"Get out of your head, Clara. You should be able to do this in your sleep by now."
I glare at the tea lights, silently urging them to spark, but I keep losing my focus. I'm worried about tonight. Nervous. In my periphery, I notice Nora lean across the table, frowning at me. "What is it?" She asks, concern coloring her voice.
Sighing, I take in the firm set of her mouth and the steely look in her hazel eyes. When you get past her sharp edges, Nora is actually pretty okay. She's also relentless.
I slouch back on the couch. "How much has Tiberius told you about me?"
"Enough."
She's staring at me sagely, and it strikes me that even if Tiberius hadn't spoken to her, she'd know. I don't waste time with preamble. "Sampson found out where some of the pack that has been... chasing... me have set up camp, and Tiberius wants to attack them now, while we've still got the element of surprise." I trail off.
Nora nods seriously, considering. "You don't agree."
"I think-I think it might be better to wait. We know where they are, so maybe we should try to figure out what's coming. Attacking them isn't going to do anything except aggravate things further." I pause. "Besides, it's not them I want."
My entire body tenses at the thought of him. Ira. None of this will stop until he's dead, and the thought of killing him fills me with a sick satisfaction. I take a deep breath and try to ignore my morbid thoughts.
"That's not the only thing bothering you," she frowns.
I blink at her, slightly surprised by her perceptiveness. I wonder if she knows about the pack delegates visiting tonight.
Tiberius only told me about it this morning. The two packs who were also impacted by the deaths of Mia and Abby are on their way to meet with us. Tonight. Tiberius wants to form an alliance. I would rather be just about anywhere else. I don't know what to say to them.
"Come with me," Nora stands abruptly, striding away from the table, past the wall of guns, and through the "EMPLOYEES ONLY" door. Even though we've been working together for over a week now, I've yet to see another person, staff or customer, at the gun range.
I follow her into the back room, taking in the innocuous staff room. A fridge is in the corner of the room, sandwiched between the wall and the counter. There's a table in the middle of the room, and a closet opposite from the counter. Maybe it shouldn't surprise me, but I'd been half expecting some sort of secret lair-or even just a dark room with more expensive looking furniture. Nora isn't exactly the most conventional person I've ever met.
She ignores me and walks over to the two doors on the far side of the room. The one is labelled "STOCK" and has a coded lock pad, while the other is unlabeled and unlocked. Nora opens the unlabeled door. I frown, maybe she does have a secret lair?
The door leads to a staircase and I follow her down, wondering if I'm about to get a more intimate peek into Nora's life. What if it's her apartment? What if her apartment is pink? I shake my head, it's impossible to picture.
My thoughts trail off as we reach the bottom of the stairs and I realize that it isn't an apartment at all-it's a gym.
The space is small and dingy. The walls and floor are cement and the only windows are several feet above the ground. A light bulb hangs from the ceiling, complementing the light from the windows. Small and narrow, they're barred and look out on grass and dirt.
There's a bright red punching bag hanging near the center of the room, while a metal shelf covered in heavy weights lines one wall, and a treadmill that looks like it could easily be older than I am rests just under the windows on the far side of the room.
Who keeps a hidden gym in the basement of their business?
Nora walks over to the shelf and comes back with a pair of black boxing gloves. Wordlessly, she hands them to me, before moving to stand behind the punching bag. I stare blankly at the gloves in my hand, slightly mystified but unwilling to question her.
"Come on," she says, gesturing to the punching bag. "You need to unwind. Hit it. Let it out."
Reluctantly, I pull on the gloves. The thought of hitting something is oddly pleasant, but I'm not sure I even know how to throw a real punch. Physical violence has never really been my strong suit.
I approach the bag hesitantly. I was never a particularly sporty kid-having asthma isn't exactly the best way to get picked first in gym class-but I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to tuck in your thumbs when you make a fist.
The gloves are well worn and curling my fingers into a fist almost feels natural. Nora is watching silently, and I wonder what she must think of me. I'm still unsure what to make of her.
Shifting my attention back to the punching bag, I try to focus, pulling back my arm and slamming a gloved fist against the bag. It barely moves and an unpleasant shock spreads through my hand. I pull back, trying to shake it off.
Nora walks around the bag and grabs my hand, adjusting my fist and tweaking my stance until my feet are almost shoulder-length apart, one in front of the other, and my knees slightly bent.
"Like this," she tells me, gracefully springing forward and rapping her bare knuckles against the bag, before finishing off with a swift kick. "It's easy." She moves back to her spot behind the bag and leans around it to talk to me. "I want you to channel everything you're feeling right now into this punching bag."
I close my eyes, thinking of Charlie, of Laurel and Mia and Abby, I see their faces in my mind's eye and leap forward blindly, hitting and punching and letting my anger and remorse wash over me. The bag barely moves, but I attack anyway, and my focus gradually shifts away from Charlie and on to Tiberius.
All the pent-up anger and fear I've felt, fuelled by the memory of his incisors pressed into my neck, and the infuriating way he seems to always think he knows what's best, is unleashed. I think about what I'll have to face tonight when I return to Tiberius's; I'm not sure how I can face any of the pack delegates when I'm the one who brought death to their door. The thought of it makes me nauseous, but I push it down, throwing myself into the exercise.
I can't stop myself, finally allowing the guilt, over involving Tiberius and Jon and all of them in this mess, to wash over me.
It overwhelms my senses until I can't concentrate on anything other than throwing punches. I wonder how my life would have turned out if none of this had ever happened-if I had run into Tiberius on a ski trip, or even never met him at all. I mourn the life I could have had; my family, a high school diploma, a real life, until my arms burn and my hands ache. I barely notice as the old wounds on my back and thigh begin to throb again.
