After breakfast, I help my dad with the dishes, washing and rinsing them in a pair of big, outdoor basins.
"So, how's it feel?" I ask, handing him a clean pan to dry. "Giving up the alpha, I mean."
He takes the pan and dries it carefully.
"Good, in a way. Like setting down a load I'd forgotten I was carrying. Course, I worry for my boy. Dane's got a habit of picking up loads that aren't his to carry."
I glance aside to where my elder brother sits with his mate and his children, at the table beneath the spreading boughs of the old tree, looking both wild and regal: the Wolf lord and his Fae prince.
"He carries it well, though," I say.
My dad smiles. The morning light catches in his gray hair, and his face bears the marks of many years, but his back is straight, and his spirit is strong.
"That he does," he says, allowing a hint of pride into his tone. "And what about you, Montreal? How does it feel to be Mated at last?"
My face warms, and I plunge my hands in the soapy water, fishing for another dish. "Good. Happy."
"Good. I want to see all my children happy before I'm called to the great Wild beyond."
"Hey now, none of that." I keep my tone light, but my heart constricts at his words.
I hand him a platter and he wipes it dry. "No harm being realistic. You heard what Doc Meyer said."
"She said you'd be fine, long as you take care of yourself."
"Gotta listen between the lines, son," he says, his dark eyes glinting as he looks askance at me. "Lot of 'ifs' in there."
"Dad."
He waves his hand at me. "Stop. It is what it is, and I'm not going anywhere yet. Figure I got a few good years left in me. Best to keep expectation low, is all. Better to be pleasantly surprised than to hope the moon never sets and be disappointed when it does."
I hand him another dish, and he dries it before placing it in the stack.
"Anyways, there are many roads to happiness. Finding a Mate's just one of 'em. Plenty folks – Wolves included – live full, joyous lives without ever focusing all their love on one person. You, though..." He glances at me again. "I think you need somebody to love you, Montreal, and I'm glad you found that in Kit."
I look over to where my little fox lover sits with Noah and Sasha, the former showing him how to download books to a tablet the latter had given him, and my face warms again.
"Me, too, Dad."
He flicks me playfully with his towel, prompting me to get back to work and wash the next dish.
"Hey – once all this blows over," he says, as if all our troubles are a small, passing thunderstorm, "we'll have a proper celebration for you two. Maybe in the spring. I always thought Wolf weddings should be spring affairs."
"I'd like that," I say, feeling my face grow warmer still. I can see it clearly in my mind: Kit, looking like a little slice of heaven, with flowers in his hair.
~ ☾ ~
The following days are busy and exhausting, as Dane puts us all to work, training for battle. Some are already well-honed weapons, like Freya, but some of us are a little out of practice when it comes to Wolf warfare.
Sasha throws herself into it with surprising vigor, finding emotional release in physical exertion, and even the Outcasts join in: Ophelia runs with the Wolves, while Ed watches little Kitka and the twins.
Julian, Ambrose, and Darius each have their own strengths, and as I watch them, I can't help thinking Ferrault would be a fool to attack us outright. Noah agrees.
"That's why he'll go the 'Challenge' route," he says, sitting beside me on a fallen log as we take a break from 'practice' to eat some lunch. "One-on-one, alpha-to-alpha. Either he wins and takes our Pack, or Dane wins and sends his packing."
"What's the point of all this, then?" Ed asks, pouring Sasha a glass of lemonade from the pitcher. "If y'all are just gonna follow these 'Wolf rules,' anyway?"
Noah pushes his glasses up his nose. "If we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed, we will," he says. "That's why the Challenge exists; it stops Packs from tearing each other to shreds by letting the leaders do the fighting. But we have to be ready to defend ourselves, nonetheless. Ferrault wants our territory; he's less interested in our Pack – especially our non-traditional members. If things go badly, everyone who's not a full-blooded Wolf will be in danger."
I look around. 'Not a full-blooded Wolf' covers a good portion of the people I love.
Elena snorts. She sits across from us with Martin on another bench-like log, clothed in a loose robe for ease of Shifting form. I'd been a bit surprised when she'd joined us, but I'm less surprised to hear her express herself now.
"This is the trouble with mating outside the Packs," she says. "Diluted blood is weak blood, and weak blood makes a weak Pack. The rest of us suffer for it."
"El..." Martin remonstrates gently. "That isn't true."
"Isn't it?" she snaps, her eyes cold and hard. "Why should our children be endangered for your brother's..." she cuts herself off, thankfully, and huffs. "All I'm saying is, there is value in tradition. It exists for a reason, and to flout it invites bad luck."
She looks across at Ed as she says this, and at little Kitka in his arms. He stares back, undaunted and bristling, and Elena looks away first.
"I'm tired," she announces, rising. "I'm going home to rest. Martin, come."
With a glance of apology, he follows her.
I watch them leave and feel a twinge of guilt twist my heart. I'd been putting off the conversation I meant to have with Martin because we'd all been so busy, and he'd seemed happier than I'd seen him yet, these past few days. As he trails after his mate and disappears among the trees, I realize I can't put it off much longer. If there's a chance Elena sympathizes with Ferrualt's views, she could be a weak link, and Dane needs to know.
~ ☾ ~
The next day, Martin doesn't join us, though. He says he has some work to do, and needs to finish a manuscript. Ed and Ophelia are absent as well, and I hope it's not because of what Elena said.
