The Wolfkin Saga Boxset, page 46
Ghost took Kane’s hand, his mate bravely following his lead, pulling him into his strong arms. Caius watched them, eyes wide, and he breathed in deep. Ghost felt a buzzing, a building mental pressure, and knew it came from Caius. He pushed back, and Caius frowned, staring at them both, expression hard.
“Kane…” Caius growled, realization dawning in his eyes. “What have you done, you fool?”
“Grandfather, Kane is my soulbonded mate,” Ghost revealed, and he stood strong against the shocked expression on his grandfather’s face and the exclamations of disbelief from those watching.
Kane paced back and forth in front of the door, the big alpha nearly bristling with indignation and anger. Ghost’s declaration to Caius, in front of Heromindes and their combined entourage, hadn’t gone very well. Kane was listening, as he was, to the arguments happening in the living room of Andromeda’s cabin. They were in her study, two greater alphas that Ghost did not know outside in the hall, presumably guarding the door. Though how anyone thought to keep Kane restrained by a single door, or Ghost for that matter, left him amused. Kane had gone willingly when Caius ordered him into the room, and Ghost shrugged, following his mate. The guards were confused as to why a shaman was being detained, but they said nothing when they locked them in here.
“...how do you expect me to not say anything to the other Clan Leaders?! This is an abomination of our Laws!” Heromindes yelled, the Clan Leader’s opinion hard not to hear at that volume.
“Their bond is Goddess blessed and sacred, you fool!”
Ghost sat up from where he was leaning against the desk, brows raised in surprise. That was Shaman River out there, defending them, in a wholly unexpected move. Kane stopped pacing, his reaction the same as Ghost’s.
“Yelling at each other solves nothing,” Andromeda said, cool and calm. “Heromindes, this is a soulbond, not a mating bond performed by ceremony. That means our Goddess bound Kane and Ghost, and it is not our place to dispute her actions or to interfere in their bonding.”
“He has the Voice. He broke our Laws once already in Worcester when he used it on me outside of a Challenge. Who is to say he didn’t do so to the youngling he’s taken as his mate?” Heromindes retorted. “I’ve never seen a soulbond, so for all I know, that is naught but a forced mating bond I can sense between them!”
“No shaman can be affected by the Voice, Hero,” Caius said, his voice emotionless. “I know this fact well.”
“There is something wrong here, Caius, and it’s not just the abomination of an alpha mating with a shaman. It is your son who has been killing and torturing our people, and betraying our kind to humans! And from the information we tortured out of the human captives from the Worcester raid, Roman has been selling the kidnapping ‘cast-offs’ to sex slavers! Abomination rots in the heart of Black Pine, and how can I trust this wasn’t endorsed by the Heir or his wolves? Twenty years to catch a traitor is a bit extreme! So far I put nothing past Black Pine and the laws your wolves seem willing to break. Your grandson may be a shaman, but he is too young to be fully trained, and I see no reason Kane couldn’t have used his powers on Luca if he can’t utilize his powers correctly.”
Ghost grumbled, flashing a hint of fang at that insulting idea. Kane would never do that, never try something so evil. Kane shook his head, and walked over to Ghost, pulling him along his side, both of them still listening to the argument down the hall. Ghost breathed in Kane’s scent, the heat from his long body warming Ghost as they snuggled. He didn’t sense any fear or shame from Kane, no worry. Ghost gave himself a tiny smile, gladdened again that he was gifted by such a fine alpha.
“That’s enough, Hero,” Caius said, some heat returning to his voice. “My son will face a tribunal if that will alleviate some of your worries. We have three clan leaders here now, and I can call in another who will be impartial if that is your wish. Even so, I don’t doubt the outcome. Roman will pay for his crimes.”
“I should declare a blood feud on Black Pine for the loss of my wolves and kin! I entrusted my kin to you for safe keeping, and all along they’ve been under the protection of an alpha who didn’t hesitate twice to break our laws, and the White Wolf succors this mockery of a mating. And Shaman River, who I never thought would allow such a thing, just defended it to my face. What has been done to my kin here, while my attention was elsewhere?” Heromindes demanded, his growls heard all the way down the hall.
