Blood & Wine

34 | Fynley

Eden was fine. I had to keep reminding myself of that as I gathered those werewolf heads to nail to my uncle's house. Eleven of them, all collected in a sack. This was what would happen if he ever sent another Rogue to my pack.

I wanted to get back to my Mate. Even if she slept, even if she just laid there. I needed to be close to her, to hold her, to soak in her comfort and soothe myself. I had enough anger in me, enough emptiness roaring through me that if I lost myself in it, I would expose my magic and set this entire world on fire.

I had lost the Changeling.

My head hadn't been in the right place, and no matter what anybody told me, it was my fault. I should've ran faster. I should've stayed. She needed me more than Eden did, but I had placed my Mate above a child—something Eden would not have wanted me to do in the first place.

I glanced at her body.

I would have to tell eleven parents they had lost their children. I would have to comfort them, hug them. It was up to me to deliver this news.

Mama Helen, Eden's mother, sidled up to me. "Let us know if we can do anything else," she said softly.

Can you bring them back? I thought. I had lost innocent pack members. Men with Mates. Goddess, Nathan had just gotten married. Why was he even there? I knew his Mate had felt it. I had a lot to prepare for for tomorrow. "No, thank you," I told her.

Across the way, Iris was sobbing. Irene shivered, disappointed with herself. I had to go over there and tell her that it was not her fault—when I could trust myself to speak without losing my fragile control.

Mama Helen touched my hand. Warmth spread through me—not the touch I wanted or needed, but it was comforting nonetheless. "Thank you," she told me, but I had no idea what for her. I just smiled at her. "Please let us known when the funerals are... we would like to be there."

Her eyes darted to a scarred, redheaded witch who knelt over Tomas. She had been over a few times, and she had been close with him. Often, I had seen them training together, saw them laughing and talking over candy she had brought.

I nodded and shrugged her off. It was time to get back to work, to take care of my pack.

My first stop was to the redheaded witch, though. I placed a hand on her sobbing shoulders. "He didn't have any other family," I told her, kneeling down on the other side the muscled, chestnut-colored werewolf. "I'm sorry for your loss."

My voice was earnest. She looked up at me, green eyes filled with tears and pain. "I know," she told me, "but you knew him longer than I did. I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "It's not about who knew him longer, but who he loved more." I pulled his face to mind—the long face, crooked teeth, but the generous smile and sparkling eyes. His long, chestnut brown hair. "Will you come to his funeral?"

She nodded. "Can I—can I bring something? Or will it mess with your tradition? He told me that the bodies get burned. I want to give him something to remember me by in the Afterlife, so when he gets reincarnated, he can find me again."

Her words were a knife to my heart. I kept my easy smile on my face. "Of course," I told her, squeezing her shoulder.

She squared her shoulder. "Take care of the rest of your pack. I'm going to stay here just a minute longer, speaking the Blessings over him."

I left her and made my way to Irene and Iris. Dasher was helping with the bodies a few feet away, but I knew where he wanted to be. "Irene, you did so good," I told her,, drawing the tiny child into my arms. She had inherited none of her sister's height—at least, not yet. Werewolves could grow until they were in their twenties, though.