The hazy images in Ally’s mind sharpened and zoomed in on one particular scene. Three figures stood stock still in a room that looked as though it had frozen in time and space. Ornamental draperies, delicately crafted furniture, porcelain figurines, and luxurious Oriental rugs decorated the entire house. A ten year old girl stood so rigidly, one would have assumed she were suspended in time. Beside her, her mother and an authoritative man with a hawkish look stood in wait, equally immobile.
The gentleman whose arrival they awaited burst through the tall double doors with purpose. He sported a trim black beard with only a sprinkling of white hairs. Although rather short, he possessed such an air of dignity that he managed to look domineering in any setting.
“Camille, it is an honor”, he nodded respectfully. “Cornelius.” Cornelius did not receive such adulation, but it was obvious that the two men respected one another.
“And this is Alianora,” he said appraisingly. “I am to take you to your father.” He spoke to the child as though to a peer.
The girl nodded mutely, before remembering her manners and answering softly, “Yes, sir.” She tried to discreetly wipe her sweaty palms against her sumptuous maroon cloak.
Camille embraced her daughter one last time, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. Cornelius bowed his head as he shook her hand. He allowed a small smile to pass over his features, if only fleetingly, in order to reassure her. The new arrival laid a hand on her shoulder to steer the girl out of the room, out of the stately brick house, and into a waiting black town car with tinted windows.
Alianora did her best to keep calm and barring that, at least look it. She could not disgrace her mother. She was determined not to let anyone down, although there were more demands on her than her ten-year old mind could cope with.
She wasn’t sure if she was glad to be leaving England or not. On the one hand she would be sad to leave her mother. On the other, she was keen to see her father, although opposing giddy excitement and knee-knocking terror only made her nauseous. She was proud that he wanted to see her; for the past five years he had wavered between demanding her presence in Geneva and claiming he had no interest in his daughter.
Cornelius had explained that this was simply a power play between her parents, who used their daughter against each other. Her mother, in a fit of rage, had left her husband and taken Alianora to England when the girl was five. However, although they were not true mates, once mated, mates could not easily separate from one another. This left the couple in emotional limbo, angry, and determined to hurt the other.
Years later, Alianora would understand that her parents’ love, untempered by mature reason, had been their downfall. Young love does not last, and the sacrifice and understanding necessary in a relationship are painful. The loss of idealistic love proved too much for them. When the fog of first love had cleared, the two had blamed and cursed the other for it. Their daughter served as their retributory weapon. Camille refused to let her estranged husband see his daughter. His ploy was to routinely alter between demanding his heir and feigning no interest whatsoever in either his wife or child.
Camille finally consented to surrender Alianora when word of her husband’s newest love interest reached England. Lydia Bubant’s bid for power was entirely too successful for Camille’s liking. To remind her husband of her importance, she sent Alianora to Geneva as constant proof. Neither Camille nor Alianora were going to be disregarded.
It would be the second to last time Alianora saw her mother. She was allowed to return to England a year later, to bid her mother goodbye on her deathbed. She supposed it had been rather generous of her father to allow her such a luxury, but it remained unclear whether he had consented out of love of Camille or Alianora.
Alianora did not usually resent her upbringing. She pitied, rather than blamed her parents. They were victims of the power they themselves wielded. Her past made her who she was, for better or for worse.
Ally shot up in bed, gulping in air. The memory qualified as a nightmare; that feeling of helplessness in facing the future was one of worst feelings she knew. Those particular problems had been dealt with long ago. That didn’t mean that there weren’t still consequences of her parents’ animosity to grapple with. The past would catch up with her sooner or later.
Ally remained on high alert after the murder of the messenger. She forced herself to call it a murder. If she could go back in time, she knew she would do it again. That didn’t change the fact that it was murder. Self-defense, survival, and the greater good didn’t make it right, but it made it worthwhile. But nothing happened.
Almost nothing. Nearly a month after the murder, Ally had only just begun to breathe more easily when Christian announced to the pack unit that they would be welcoming an addition to their ranks. A runaway girl from the Schumer pack in eastern Canada, George Sullivan decided she would feel most comfortable in Alaska for the time being.
The hair at the back of Ally’s neck prickled, but she tried to see things in perspective. Those who deal in lies often descend into paralyzing paranoia, unable to analyze a situation rationally. That was when spies were taken out of the field and given desk jobs. Taking deep breaths, Ally tried to distract herself, although she felt stir-crazy, being cooped up in headquarters all the time.
