huge and yet somehow yawning, like a black hole threatening to suck everything in.

“ Has she killed everything? ” one of the teens whispers, glancing around nervously.

“No.” Spoken softly, it’s the first time Bronte has said anything since the process began. There’s a crawling feeling that starts in my paws and runs up and over my body, and some of the other shifted wolves jump to their feet, ears folded back. Above us, the light grows brighter, the dome of magic a glowing gold, more intense than the sun, the feeling of pressure in the air all around us almost panic inducing and —

With a strange pop it’s all released. The birdsong returns, deafening after the silence, and I shake myself, unable to stop the urge. I’m not the only wolf doing so. Bronte turns to me, her smile as bright as her magic, her hand reaching out to scratch behind my ear once more. “That felt weird, didn’t it? It always does.”

Weird is an understatement. I rise to my feet, pawing at the ground, suddenly full of restless energy. Bronte seems to understand, standing and stretching with a huge yawn.

“I’d love to come with you, but I can tell you want to run. Go . I’ll be fine here, I promise.”

I bark at a handful of pack members to stay and protect my mate. No one protests. They’re all watching her warily, as if realising for the first time that there’s far more depth to her magic than what appears.

Has she killed everything? She wouldn’t, but I shake my head and shoulders again, as if that can dislodge my next thought.

She wouldn’t , but I’m almost certain that if she wanted to, she could .

Sam follows me. I may be the alpha and a grown man, but the moment he starts running alongside me it turns into a race, just like when we were teens on our first few shifts. Wind in our ears, tongues lolling out of our mouths, just a couple of goofballs as we race through the forest, following the road.

There is, of course, a purpose to the direction we’re taking, and we both slow, panting heavily, as we reach one of the farthest cabins on pack land. Rebecca is already waiting for us outside — she would have heard us coming, even if I didn’t alert her to my presence through the pack bond. I know she’s already been told about what happened with the bear trap, and the fact that the alpha’s scent had been all over it. Her guilt has been heavy, a sick feeling, weighing the pack bonds down.

We shift back, approaching the house as men, and she tosses us each a towel. “Wear those, please. After that last asshole, I’ve honestly seen enough wolf dick to last a lifetime. I think I’m going to stick to women from now on.”

“Did he hurt you?” Sam growls, echoing my thoughts as we both wrap the towels around our waists.

“No.” Rebecca glances at me, her yellow eyes welling with tears before she turns away. “I’m just really embarrassed. I know outside alphas can be problematic but I can’t believe Victor went on to do that. Anyone could have been caught in that trap. What if someone —”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell her as we follow her into the house. I take a seat at the small table she has near the door. “And I believe you, but to be sure — and for the safety of the pack — I would like you to answer some questions.”

“Are you going to use your alpha bark?” she asks, sounding resigned.

“Yes. I need to know I have all the information. I trust you, but I owe it to the pack to make sure you’re giving us the full picture. I’m going to kill him,” I add.

She clenches her jaw, nodding once. “Good. Go on then. Bark away.”

I sigh, folding my arms across my chest. “Rebecca, tell me everything you told Victor while he was here.”

Bronte stands in the clearing, hands on her hips, looking skyward as I toss our duffel bags into the trunk of the car. The rest of our clothing from New York was already forwarded on to the Silicon Valley house yesterday, and that’s where we’ll be heading after we pay a visit to the elf. If Bronte is right and this woman helped set a fucking bear trap in my pack’s territory…

I slam the trunk closed with more force than necessary, the whole car rocking on its wheels. Bronte turns, her now-green eyes filled with concern, and I take a deep breath. “I’m just thinking about next steps.”

She nods in understanding.

We’re not the only ones leaving. Most of the pack are heading back to their homes in the Bay Area today, and there’s been a steady stream of cars passing by on the road adjacent to the cabin. I’ll see many of them once I return to the office; over half the pack are now employees of LycanTech, and I’m looking to add more roles for pack members now that the company has publicly listed. I don’t give a shit that it’s cronyism; my goal with this company has always been to provide for the pack first, to dig us out of the hole our former alpha left us in, and to prove that he was wrong, that he could have done things differently, that it never had to go the way it did.

