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| Damon |
Why was he still in charge? Damon glanced at each of his packmates, wondering why not a single one of them had questioned his ability to lead them yet. Surely, after what happened to Alastor, at least one of them must feel as though he wasn't cut out for this anymore.
He dragged his hands over his face and stared at the ground. Someone else was dead because of him. He should have been more cautious—maybe he should have just found another way for them to get back on track instead of crossing that river. And the fact that he couldn't even handle that prowler by himself made him feel worse. What was happening to him? Why did he feel so unsure and powerless?
And why was he asking himself whether Alaric made the right choice giving him the responsibility he now held?
Damon looked around at everyone again. Would one of them follow in Elias' footsteps and challenge him? How many more things had to go wrong—how many more wrong decisions did he have to make before someone said enough?
Why didn't he just say it? Why wait around for someone to tell him he was failing at being their leader when he could admit it himself?
But who would take his place? There wasn't anyone here with anywhere near as much experience as him, and despite his lack of self-confidence, he still cared about his pack and wanted to ensure they had the best chance from here on out. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was the only one capable.
Or...was he?
He didn't know anymore. Everything was a mess. Wolves were dead because of him, and he had no idea what was going to happen once they left the burrow and continued towards the valley.
"Well, you're right, chief," Tokala said, appearing beside him.
Damon glanced up at the orange-haired man.
"Kid's blaming himself."
The Alpha set his eyes on Jackson. "This isn't his fault in any way whatsoever."
"Yeah...and it isn't yours, either."
He frowned and looked at his Zeta, who sat beside him.
"Permission to speak candidly, Alpha?"
Damon nodded.
"I've known you a long time; we grew up together. You've confided in me a lot, and I know when you're overthinking. True, our friendship drifted a little as we went our separate paths in the pack, but I still know you," Tokala said quietly. "I saw you out there...after releasing Alastor."
The Alpha huffed and looked away. He wasn't about to pour his feelings out to one of his subordinates, especially when he had no idea what to do about any of it.
"It wasn't your fault; it wasn't Jackson's fault—it wasn't anyone's fault. No one blames anyone," Tokala said firmly.
Damon turned his head to look at the Zeta again. It was true that he and Tokala were a lot closer back when they lived in the packhouse, and since leaving, they'd drifted. Damon drifted from everyone...but that was just one of the many burdens of leadership, another being that he had the responsibility of making the right calls, and when he made a wrong one...the people who trusted him suffered.
He sighed deeply and rested his back against the wall. For a moment, he let himself seek the advice of someone who had once been his closest friend. "What if Alaric made a mistake?"
Tokala frowned at him. "What?"
"I couldn't keep everyone together. Aysel's out there somewhere with Romulus because I chose Jackson over her—over my own brother's mate. And now Alastor is dead because I chose to cross that river. If Alaric were here, everyone would still be together—"
"I'm sorry, chief, but...there's no way you can know that. And I'll say this again because it's true: no one blames you for any of that. You had every right to choose Jackson; he's your mate, and Aysel destroyed your bond when she decided to start sneaking around with Elias. Everyone understands," Tokala said sympathetically. "And I mean...chief, we're out here seeking something that might cure the cadejo virus, something none of us would have ever thought possible. We all knew the risks, but we all came with you anyway. You're our Alpha, we trust you, and wherever you go and whatever you choose, we're with you."
Damon sighed again and stared at the burrow ceiling. "Ever since Aysel left with half of the pack, I've just been feeling a lot unlike myself."
Tokala nodded as he rested his arm on his knee. "Of course you'd feel like that. Everything changed, like...immensely, chief. You lost Aysel and your sons, you lost half the pack, and you found your mate. And then we were all evicted from the place we thought we'd call home. But you handled it all very well. And even now, what you're doing is for the better of all of us—hell, not just us, but all wolf walkers. The world, even. Alaric wasn't wrong when he made you our leader."
Did everyone really think that highly of him despite everything that happened to prove otherwise? Did no one think that they might have been better off with Aysel? Wasn't there a single wolf that regretted leaving the safety of the Venaticus building?
"We've all got your back, chief," Tokala assured him. "And you know...I am here if you ever need to talk. I mean, it's sort of my job, right?" he asked with a smirk.
Damon laughed quietly and dragged his hand over his head. "Thank you, Tokala."
The orange-haired man nodded and got up. Then, he walked off and joined Remus, who was sitting with Brando, Bly, and Lance.
But the moment he was alone, Damon could feel himself slipping back into that dark pit of self-doubt and depression, and questioning himself when he needed to be thinking clearly would get more people killed. He wasn't going to give up because Tokala was right; the pack trusted him, and he couldn't let them down. They were out here to find a way to stop the cadejo virus, and that was what he was going to do. Alastor didn't die in vain, either, and Damon would make sure that everyone knew that.
