Bound

Chapter 3

"Have you seen how quiet it is out there this morning?" Karen slid into her chair opposite Nyah at the breakfast table. "There's not a soul in sight. It seems everyone's happy to follow Alan's request to lie low."

"Until tomorrow night." Nyah filled Karen's mug with steaming coffee; the second pot she'd brewed that morning. After a sleepless night, she'd need to mainline caffeine for the day if she wanted to function. "What's going to happen when everyone gathers to vote?"

Karen tied her hair into a glossy, auburn pony-tail. "Let's just hope Alan's demands for peace are kept, otherwise it'll be a free for all."

"There'll be mayhem."

"And then some," Karen stole a half slice of buttered toast from Nyah's plate. "And we've six long nights ahead of us yet."

Despite Alan's call for calm, vengeful wolves had a free pass for retaliation. Until sworn in as alpha, no demand or request had to be obeyed, and with the pack currently observing The Lamentation Phase, an ancient and rarely observed tradition her father had requested, another six nights remained before the ceremony. Once every wolf howled its dedication, the mind link connecting the alpha to his pack would be established. Only then would alpha authority rein and allow life to return to normal again.

***

Saturday and Sunday dragged by without incident. Nyah went no further than the opposite side of the street where she packed away more boxes to finally clear the house for Alan and his family. Karen had insisted on helping, and she'd been glad of the company. With the tense silence hovering in the deserted streets, Nyah didn't want to be alone in the house she had only ever known as her bustling haven.

During a final sweep of the house, Karen found a tattered shoe box stuffed into a cobwebbed corner of the attic. Nyah had grimaced at the grimy box, suggesting they just throw it out, but Karen insisted they look inside first.

It held a collection of old photos. The majority had crumbled under age and previous water damage, but a few in the middle of the bunch had survived, including one of Nyah as a baby.

Cradled in her mother's arms, baby Nyah was oblivious to the camera as she stared at the woman smiling down. Nyah realised that for one brief period of her life, her mother had been her entire universe. Her tiny baby brain must have known it too; a miniature hand encircled her mother's index finger as if desperate to hang on.

Nyah felt nothing as she stared at her mother's content expression. Less than forty-eight hours ago, the photo would have turned her half inside out with grief, but crouched under the attic eaves, she felt nothing. 'I've gone numb,' she had answered, when Karen asked if she was okay.

***

When Nyah woke to pale, golden light on Monday morning, a tangible sense of relief spread with the sun's rays. Only hours needed to tick before by the Show of Hands, and once Alan officially became alpha, she hoped Simon would scuttle back to whatever dank hole he'd crawled out of. Energised with optimism, she had half the contents of the fridge spread across the breakfast counter when Karen returned to the house with a carton of fresh milk.

"What's all this?"

"I'm making brunch. It's my way of saying thanks for your help yesterday and a way of using up a few hours before the Show of Hands."

"I like your plan, girl." Karen perched on one of the stools at the counter. "Good thing I got us some milk."

"Is there anyone out there?" Nyah took the carton and slotted it into the fridge door.

"Not a sinner, except for Michael on patrol. And guess what? Apparently, Simon left on Friday night and only came back this morning."

"Where did he go?"