Pack Ruin (The Splintered Bond #3)

13. In the Eyes of the Moon

13

In the Eyes of the Moon

FLOR

I ’d had more than my fair share of bad days in my life. I’d been hurt in more ways than I cared to remember: beaten, starved, mocked, and whipped publicly. But the pain I felt as I sat in the basement of the Alpha’s Den with the man I’d thought I would have years to get to know, who I’d imagined as a father figure now that Del was gone… it hurt worse than all of the beatings I’d taken at Southern put together.

Samuel lay where Glen had been just the day before, his massive frame dwarfing the small bed, and his face turned to the high, narrow window. He’d insisted on being locked down here, afraid he would be driven to harm Glen or me. Brand had only let me come to keep him company when I’d promised to stay on my side of the bars. Then he’d sent some of his friends, a few I’d met at the Enforcer Games at Southern, to call as many of the pack members as they could round up to stand as witnesses to the challenge.

When I’d asked how many that was, and learned there were over six thousand shifters in the pack, I’d been astounded. Southern only had a few hundred at the most, all living inside a razor-wire fenced compound. The humans nearby just thought we were some kind of odd religious cult.

The Mountain pack, Ida explained, had always had borders marked by the natural world—rivers, mountains, and valleys—and those were protected by patrols of wolves. The whole pack, males and females, took part in protecting an area of around fifty thousand square miles.

“Not just the ranked shifters?” I’d asked, wondering what I was missing.

“There is no rank in the eyes of the moon but that of Alpha, granddaughter,” she’d replied as she’d given me a plate piled with food to take down to her son. “Enforcer and Head Enforcer are only job descriptions here that we use when interacting with outside shifters, no more or less important than teacher or pack herbalist, or mother. We are all children of the moon.”

Brand had locked himself in the library with his grandmothers, and I kept feeling odd sensations in the bond. Tiny sparks of what might have been hope or curiosity, followed by waves of anger and despair. On my end, I’m sure he only felt how pissed I was. How could he have challenged his father? It was like he’d given up hope of finding a way out that didn’t end in battle.

Glen had asked me to believe in Brand. But I still felt the burning pain of one mate I was trying not to give up on completely, since Finnick’s mate mark still hurt like a hornet sting. Now? I was halfway to Ragetown, Population: 1, since Brand had hopped on the crazy train.

“You should go, Flor,” Samuel said, not looking at me. “Let me rest before the fight.”

“Maybe I’m trying to wear you down. It is my mate you’re fighting.” I got up and drank a sip of water from the bottle I’d brought down. My throat hurt from trying to convince Samuel not to go through with the challenge.

“You’re too honorable for that kind of thing,” he replied after a long moment. “You know, you remind me of my mate, Lore.”

I’d seen her name in the family tree when I’d added mine. “Lorelei?”

Samuel smiled up at the ceiling. “She was tall, like her mother, with nice broad shoulders and hips. Good thing. When Brand was born, he weighed fourteen pounds.” He laughed as I shuddered. “We wanted more children, but it never happened. So she poured all her affection into Brand. It’s why he’s so spoiled.” We both chuckled at that. “Her love was like sunlight, soft and warm. But when she got riled up? She was a thunderstorm, raining hell down on anyone who hurt the ones she protected.”

My heart ached. Usually, Samuel was reserved and quiet. But he’d obviously passed down a deeply romantic streak to Brand.And now, on what might be my last day to get to know him, he was opening up, sharing all the stories I should have had years to learn.

“I wish I’d known her.” I wondered if she’d looked like Verona. If she’d loved books, or fighting, or something else. I made myself a promise to walk down the hall of portraits slower when I had a chance, and see if she was there.

“She would have loved everything about you.”

“Even though I have more mates than a dog has ticks?” I grumbled.

He sighed. “She’d have crocheted matching wedding tuxedos for all your males.”

“Crochet?” I couldn’t even picture it.

Samuel laughed quietly. “She wasn’t very good at it, but she loved to crochet. She made me a pair of shorts one year. Yellow wool, in some sort of pattern she called granny squares. Itchy as hell. She asked me to wear them to the Conclave the first year after we mated. With a matching short-sleeve shirt thing.”

“How did you get out of it?”

He huffed. “I didn’t. I wore them, and fought every shifter who laughed.” His lips twitched under his beard. “All seventy-three.” I couldn’t laugh; Brand would probably do the same thing for me. “Do you crochet?”

“Not a stitch. So don’t worry, Brand’s safe.” I sighed when I realized what I’d said. He was anything but safe. He could die tonight, and it would be his own father who did it. Though even if Samuel was the one to fall, a part of Brand would disappear with him. I went on, as if I could talk away the sadness. “I did like to sketch, back at Southern. I could usually get hold of some old pencils and paper. I wasn’t great—I’m not an artist like Brand—but it was fun. It was about the only fun I had, growing up.”

Samuel sat up. “Brand needs fun.” The light had diminished, so it was hard now to make out his features. “Promise me you’ll enjoy every minute you have together. Even the hard ones. I’d pay any price for even one day more with my Lore. Even one kiss. Don’t take my boy for granted.”

