The funeral for Marc was lovely. Even though days before, Ryder had broken down and claimed people weren't worth their word, a plethora of them came to remember Marc. Each of the pack members came promptly and respectfully, so did some of the older members (some of which were fathers of current members like Dakota, Kelvan, and Troy's) and their companions. Marc's co-workers (and apparent employees) took a day off and stayed for at least the memorial. Some teachers who were friends of Marc's attended as well. To my surprise, I saw Stormy--clothed in her usual black fashion--with a family of other eccentrically dressed relatives who I knew were her witch coven. They had chanted statements under their breaths in a foreign language the entire assembly. It was hard not to hear if you were a werewolf...well beneath the crying. Most of the crying came from Merida and sniffles from Sherriff Carol Bloomingdale. But in the presence of her husband and daughter, Carol suppressed her cries to a decibel only audible to supernatural hearing. Stella didn't cry at all. Maybe she knew Marc's recent cruelty or maybe because even though her mother had her husband to cry up on, Stella knew that her mother's tears were over Marc as a best friend and past lover...Marc to Carol was Ryder to Stella. But still, Merida consoled Carol afterwards. I admired her for that quality, but I couldn't help but let it resemble me and Stella.
But now, I was standing near the plaque belonging to Marc Ramon, just outside of his family's crypt. I was playing with the end of a rose while wanting to look over my shoulder at the two Ramon brothers standing stiffly and accepting the sympathy and blessings from the attendees with their mother. I waited until nearly everyone left before tossing my flower on the pile of others, saying a thanks to Marc for saving my life, and standing up to look back to the Ramon family and the pack brothers who had all formed a circle and silently mourned with a bow of their heads. As they left, they shook it off, sent me a forced smile of apology, or left with an unreadable expression on their faces.
"Good luck," a male witch related to Stormy had told the Ramons and I noticed Stormy walking over to me in her black boots and knitted tights beneath uneven skirts of darkness.
"If he needs me, you know how to reach me," was all she told me. I wondered what she meant, but at the same time, I had a feeling that I knew exactly what she meant.
"Stormy," I addressed as she had begun to walk off. She watched as her last relative departed from the Ramons' presence before looking to me. "How's Aaron?"
"He's...okay, actually," she answered with a hint of a smile. It quickly dropped and there was a shimmer in her grey eyes before she glanced at the Ramons. "Look, I know he doesn't want to hear this, but I am sorry about Marc's passing. So is Aaron."
"I'll be sure to tell him," I gulped.
"Be sure not to," she countered with a wink and then left as well. I watched her and her family flee the funeral and walk through the cemetery to the parking lot. I looked around at the hundreds of grey stones, wondering how many of them honored a werewolf's passing or victimhood. And when the wind blew and not only moved my hair, but also my thoughts on the matter. The only noticeable warmth other than the Texas sun had approached me from behind. I turned and saw Ryder. His eyes were no longer a chocolaty tone. They were almost as dark as the black dress shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up that matched his black pants that were almost too long somehow.
"Ready to go?" he asked. He reached out his hand and I immediately grabbed it. We walked back towards a crying Merida who clutched a beautiful black and gold urn in one arm and Zander in the other, who could be Ryder's twin if you studied how much they looked and moved the same.
***
Though the Ramons opted out of having a gathering at their house, I was still invited over for dinner. Merida had recovered from her harsh crying in a way that made her not only stop, but for her to become sick with a sore throat and a throbbing headache. As soon as I caught on to it, I told her I would do the dishes and she could go to bed. So she bid us all good night and did so, but Ryder went with her to maybe talk or make sure she was okay. I didn't really know because he had shut the door and I had learned that the some rooms in this house were soundproof for a reason.
When I started the dishes, I realized that this was the first time I had done them in a long time. Living with my dad and Andrew, Andrew always did them as a way of "pulling his own weight" since Dad had bought the food and I had cooked it. Even now, he insisted to clean them if Cassandra hadn't gotten around to doing it, which I was totally glad for. I had never liked cleaning dishes, but right now I didn't even mind. It was the least I could do. And it was giving me comfort of my memories as well as this crummy situation surrounding another death. Suddenly, as I filled the sink with bubbly water, I was hearing seven different tones of wails locking in with each other like a siren. It didn't hollow me out like when I heard Ryder Command someone, or alert my ears in a way to make me be cautious about something; it was just sad. It was the pack's howl for Marc.
"I don't think we've actually met," a voice startled me. I looked over to see Zander. I didn't fear him, but I wasn't exactly aching for a conversation with him. "So you're Ryder's girlfriend," he said. And now more than any other time did I recognize the despair in his voice. That's when I finally looked into his eyes.
"Ashlynn," I named myself.
"Zander," he returned with a brief, gorgeous smile that resembled Ryder's. I began to wash dishes and listen to the howls start up once more but end more abruptly. "So I'm guessing he told you about...all of this...?"
I looked over at him in pity. I even forged a laugh. It only made him smirk in question. "I guess you can say that."
I heard him sniff towards me.
"Oh..." he commented and then realized that I was a werewolf too. I was surprised he didn't immediately know. "Sorry, earlier I just caught Ryder's scent on you since you're mates and all...I didn't know..."
"It's fine," I said anyways. I just dropped my eyes to the set of plates and silverware we just used.
"So if you know about all of this..." he began. "What's Ryder told you about me?"