“Hey,” Sam says, pulling me out of my dark thoughts. He places a hand on my shoulder, shaking it for emphasis as he says, “I know you’re both tough and more than capable, but don’t forget to call for backup if you need it, alpha. You have a whole pack behind you, and we’re here for a reason. To support each other, and you .”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be pissed if I miss out on a fight, Weston. You know my wolf loves a good scrap.”

I do. Sam is friendly, open, personable; all the skills I lack, that I should have as an alpha. Even so, he’s as vicious as they come when he needs to be. I’ve seen him tear the arms off a human as if the man was made of paper. There was a good reason for that torture, but still…

If I’m a little broken, then so is he. All of us that were enforcers a decade ago are.

Bronte joins us, and I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close. I press my lips to her ear, and she shivers in response. “As soon as we deal with this elf I’m taking you back home and I’m going to spend the rest of the day balls deep in that pretty pussy of yours.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Sam declares. “You two lovebirds need to get going now. You’ve got a bad witch to catch and an alpha to hunt down.”

“Thank you for being so welcoming, Sam,” Bronte tells him. “I appreciate it.”

“Thank you for sharing your magic with us. And for taking care of him. You’re exactly what he needs.”

“We’re going ,” I say, as Sam and Bronte continue talking. I step away, climbing in the car and starting the engine, drowning out the words, “balancing him out.” I don’t need my mate and my second to psychoanalyse me. A moment later Bronte slides into the passenger seat.

“Done chatting?”

She nods, her lips pursed in a tiny smile.

“What?”

“You’re cute,” is all she says.

Cute is not how people describe me. It makes me wonder how much being fated mates has blinded her to my flaws — of which there are many.

We’re both quiet as I drive us away from the cabin. I always feel subdued leaving this place, more so whenever I’ve had a chance to be out of glamour. Returning to the Bay Area always means returning to my responsibilities beyond the pack — the company, the reality of work, the heaviness that comes with having to blend in with humans.

“Are you okay?” Bronte asks. She’s beautiful, aviators over her green eyes, her long legs on display, the skirt of the red dress she now wears riding up her thighs. “It’s stretchy,” she’d explained right before putting the universal glamour back in place for everyone. “I think I need lots of outfits like this, that can adapt to the change in my height and body when I’m switching the glamour on and off.”

Being placed under the universal glamour had been a sad moment for everyone — Sam’s little Lucy had cried, wanting “ to be a wolf girl still wif my sharp teef!” — but Bronte’s reassurance that we’d all do this again soon had left people with a sense of hope, at least. I’d felt it through the bonds I share with them all.

“I’m fine,” I answer. “Just thinking about work. I’ll have to show you the new office. We moved in last year. I banned smoking on the entire premises because I can’t fucking stand the smell. It fucks up your lungs. Even though I gave them all a year’s notice, I had thirteen humans quit over it, but it’s worth it to not have that stink seeping into everything.”

“I’m glad that’s one thing that never made its way over to the First.”

“Just illegal copies of your favourite movies?”

“ Yes,” she laughs. “I have a guy who gets them for me. And I power the TV and my VCR with my magic — I have a little electricity spell that I invented.”

“It’s a very different world,” I mutter. “I love that of all the illicit goods you could choose to have smuggled in for you, you pick TV entertainment.”

“I like movies! It’s only on Lykia that they’re banned, anyway. My grandmother hates any sort of human influence.”

“What would she think now, if she saw you dressed like that, riding around in a human-made car?”

“I don’t want to know.”

We fall silent, and I’m certain we’re thinking about the same thing. Her grandmother will find out. I imagine it’ll be soon. We still have the stone to find, unless one of her relatives finds it first. It makes me wonder how many of the Maheras werewolves are here in the Second Realm right now, also searching. The idea that we might just bump into one of them is absurd, and yet I can see it happening. At some point, the High Witch is going to learn that her granddaughter is going to remain here with me. Another fucking thing to worry about.

“So you talked to Rebecca?” Bronte asks after some time. “I met her yesterday, after you went off to shift. She seems lovely.”

“She is,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road, “and I did. She said she’d told him about that area where I stepped in the trap; the fact that he knew no one else in the pack was supposed to be in that far corner of our territory tells me that he was directly targeting me. She’s explained to him that whenever I’m there, I run along the boundary lines. What I don’t understand is how he knew I would be there yesterday. That scent of his was less than a day old. Rebecca didn’t know we were coming until days after she’d said goodbye to him, and she’s had no contact with him since.”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence. He was putting a trap in, knowing you visit fairly regularly.” She shudders. “I hate thinking about the fact that you could have been trapped there, suffering alone.”