“I never could. His love is more than I ever dreamed.”

He reached through the bars, and I grasped his hand gently. “Don’t take any of your mates for granted. You’re going to change this world, Florida Wi…” We both held our breath for a moment before he finished, “Florida Wills .” His smile widened as I stared into his eyes. Maybe he was weaker, or maybe I had grown stronger, but it wasn’t hard to meet his gaze now.

“I’d settle for changing this fight,” I admitted.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the door at the top of the stairs swung wide. Ida came down, her face blotchy and swollen from crying. She pulled a key from her pocket and opened the cell door while I slipped away, my lungs tight.

I looked for Brand in the library, but only Verona was there, furiously reading and taking notes. “Did you find a way out?” I asked quietly.

“Not yet.” Her voice sounded as rough as mine. She had two books open in front of her, one antique and one brand new. “The old ways were recorded in our modern books, but they’ve been simplified over the years. The oldest recorded pack laws are where I’ve been trying to find another solution. A loophole, a precedent. Something.” She pulled the older one of the books toward her and read aloud with increasing frustration. “ The passage of power from Alpha to Alpha shall take place under the eyes of the Moon Goddess and before Her gathered children. The decision of who receives the power is not made by tooth or claw, but by Her favor, which She makes known through blood and light. ”

Blood and light? “That doesn’t make sense.”

“They simplified the description of the old ritual in the most current pack law books.” She pulled the freshly printed book closer.

I peeked at the page she tapped with one bony finger, scanning a few lines. This one was straightforward, even though the author had made it clear that these “old ways” were only included in this text as a historical footnote. The challenge had to be offered with witnesses, with a fight to the death that took place under a full moon. The winner was the shifter who survived. That was it.

“And then the power just… goes to the winner? Like… woo-woo magic shit?”

“You know magic is outlawed,” she replied, but something in her tone made me curious.

“It is? I never learned about magic at all back at Southern. Why is it outlawed? The Russian, General Ivan, had a wand with magic. Where did it come from? Did we shifters have magic? And gave it up or something?”

Verona moved her mouth, like she was trying to chew gum, but couldn’t speak. Finally, she took a breath and let it out. “You wrote your mother’s name: Lily Rain Wills. I looked into all the Southern pack registries we have here. There is no recording of a Rain at Southern. Were there others with your name?”

“Ah, no,” I answered. “Just me and my mother.”

She hummed. “As I suspected. Mountain also has no Rain family. So I looked into the smaller packs that are allied with Southern, then Eastern, and Northern. There are no Rains. And then I remembered, I’d seen that name once before.”

I blinked, wondering what she was getting at. Did I have some family she knew about? “Where?”

After a long moment, she walked to the back of the library, using a brass key to open a locked bookcase. She reached behind the shelved books to something hidden there.When she returned to the table, I saw what she’d retrieved. It was an antique-looking book that smelled like old blood and mildew, small enough to fit into my pocket and bound with faded red leather, with a brass hinge closure.

Verona placed it gently on the table. “You asked about magic. You should know, you should have been taught, that any use of magic is forbidden since the war with the Russians. Any hint that a wolf has magic can lead to banishment or death. Anyone possessing an item that has magical properties is to be executed.”

I nodded. “Like Ivan’s wand. Wait, what about Brand’s eyes?—”

“ Moonblessed ,” she stated severely. “Mother Moon blessed him, just as the old stories mention. There was no magic involved, do you understand? Magic and the moon’s blessings are not the same.”

Something was off in her tone. Was she lying? Not exactly, but she was hiding something. Her mouth worked again, and I let it go. “Gotcha.” I reached to pick up the book, my thumb landing on the catch. “Ow!” Something, a sharp tooth or splinter of metal in the design, had cut my thumb. A droplet of my blood welled up and landed on the hinge.

The metal closure released with a tiny click, and the book flipped open to the front page, as if an invisible hand had moved it. I stared down at the beautiful pictures, wolves and moons, that decorated the edges. They were lovely, but the title on the front page was the last thing I’d ever expected to see. Verona leaned over, peering at the page along with me. I read the words silently, but when I tried to read them aloud, she tapped my lips with one finger.

What the hell? I raised an eyebrow at Verona.

She just reached over and closed the book. “No one knows this exists, not even my son. It was left here by a shifter who shouldn’t have been allowed to cross our borders. He was defecting from...” She swallowed hard. “In any case, he left us and went to Northern, and stayed.”

“Have you read it?”

“I couldn’t even open it.”

I stuck my already-healed finger in my mouth, disturbed at that thought. “Why are you giving it to me?”

Her voice trembled as she replied, “Because I believe it belongs to you. To your line. But Flor, no one can ever know you have it.”

I nodded dumbly and tucked the book into my pocket, the words I’d read humming in my mind, over and over, like a spell. The words and the oddly familiar name that had been printed on the first page, and the spine.

Western Witchcraft, Eastern Wolfcraft: The Journal of Sergeant J. Rain of the Western Pack.