Troubled by the possible rift, I decide to visit Martin that evening after dinner, when I know Elena will be gone for her night shift at the hospital.
We're about halfway through our meal, however, gathered inside around Sasha's table, when Dane's phone rings.
"It's the sheriff," he says, looking at the screen, and excuses himself to answer it. He listens to whatever the sheriff says, and I can tell by the way his face goes through about four shades of grim that it's not good news.
"Understood. We'll be there soon." He ends the call and looks up at us. "There's been another fire," he says.
"Where?" Freya asks, on her feet already.
"The mobile home park."
Kit gasps. "Ophie?"
Dane nods. "She's alright. But... I'm afraid Ed and the baby are missing."
"Fire is my element," Ambrose says, rising as well with Noah at his side. "I may be able to help."
"I'm coming, too," I say.
"Me, too," my mom offers. "No matter what happens, good or bad, Ophelia will need support."
In the end, only Julian and my dad remain behind to watch the twins, while the rest of us pile into various vehicles and head for the edge of town.
We see the lights before anything else – the orange blaze of fire lighting the sky amid the flashing red and blue of firetrucks, ambulances and sheriff's cars. Ed and Ophelia's trailer is not the only casualty, and it looks like half the park is ablaze.
Police have cordoned off the area, keeping people back and trying to account for all the residents.
I spot Ophelia immediately, mostly because four large deputies are fighting to restrain her and keep her away from the flames. She screams and cries, soot streaking her pale face, and her voice is raw with smoke and anguish.
Kit and I go to her as Dane goes to find the sheriff. The rest hang back a bit, surveying the scene.
"Ophie!" Kit calls, and she breaks free of the deputies and falls into his arms, sobbing helplessly.
"My Ed! My baby!" she cries. "Oh, my baby!"
"What happened?" I ask, kneeling at her side as she and Kit sink to the ground. "Can you tell me?"
"I just went for groceries," she wails. "We were all out of milk, and Ed was tired, so I went. And when I came back..." She gestures at the fire helplessly.
"You're sure they were still...inside?"
She shakes her head.
"I don't know, I don't know! They won't let me get close."
I glance up as a hand settles on my shoulder. Ambrose stands above me. "I'll look," he says. "The fire won't harm me."
He slips away into the shadows, evading the deputies.
My mom joins us, draping a blanket around Sasha's shoulders and wrapping her in a hug. She continues to cry and cough with a rough, dry bark that hurts to hear. My mom leans close and sniffs at the soot and ash clinging to her hair.
"You breathed the smoke?" she asks.
Sasha shakes her head and coughs some more. "Not much."
I lean in for a sniff as well, but don't detect anything particular. Mom always had the best nose, though. "What is it?"
"Wolfsbane, if I'm not mistaken."
"You're not," Noah says, joining us with a rag pressed over his mouth. His eyes are red and watering. "It's in the smoke. This was no accident."
Ophelia collapses into tears again, crying Ed and Kitka's names, the keening sounds tearing little holes in my heart. Meanwhile, despite our willingness to help, there's not much any of us can do.
Shortly, Ambrose returns. He must have taken his clothes off before going into the flames, because they're still intact and not smoldering.
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Ophie. There's no trace of them. Just fire, and ash."
She continues to cry, and Kit and I join her with tears of our own.
Abruptly, she stops and looks up, red-rimmed eyes wide. Then I hear it, too – a distant call above the roar of the fire and the shouts of those fighting it.
"Ophelia! Ophelia!"
She's on her feet. "Ed!?"
A figure approaches from the dark, a bundle of blankets in its arms. The blanket shifts, and I see Kitka's golden curls and sky-blue eyes, wide with fear and recent tears.
Choking back a cry, Ophelia runs to them, and the three collide in an embrace, Ed weeping as openly as his mate as he kisses her and strokes her sooty hair.
"We hid," he says. "We hid in the woods. But it was Kitka who saved us. She must've smelled something, and she started to cry. I looked outside and saw the smoke starting, all around, in a ring. So I just grabbed her and ran. A moment later it was all flames. A moment later, and we'd..."
Ophelia silences him with another kiss, squishing little Kitka and then kissing her, too, speechless with joy and weak with relief.
It takes a while, but at last they're calm enough to give the sheriff statements and be cleared by the EMTs. Ed and Kitka are unharmed, and fortunately Ophelia hadn't breathed much smoke.
Finally, with the fires under control and everyone accounted for, we leave, bringing Ophelia and her family with us.
It's late when we get back to Sasha's house, and all the lights are off inside. Julian had probably put the twins to bed hours ago, and not wanting to wake them, the rest of us stay outside.
Kit and I surrender our tent to Ophie and Ed; we can sleep under the stars in our fur, if need be. The others busy themselves gathering supplies of blankets and toiletries for our guests, and Sasha offers to lend Ophelia some clean clothes, as the two wear a similar size.
She goes inside to get them, and then we hear her scream.
Dane drops the basket of soaps and towels he's carrying and sprints after her, Kit and me on his heels.
Sasha kneels beside our dad where he lies on the kitchen floor. Dane dashes past her and up the stairs, while I drop to my knees and check for a pulse. I find one, and hang my head with relief.
A moment later, Dane returns, grim-faced and furious. "They're not here," he says.
With sudden clarity, I understand: the Outcasts weren't the real targets, after all.