“ Dying alone. It’s a cowardly death, that fucking coward alpha. That’s not how you do things. You want to take over a pack? You fight as wolves — that’s the only acceptable way.”

I realise how I’ve implicated myself when Bronte falls silent. I have to focus on the road, and not the way she’s staring at me thoughtfully.

“Is that how you killed your alpha?”

I knew this conversation was coming at some point, I just wasn’t expecting it now. “Yes,” I answer, wondering how it will change the way she views me. I feel sick; karma, I suppose, for how little I’ve ever cared about the deaths I’m responsible for. Killing people doesn’t make me feel ill, but the thought of my mate rejecting me because of my dark nature does. “Look, there’s something you have to understand about me. I’m not a good man. I’m sorry if that’s what you were hoping for in a mate.” I glance at her, and there’s a small crease between her brows. “I’m not a good man but I swear, Bronte, I will always be good to you .”

“I know you will.” She doesn’t sound upset, and I take a longer look at her, glancing back at the road just enough to keep the car on the road. She reaches over, placing her hand on my thigh.

“You’re not bothered that you’re stuck with me?” I ask.

“I’m more than happy to be stuck with you. What is it that the humans say? ’Til death do us part?”

“For as long as we both shall live,” I murmur, squeezing her hand, lifting it to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “Mrs Livingston.”

“Mr Maheras.”

I kiss her hand once more, smiling against her skin before letting go so I can have two hands on the wheel. “It just occurred to me,” I say, changing the subject, “that once you’ve seen the house, you’ll be able to portal back and forth between Silicon Valley and our redwoods, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well that’s useful.”

“You’re not going to miss the six-hour round trip?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. Fuck, that’s actually life-changing, but then so much about this week has been.”

“I can take you to New York for your business trips.”

I think about that for a moment. “Yes and no; probably no. A lot of those trips are publicised to a degree. The media attention may die down — I want it to, I hate the fucking paparazzi — but I don’t want what creates the publicity to stop.” She looks confused, and I don’t blame her, I’ve only briefly touched on this before, and we’re firmly in the world of humans when we discuss this. “The company just listed, and it made me many, many millions. I don’t want just millions. I want a billion. I know we have good products. I know we’re at the forefront of technology — what you saw our son using in that vision… that’s the future, that’s the thing to aim towards. I want the wealth, but with the wealth comes nosey fucking humans. Photographs, in magazines, in newspapers. So my question is, what’s going to happen when I appear in NYC instantaneously and a paparazzi takes a photo of you and I leaving the Ritz, but another paparazzi has a photo of us here in California? It’s not like you can wipe memories of this shit, and that’s this thing you’re going to have to get used to in this realm: everything is set up for humans, and we have to play the game and hide.”

“I know.” She opens her mouth as if to speak again, then closes it.

“What is it? Tell me. If you know why we’re still all forced to live under this fucking glamour, I’m all ears.”

“I don’t have the answer to that, truly. I wish I did. Everyone says it’s the way it’s always been.” She licks her lower lip. It’s a tell; I only see her do that when she’s nervous. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

I wait for her to speak again. It’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, between being an alpha and doing business. Sometimes silence is the most effective tool. People will often speak to fill the void.

“What I was going to say is that I technically could. Wipe memories, that is.”

“What?”

“It’s dark magic. It’s highly illegal… but I can do it. Although on the scale you’re talking — with people seeing photographs — I couldn’t. A handful of people is easy enough.”

Every now and then she tells me something that chills me to the bone. This is one of those moments. “Is this something you have practical experience in?”

“Maybe?”

“Fuck. You’re scary; I hope you know that. Sam is quietly terrified of you.”

“He is not!” she laughs.

“He is. He said you did something to him yesterday, when you rode on his back.”

“I yelled at him. Forgive me for being stressed out that my mate was injured and the entire pack was in a state of panic.”

“Was it a magical yell?” I say it as a joke, glancing at her again, but I’ve watched enough people while in these leadership positions to spot the micro-expression that flits across her face. Jesus. “Was it like an alpha bark?” I ask, more serious this time.