He took a deep breath and banished as much of his uncertainty as he could. They still had a long way to go, and Alastor needed to be buried. His pack deserved to mourn him properly.
"Everyone," he said as he stood up.
They turned their heads and stared at him.
"Alastor deserves a proper burial, and I'm going to make it my personal mission to ensure that he and everyone else we have lost will not be forgotten. What we're out here doing is for the benefit of every wolf walker, and we'll fight on to ensure that no one else has to suffer the same fate as our packmate," the Alpha called sternly. "Alastor was a brave, resilient fighter, and without him, not one of us would be who we are today. But above that, he was a friend—he was family—and we will all carry his memory with us."
Everyone responded with their words of agreement.
Damon looked at Sebastien, who was no longer in his hound form. "Will you carry Alastor outside so that we can bury him, please?"
Sebastien nodded and shifted, but when he tried to get Alastor's body on his back with the help of Tokala and Brando, Wesley snarled defensively at them.
"Leave him alone!" the Epsilon warned, glaring at the pack as they grouped behind Sebastien.
"We have to bury him, Wesley," Tokala said softly.
"No!" he shouted, standing protectively over his friend's body.
"Wesley..." Bly said, taking a step closer to him. "For him to join his ancestors, we need to give him a burial. Otherwise, he'll remain trapped in that body forever."
"Come on, Wesley," Rachel said as she cautiously approached.
Wesley frowned hesitantly, but when Rachel began escorting him away from Alastor's body, he didn't fight, and let Tokala and Brando lift his friend's body onto Sebastien's back.
Damon felt his heart aching when he watched Wesley whine while his friend was carried outside, and as he sunk deeper into dismay, he instinctually searched the burrow for Jackson.
His mate was still laying at the back of the burrow, hiding his face beneath his paws.
The Alpha frowned worriedly and headed over to him. "Jackson?"
Jackson didn't respond.
Damon sat beside him and gently placed his hand on the tawny-brown wolf's head. "Listen to me," he said quietly. "What happened out there wasn't your fault, okay? No one—"
"It was, though," Jackson replied sullenly, his voice muffled beneath his paws. "I could have stopped it if I hadn't...frozen up like some useless little coward."
"The prowler bit Alastor before you could have done anything. But what you did do was prevent it from killing anyone else," Damon told him, massaging his head. "You saved us, okay? And I know Alastor wouldn't take back giving his life for everyone else's."
Jackson lifted his head and stared at Damon with a look of anguish on his face. "If I moved faster than I did, then Alastor would still be here!" he insisted. "But I just...stood there!"
"Jackson," Damon said firmly.
He folded his ears behind his head and looked away.
"Nobody blames you. It wasn't your fault. You saved us, okay? You killed that prowler," he told him softly, trying to assure him. "If it weren't for you, then...maybe none of us would be here," he admitted.
Jackson frowned in confusion.
"I...don't know why—maybe it's because I'm still healing from my injury—but I couldn't stop that thing," the Alpha mumbled. "If I hadn't needed help, then...." But he stopped, sighed, and shook his head. He couldn't let himself sink into despair and doubt. "Jackson, believe me when I say that you're just as much of an asset to this pack as everyone else. Stop blaming yourself for things that are out of your control."
With a despondent pout, Jackson lowered his head. "But if I was just...better," he uttered. "Maybe I should have fought harder when Lord Caedis changed his mind about me training with Heir Lucian."
"Sebastien is supposed to be teaching you to use your demon ethos, isn't he?" Damon asked with a frown.
"Yeah, and...I guess there just hasn't been time. And I keep thinking that if I knew how to do all this demon stuff, then maybe I could have done more. Maybe I can do more," he said, lifting his head to look at Damon's face. "Maybe I could have killed that prowler without needing the inimă."
"Jackson, killing that prowler wasn't your responsibility. Stop being so hard on yourself."
He shrugged and hid his face again.
Damon moved his hands to either side of Jackson's furred face and made him lift his head so that they were at eye level. Then, he gazed into his mate's eyes. "Nobody expects you to suddenly be this powerful, unstoppable force because you're a hybrid. All of this is still new to you, and everyone understands that. It's going to take time for you to learn to use and control your new power, both demon and wolf walker."
Jackson shrugged again and murmured, "I guess."
"This isn't all on your shoulders, okay?"
With a slight nod, he mumbled, "Okay."
"I'll talk to Sebastien about teaching you more frequently. Now that Riker's hunters are gone, there's one less threat for us to worry about. The cadejo are still out there, though—they always will be—so I'll ensure everyone is on watch while you learn."
Jackson nodded. "Thank you."
Damon then exhaled and said, "We're going to bury and mourn Alastor. After that, I'll talk to Sebastien."
"Okay. And...thanks for...well, everything," he mumbled.
The Alpha smiled and stood up. "Come on."
Jackson shifted out of his wolf form as he stood up, and then, he followed Damon towards the burrow exit.