Christian had continued to keep his distance, something Ally had gratefully welcomed in the days following the murder. But by now he had finally driven himself over the edge of any restraint he could exercise. After working up the courage, he told Kate that he would spend the night with Ally, and that night after dinner he followed Ally to her room. It was precisely the distraction that Ally needed.
Christian’s newfound boldness only drove the wedge between Kate and Ally deeper. Kate’s attitude grew even frostier; her remarks to Ally when Christian was absent grew even more hostile. Ally took the abuse without bating an eyelid.
When the runaway girl arrived, a week later, the pack unit welcomed her with a bonfire lunch in the backyard. It was November and bitterly cold outside, and many decided not to brave the cold in human form. In traditional werewolf custom, the women and men formed two sub-groups for most of the festivities – it was thought that Sara, the new girl, would first like to be introduced to the other women.
Ally, wrapped in several layers of clothing as she would have to endure the cold in human form, felt Kate’s rancor aimed at her, and decided to wander over to the male group. The new girl wouldn’t feel at all welcome if Kate continued to exude such unfriendliness.
“Hey, Tim,” Ally greeted.
“Hi. How’s the new girl?”
Ally shrugged. “Seems to be getting on just fine.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Not really. That’s Kate’s responsibility at the moment.”
Tim nodded understandingly, but his eyes flickered over to the female group once more. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
Ally grinned, recognizing the wistful look on his face. “You like her, don’t you?”
Tim sputtered. “What? Me? Like her? No! I mean, not – no.”
Ally laughed. “Have you even spoken to her yet?”
“I picked her up and drove her here this morning,” Tim acknowledged, grumbling.
Ally shook her head, still grinning. “Well, go talk to her in a bit. But for the moment stay and talk to me. I can’t go back over there yet.”
Tim understood the implication and ignored it as he was expected to do. “Are you cold?”
“Yes,” Ally answered simply.
“You should go back inside.”
“Have to stay out here a bit longer, duty calls. The sun will disappear soon anyway, I’ll go inside then.”
“No one will mind if you go inside now.”
Ally shrugged. “A nat amatra needs to be present at all such pack functions. Holding an honorable position in a pack is a responsibility. I think I even outrank you,” she teased, nudging Tim playfully with her shoulder.
Tim laughed loudly, drawing the attention of Kate and the other women standing around Sara. They shot Ally dirty looks with narrowed eyes.
Tim raised an eyebrow at their reaction, but Ally’s face remained inscrutable.
Christian ambled up to them. “Just got a call from my father. Apparently he’s been contacted by the First Pack about this Tsolmon business.”
Tim groaned. “Just what we tried to avoid. I take it they're not on our side?”
“Of course not. We have to draft an official letter to them, explaining the situation. And include copies of our latest demographic studies. The Tsolmon pack isn’t using that land, and we are getting overcrowded.”
“Not to the east,” Tim pointed out.
“Well, we can’t tell people they need to move to the other side of Sullivan territory,” Christian argued exasperatedly. “We’re not dictators.”
Tim held up his hands. “I’m just telling you what the First Pack will say.”
Christian sighed. “What do you think about all this, Ally?” he asked his nat amatra who had been almost oddly silent through the exchange.
“I have no opinion,” she deadpanned.
“Of course you do,” Christian said. “You know about stuff like this, you always have ideas.”
Tim was a bit surprised by this statement, but he remembered Ally’s suggestion about taking a trusted local werewolf with them on diplomatic visits to nearby communities. It had been a good idea. Christian must know Ally much better than anyone else in the pack unit did, although it was a strange thought. They were rarely seen together.
“I’m a nat amatra, not a political advisor,” Ally said, her smile making it a joke. “And the sun’s nearly set, so I’m going back inside before I turn into an icicle.”
The two subgroups were mingling by now. As she walked past, Zazzie shot Ally a smile, but most of the other women glared at her, including Sara. Ally sighed when she got inside. After observing her, she didn’t think Sara constituted a threat, merely an annoyance, now that Kate had gotten to her. Nearly five months had passed since Ally had first met George Sullivan. Asked again, she knew she would take the position again, but that didn’t always make it an agreeable job.
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Sorry for the delay, but I was writing the climax and ending of the story. You know when you're writing and get inspirations flooding in? I just had to roll with it. But it means that you won't be left hanging towards the end, so don't be too angry.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter; if so, please vote and/or comment! Thanks!