“I’ve never done anything like that before, and he didn’t listen , he just froze. I was desperate, West. Sometimes the things I do with my magic come naturally and are unintentional.”

“You really are scary, in a good way. I hope you know how powerful you are, because I can see it. This isn’t normal for witches.”

“Well, there’s a reason why I’ve been groomed for the role of High Witch since I was a child. It’s not because of my pretty face.”

I reach over, rubbing her bare knee, her legs part a little and it’s tempting to slide my hand all the way up her thigh, but I settle for teasing her a little. I can smell how aroused she is. “You are very beautiful Bronte, but I do know there’s far more to you than that.”

The sky is clear and the sun bright once we leave the forest. Bronte keeps sticking her hand out her open window — behaviour more reminiscent of a five-year-old than someone aged twenty-five. “What are you doing? ” I ask after she does this for the tenth time, unable to resist the bait.

“Oh!” She laughs at the look on my face. “I’m just comparing the difference,” Bronte says in explanation now, and in my periphery I can see that she’s sticking her hand out the window again.

“The difference in what?”

“The way the air feels, with the speed.” I glance at her, and she’s staring at me as if I’m the one making no sense. “To flying a dragon ,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh, of course. ”

“Well… it’s only one of the main forms of transport in the First, West. I thought you’d said you’ve been to the First multiple times.”

“I have, to Esamond. The major cities there are all no-fly zones.”

“ Oh. ”

I shake my head at her tone. Esamond sits outside the borders of the major Houses, wedged between the wider Maheras territory and the adjacent House of Moths. It’s multi-species, a republic, and both more progressive and grittier. There’s a large shifter population, because it was part of our traditional territories. “Have you ever been there?” I ask.

“No.”

“I thought not.”

“You sound very judgemental about that,” she says. She sounds defensive, but I’m not about to tell her that. Happy wife, happy life… I’ve heard enough humans and shifters alike say that over the years to know there’s some merit to that philosophy.

“You’re the one who said ‘ Oh ’ in that tone. I think — and I am not criticising you, but the institution you exist in — that you’ve spent far too long within your castle walls, and on your precious island. I know it’s beautiful there, but there’s so much more of the world to see. You do a disservice to yourself when you cut yourself off from that.”

Bronte remains quiet, her face turned away from me, and I know I’ve upset her. She needs to hear it. She needs to realise that we’re in a time of rapid change across both realms, and the way the Maheras have operated for centuries will only get them so far. I know magic is the true currency that makes the world go around in the First, but to me it seems like they hide behind that. Things are not the same as they once were. In this realm, networks between all the non-humans are strengthening as communication technology improves. My company is at the forefront of it. There’s so many of us that are sick of this fucking glamour. No one knows why the fuck we all hid from humans in the first place. If we stopped hiding, we’d be far more powerful than we are now.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I prompt Bronte. “Tell me you haven’t felt trapped on Lykia all this time.”

She still doesn’t respond. I glance at her, adrenaline surging immediately at the sight of her slumped form, her sunglasses hanging off her face, her eyes open but blank. For a second I have the awful thought that she’s dead before I register the even beat of her heart, and the way her eyes are moving slightly.

There’s a loud honk of a car horn and I swerve back into my lane, too panicked about Bronte to care that I almost crashed the fucking car. I keep a hand on her chest below her collarbone, holding her upright as I look for the nearest turnoff. There’s vineyards all along this strip, and I pull into the first driveway I find, not caring that the sign says Closed. Brakes on, engine off. I unclip her seatbelt, pulling her across into my lap, yanking her sunglasses off her chin, cradling her in my arms.

She’s alive. Her breathing is normal, her pulse is steady. My heart is racing, and I feel like I’m going to have a fucking heart attack. She’s having a vision — it’s the same thing that happened last time I witnessed it — but that doesn’t make this okay. She talked about riding dragons — what if she has one of these episodes mid-flight and falls to her death? Or is driving a fucking car in this realm?

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, gently brushing her eyelids closed, glancing at my watch. This is already lasting longer than the first time. “Bronte,” I say, shaking her slightly. I get no response. “Bronte. Bronte! ”

Not even an alpha bark rouses her.

“ Fuck! ”