Damon hoped that he'd convinced Jackson that none of this was his fault, and he also tried his best to remember what Tokala told him. His pack needed and trusted him, and he couldn't fall victim to his self-doubt right now. He had to be strong—he had to be their Alpha—and accept that Alastor's death wasn't his fault.
But he wouldn't forget how he couldn't face that prowler alone. His strength had failed him, and he needed to make sure it didn't happen again.
He headed outside with his pack, and while they got to work digging a grave for Alastor, he told Jackson to wait where he was and then headed over to Sebastien.
"If you're gonna tell me to help them dig, I'm gonna pass," the hound said, glancing at him. "Sorry, I'm just not a digging holes kinda—"
"Can I speak with the surgeon who operated on me?" Damon asked him.
"Uh...Sinclair?"
"Yes."
"Well...why?"
"There are things I need to ask him that I didn't have the chance to when we were still with the Venaticus," Damon answered.
Sebastien frowned unsurely, but after a few moments, he sighed and said, "I don't see why not...unless he's busy."
"Check."
The hound nodded and got up. As Damon followed, he headed back into the burrow, shifted into his human form, and pulled the mirror he'd been talking into before from his bag.
Damon sat beside him and leaned against the wall, watching as Sebastien activated the mirror's rune, and after flickering, it revealed an office on the other side...like looking through a window.
Footsteps echoed through the mirror, and after a few moments, a uniformed woman appeared in front of it. "Yes, Officer Huxley?"
"Is Doctor Laurent available?" Sebastien asked her.
She started typing on her laptop. "Um...he's scheduled for surgery in thirty minutes. I think he's in the canteen."
"Can you put him on for me, please?"
"Of course. There should be a demon around him to connect him. One moment."
The mirror went black.
"What's happening?" Damon asked.
"It's kinda like...when you phone a place and they put you on hold so they can transfer you. You know what I mean?"
Damon frowned at him. "No."
Sebastien scoffed. "Yeah...why would you?"
The mirror flickered again, and this time, it revealed the blonde doctor sitting in what must be his office.
"Hello?" Sinclair asked.
Sebastien handed the mirror to Damon. "He said he needs to talk to you."
"Oh, hey Damon. How have you been doing?" the doctor asked.
The Alpha tried to figure out how to word his concern. He glanced over the small mirror to make sure everyone was still outside and then shot an uncomfortable glare at Sebastien.
"I'll...be outside," the white-haired demon said, and then, he got up and walked off.
Damon sighed and looked at Sinclair, who was eating his salad while waiting for him to speak. "I've noticed that I haven't exactly...been myself since my injury. I struggled against an opponent that I once before defeated without so much difficulty."
"Well, you're still in the recovery process, so that's understandable. My advice would be to keep taking your medication and take it as easy as you can."
He shook his head in frustration. "How long am I going to feel like this? I lost one of my wolves today because I couldn't fight with my full strength. I can't let that happen again."
Sinclair calmly explained, "It varies from person to person, so I can't really guarantee a certain timeframe. But if you keep pushing yourself to your body's limits, that's not going to help."
Damon dragged his free hand over his face. "I've seen wolves recover from far worse injuries than a knife in their back. Why—"
"It severed your nerves, Damon. Even for a wolf walker, that's a serious injury—one that someone who isn't as strong as you might not have come back from," he told him firmly. "I know it's frustrating, but there isn't much else either of us can do. You need to take your antibiotics and avoid as much physical combat as possible, just until you finish the medication."
He was beginning to feel more angry than frustrated. "Why do I need antibiotics? The wound healed."
"Because you had foreign objects in your body. Wolf walkers might heal at an alarming rate, but your bodies aren't so great at fighting off everything else that comes with a wound like that while it's busy using all its energy to keep you alive. You're lucky it didn't leave a permanent scar."
Damon huffed irritably.
"I'm sorry that I couldn't be of more help, but that's just the way it is, unfortunately. Do you have any other questions? I don't have much more time."
The Alpha grunted irritably and shook his head. He had his answer. All he could do was take his medicine and try to refrain from pushing himself. But how could he do that with the cadejo out there? His pack were bound to need him; was he supposed to just stand around and hope someone else could protect them for him?
No. He wasn't going to put them at risk. If he had to fight, then he would fight. And when he could rest...he'd rest. But he wouldn't actively avoid fights. He wasn't going to lose anyone else.
"Thanks for your time," he said to Sinclair.
"Take it easy," the doctor told him. "If you aren't feeling like your normal self once you've finished the antibiotics—and I haven't seen you before then—you can contact me again."
Damon nodded and watched as Sinclair handed the mirror to the blonde woman. Then, the mirror faded black...and returned to showing his reflection moments later.
He huffed and rested his arms on his knees. But he wasn't going to sit around and overthink. There wasn't anything else he could do. Right now, he needed to be with his pack and mourn Alastor.
And once he had time to process everything, he'd figure out what to do next.
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