The Ruined Luna

Twenty

It was inevitable that in the small space of the cabin Kyrian and I would end up a little too close for comfort time and time again. His arm brushing against mine in the small kitchen, the way our scents mingled on the air. It was intimate in a way that didn't always have any kind of sexual undertone. Not that there wasn't plenty of that too, but would have probably been easier to close myself off from. Sex was easy; or at least it could be uncomplicated. Sharing meals, sitting in the living room together, hearing him snore on the couch at night, those were the things that kept me off kilter.

The unease in the cabin was nothing compared to the somber atmosphere that seemed to have swallowed the pack. Carmen's murder had cast a long shadow over all of them, and it threaded its way into nearly every faucet. The official story was that it had been the work of rogues in the area, and that extra security measures were deemed necessary. Which was nothing but the truth. The why of it though was kept tight under wraps. My connection to her death known only to the small functioning group of leaders and a few security members. It rubbed me the wrong way, even though the alternative was my complete alienation. It would be earned, finally, but I was selfish enough that I wasn't ready to stop pretending.

My integration into the pack, while still unofficial, had settled into my bones. Sitting out on the grass with Tripp and Winnie in the shade by the lake shore while we played rummy or watched whatever had become infinitely precious to me. In those moments, there was no basement, no hatred, no nightmares waiting in the deepest shadows. It was just three people enjoying each others company, being friends. The thought of losing Winnie's friendship if she learned the truth was so hard to come to terms with. So Tripp and I kept silent, only the lingering weariness in the brackets around our eyes a silent testament to the truth.

Carmen's funeral was held three days after her body was found in the clearing. It was another reminder of how seldom werewolves died, of the immortality that bound us all. I didn't have anything that I would have deemed appropriate, but it wouldn't have mattered. Werewolf funerals were much like the paranormal beings themselves. Instead of in our human form, we went as wolves.

Kyrian and Tripp were waiting for me when I padded out onto the porch. Kyrian's wolf was a monster, huge and hulking with fur the darkest brown flecked with black and white. The fur around his ears was also much fluffier than I'd imagined. He was larger than my wolf, who hummed as we noted that other than myself, no one came close to his size. His nose touched ours in greeting as Tripp bumped his head into my side. We whined softly, then as a trio began our quick trot to the gravesite. Only those with children too young to make the change remained human, and we joined the throng of wolves that journeyed down the trail.

It was the largest funeral I'd ever attended. The pack cemetery was on the west side of pack land, sparse but neatly kept and well maintained.

A tall man stood solemnly beside the pinewood coffin, his shoulder gripped tight by a slightly shorter male who could have been his carbon copy, while a young woman with the same dark hair and skin pressed close to his side. Her quiet sobs set my heart to aching as we joined the crowd. Kyrian padded through them towards the coffin, while a small cream and white wolf pressed into my now vacant side. Her green eyes caught mine, full of sorrow and misery. 'Winnie.'

The siblings surrounded me with their strength as the Alpha faced the pack, tension and regret palpable.

Every set of ears swiveled forward in unison, and I realized that Kyrian must be using the mind link to talk to them all. I cocked my head, straining to hear the words that carried over a frequency I wasn't privy to. My wolf growled low, joining me in the effort. No matter how much it might hurt, we needed to know what he was saying.

There was a sort of low humming that was just on the edge of our hearing, where with any deviation in attention we would lose track of it. Our focus concentrated on the hum, as tangible as smoke, but there. Our eyes sharpened as it appeared, rather looking like a net made of fog. It wove between all of them, pulsing and alive. We pushed on the invisible wall of it like it was a physical thing. It repelled us, like pushing on a rubber band and it springing back into place. We pushed harder, pressing our will with all the force we could. There was a pop, then it gave way.