I didn't want to answer that. I knew Ryder was pissed at him. I just didn't know if Ryder wanted me to tell Zander the story he told me—about how they were loving brothers, how Zander was corrupted, how he feared Ryder almost as much as Ryder feared himself.
"That bad huh?" he assumed while taking the liberty to rinse off the dishes I had cleansed. "If it means anything, I promise I'm not the same guy I was."
"I don't think that matters to me as much it does to him," I expressed. I didn't care if Ryder would mind if I said that or not, because I said it out of love...and out of his love for his brother. But I still looked at him. "To me, you're just the guy who arrived here and demanded the head of the bastard everyone else wants to kill."
"Can you blame me?"
"No, I can only blame Preston," I answered and then hesitantly looked back to finishing the dishes. I heard him let out a breathy laugh. I finished with my end of things as he used the sprayer to rinse them off and turn them up on a drainer and towel.
"Thanks," he surprised me.
"What for?"
He gestured to the dishes. "Doing this for my mom," he clarified. "Things are going to be difficult for her."
"They already have been," I notified. "You left, then Ryder changed, and then Marc died. And now you're back. I think 'difficult' is an understatement."
"It's not all bad seeing as apparently she finally gained a daughter out of this," Zander shrugged. I couldn't help but think back to the first time I had met Merida. I thought I was at the wrong house, but even when she proved me wrong and took me into a hug, I knew from there that she was maternal to me for a reason. Now I knew why. "How long have—"
"Ash," Ryder addressed, entering the living room from his mom's room. He nodded me over to him and I put down the dish I had reluctantly reached to start drying. I saw the dire look of concern on his face and I didn't want to know how much of it came from seeing or hearing me talk with Zander. "Do you think you can drive my car home or maybe have Cassandra pick you up in a little bit?"
"Yeah, no problem," I replied with a frown only because I understood that he was saying he needed to be here for his mom...or maybe because he didn't trust Zander in the house. I pulled out my phone and he thought to me: Not right now, though. I looked up at him in question, but he simply drained his face of all expression. He only put a hand on my back and began ushering me away and I knew the way to his room.
"What's wrong?" I finally asked him even though it was the last thing he wanted to hear and it was the stupidest question I could ask considering the circumstances. I sat down on his bed, sure to keep my legs together since I wore a black, peplum dress that came down to mid-thigh. He, however, still stood and tinkered with whatever he could on his shelves.
"Did you hear Stormy's coven during the ceremony?" he asked me. I nodded even though I was out of his sight. "They were bounding the ashes...It's sort of like they sucked all the magic out of my father's being that the fire couldn't burn and blessed them at the same time. By the first full moon, his remains will evolve."
"Into what?"
"Mountain ash," he answered, meeting our eyes.
"I thought werewolves can't—" Mountain ash was a protectant from werewolves as well as other supernatural beings.
"That's the point," Ryder interrupted. "Real mountain ash was originally meant to keep werewolves away. If desired, the ashes of a deceased werewolf can be harnessed and turned into it...only, the 'mountain ash' that's from a wolf death is different because it's modified. Originally it was thought that the first alpha to have his ashes blessed, asked for it to be spread in and around his territory and on his gravestone in case there was an invasion...so there'd be protection against rogues or other packs—only werewolves of his blood and his line could cross over it. Nowadays, the reason's changed." I waited for him to explain. "Mated wolves also burn their bodies when their mates are left behind." That's when my breath was caught and then he went to knee in front of me, knowing that I was having the same anxiety I had when I had once held up a silver dagger to his heart once before. I didn't like to think of Ryder dead. "It's better that way."
"Better that way?" I asked, appalled. "How do you figure? So there's no wake and no casket to visit beneath the gravestone? No widow, let alone mate, would want that—"
"You don't know what you're talking about, Ashlynn," Ryder closed his eyes briefly. They opened and lightened a shade while they ticked back and forth. "When you imprint, you're bonded forever. Preston wasn't kidding when he said it'd be worse if only one of us died. It's hell, Ashlynn. Deciding to burn our bodies and turn it to mountain ash is the final decision of love after we die..." he spoke with a tension in his voice, like he was talking about himself. "The least amount of physical presence we have left here after we die means our mate will be better off. The more there is to hold on to, the faster it will kill you on the inside. That's why the cremation and funeral was so soon; it was for my mom...At least mountain ash just allows for our remains to be used to protect our mates from any other werewolves—"
"Not if your mate is a werewolf, you idiot," I said between my teeth and then realized a warm tear stream down my face. I hadn't recognized that werewolves had traditions in their death. My father had a simple funeral, but I figured that maybe he was already dead inside if Mom was his mate and she was gone this whole time. But the thought shifting to Ryder...was heartbreaking. If he or I did the same, neither of us would be protected from each other; we would just be a pile of useless ash, no matter which one of us died first.
But Ryder kissed my head and took me into an air tight hug. "I'm not trying to scare you," he whispered into my hair but by now I was actually crying harder than I ever let him see me cry before. He only sat down on the bed next to me and held me while stroking my hair. "After seeing my mom, I just never want that to happen to you."
"Then don't die," I suggested in a whiny voice from crying and Ryder found it within himself to crack a smile and chuckle just once before pulling away completely and put his hands on my shoulders while I wiped away all of my tears.
"Unless you kill me yourself, I can promise you, I will try my hardest to stay alive," he said with more seriousness in his tone than I had ever heard him use aside from when he first told me he loved me. I still pathetically nudged him because he always managed to think I'd ever want to kill him for some reason. But at least it made me attempt at smiling.