I don't stop until I'm drenched in sweat and my lungs burn with the exertion. I step back when the world starts to spin, and rip off my gloves, dropping them to the floor and crouching down. I place my hands on my knees and attempt to catch my breath. The dim light of the room seems to brighten, and glancing from one spot to another is dizzying. I don't notice as Nora vanishes up the stairs or comes running back down them, too concerned with how I'm going to reach my inhaler.
That is, until she's standing in front of me and placing it in my hand. I hold it to my mouth press down, breathing as deeply as I can manage. I hold my breath for a moment before exhaling and repeating the process. It takes a few minutes before I'm able to really breathe again, but gradually the light becomes less bright, and the familiar pain in the back of my throat begins to ease.
My shoulders relax and I collapse onto the hard floor, my adrenaline crashing. It isn't until I'm sitting that I notice my arms have become weak and shaky, hanging limply by my sides. And even though my entire body aches fiercely, I feel more relieved than I have in weeks.
"That was... wow. Can we do that again sometime?" I grin up at Nora.
*
A black SUV and a rusty red pickup truck are parked outside Tiberius's cabin, and I glance warily at Jon as we pull up. He notices my unease and reaches for my hand, but I pull it away.
"You'll be fine Clara. They lost pack members too. If anyone will help us, it's them," he says brightly, in a strangely good mood. Then again, he isn't about to go face the loved ones of someone who was murdered expressly to send him a message.
"They're early," I deadpan. I won't be able to shower, or organize my thoughts. If I think I smell this awful, I can't imagine what the werewolves inside the cabin will think. Of course, my stench is likely the least of my problems.
Jon doesn't respond, and there's no reason to. Nothing he can say will alleviate my anxiety.
I pause, allowing myself only a second to panic, before I steel myself and push open the door. I climb slowly out of the jeep, my entire body aching with the movement, and walk toward the cabin, trying not to drag my feet even as they seem to turn to lead.
My heart is racing and my palms are sweaty. I force myself to calm down, breathing deeply and relaxing my tense shoulders.
They're waiting for us in the kitchen.
Tiberius nods in greeting as I enter the room, and I gravitate toward him. I'm sure all of them can hear the frantic beating of my heart. I've never been in the same room as so many wolves before.
There's only five of them, delegates from two nearby packs and the family members of Abby Mitchel, one of the girls who was murdered. Murdered because of me, I remind myself.
A woman seated at the table is the first to speak. Her greying hair is pulled back in a loose braid and she rises from her chair as she addresses me. "You must be Clara."
I nod, meeting her cool blue gaze. Her face is blank as she sizes me up.
The man standing next to her clears his throat loudly, as if to draw my attention, and glowers at me. "You're the reason our land has been flooded with hunters," he snarls, his lip pulling up to expose sharp incisors. His hand is resting on the back of the woman's chair, and as he speaks his grip tightens to the point that the wood begins to splinter.
He isn't quite as tall as Tiberius or as brawny as Colin, who stands with Sampson in the back of the kitchen, watching the exchange with guarded eyes, but when his blue irises flash to black I still have to force myself not to flinch.
"You must be from the Yellowstone pack." I keep my voice even. Mia was human; when her family learned that she was killed in a wolf attack, they began leading hunting expeditions into forests across the state. Tiberius told me their pack has had to significantly limit when and where they roam as wolves.
He calms slowly, and I try to bite my tongue. I'm tempted to remind him that none of his pack have lost their lives, but I can tell he's close to going feral in the middle of Tiberius's kitchen.
"Clara," it's Tiberius this time, "meet Kathryn Philips and her son Wesley. Kathryn is a beta of the Yellowstone pack." I nod to her, trying to imitate the way I've seen Jon treat Tiberius when he thinks I'm not paying attention. I pointedly ignore Wesley.
There are two men and another woman sitting next to them at the table. The first man is broad shouldered and lanky, his legs stretched out in front of him. His salt and pepper hair is cut short and his face is creased with laugh lines, but he doesn't look a day over 45. For all I know, though, he could have been around for centuries.
He doesn't stand, but he also doesn't need to. From his casual position, he practically exudes power. I'm almost certain he's an alpha.
Next to him, the younger man looks closer to my age than Tiberius's. His eyes are red and his hands are clenched together in front of him. He doesn't meet my gaze.
The woman, however, seems to stare straight into my soul and it takes all my resolve not to look away.
Tiberius gestures to the older man. "This is Wyatt Johnson, alpha of the Medicine Bow Pack, and Linda and Brody Mitchel." I nod respectfully to Wyatt, watching as Linda stands, her eyes still locked on mine, and calmly crosses the kitchen to meet me. I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling the guilt well up in me once more. This is Abby's family.
"Tiberius told us about your sister," Linda wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me in close. "I'm sorry for everything you've had to go through."
It takes me a moment to respond to the hug. Her words leave me stunned, unsure how to respond. My eyes water, and I try to blink the tears away. If there was anything I expected from Abby's family, it wasn't this. A slap, maybe. Anger definitely. But not kindness.
"Thank you," I finally murmur, reaching up to reciprocate her hug. "I'm so sorry for your loss." We stand like that for a while, and I allow it to assuage my guilt slightly, before I step away. I quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks.
Linda moves back to her son and I observe as she wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close to her. Watching them makes my heart pine desperately for my own mother; I glance away quickly.
I stop paying attention, thinking of my mom, as Tiberius addresses them.
It isn't until the sharp sound of snapping wood interrupts my thoughts that I tune back in to the conversation. The back of the chair that Wesley was once holding is in two pieces, and his eyes are black as he throws the broken chair across the room and stalks angrily toward a snarling Tiberius.
What did I miss?