“Hero, you saw Gabriel yourself. The youngling is well, and much improved, surely the rest of your kin is...,” Caius began, but Heromindes cut him off.
“Kane will sit in front of the tribunal as well, for the violation of entering a mating bond with a shaman. That’s a crime punishable by death,” Heromindes stated. Ghost froze, and Kane went still beside him. “And I want impartial shamans here to break the forced bond.”
Ghost’s heart thumped once, hard.
“Kane and Roman face the tribunal for their crimes, or Ashland revokes all bonds of treaty, and we will have a blood feud.”
There was a whisper in the silence, Heromindes’ declaration stealing everyone’s voices. Ghost tried to hear it, but it faded away under the sudden cacophony of voices raised in anger from the other room.
Kane gave Ghost a slow, easy smile and caressed his jaw with a big hand when Ghost turned his head and looked up at his mate. There was no fear, still. Kane was not afraid. Ghost wasn’t too sure what the clan leader meant by a tribunal, but he was not worried about the validity of their bond. They were gifted to each other by the Great Mother herself, her words to Ghost in the snowy meadow proof enough for him. Kane was innocent of breaking that Law.
Ghost became lost in Kane’s eyes, the dark orbs full of affection, desire, and an emotion Ghost could not name. It burned in his heart too, fiery and pure, and left him feeling invincible.
The whisper returned, teasing Ghost’s comprehension, and Kane reacted to it too, both wolfkin tilting their heads. The whisper called to Ghost, and he stepped to the door, pulling a willing Kane along by his hand. Ghost opened the door, and the two greater alphas outside both jumped, peering down at him. Ghost ignored them and pulled Kane out into the hall. The greater alphas tried to stop them, but Ghost stilled them with a single glance, knowing somehow his eyes burned like silver fire in warning. The whispering led him down the hall, to the living room.
Everyone abruptly stopped yelling, and turned to look. Ghost stood, calm, feeling remarkably centered. Kane was at his side, both of them together, hands clasped.
“Kane has broken no Laws, and I have willingly claimed him as my mate, in front of clan leader and family,” Ghost said, meeting everyone’s eyes equally before landing at last on the Ashland clan leader. Heromindes was glaring, the huge alpha vibrating with insult and anger. “If Kane is to stand in front of the tribunal for giving me the privilege of loving him, then I will stand there with him, always by his side. I will share his fate.”
TO BE CONTINUED
The Wolf Of The Northern Star
Wolf of the Northern Star
The Wolfkin Saga 2
Sheena Jolie
To my friends, near and far. I miss you.
For Mom. She waited the longest.
This book is also dedicated to everyone looking for a place to belong.
May you find the home of which you dream.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
*Any dialogue that appears between two asterisks is telepathic speech.*
PROLOGUE
A Memory
“There is a legend, my cubs, that is older than the wolfkin. At the dawn of mankind, before men learned to build walls with mud and straw, before the first metals were scorched into shape, there was a Power amongst us all. This Power existed within all creation, from the lowliest blade of grass to the mightiest mammoth.
This Power was an entity, what the world would come to call a deity. Before the word goddess was even conceived, She roamed the forests and steppes of the far north, Life and Death walking at her heels, the most devoted of companions. Fierce and deadly as the high winter blizzards and immovable as the glaciers that choked the mountain ranges, She encompassed all that mankind sought to survive.
She watched as humans learned to stand tall, to cover their frail selves with the pelts of their prey, as they conquered fire and chipped away at the ice and snow that covered the world. Always hidden, always observing, she was charmed by the tenacity of this intrepid species. They grew in numbers and spread across the land.
She followed a collection of tribes over time, a group of three clans combined under the leadership of Red Fang Clan. They ignored the warnings of their kin, trekking north, the brightest star in the fiery heavens their guide and new, fertile hunting grounds their hope. The tribe journeyed further than they had intended, to a place unfit for mankind, for even with their fire and stone-shard tipped spears, it was too much for their thin furless skin, blunt nails and teeth. Yet temptation was too great for these hunters, for in the far north, roamed the mighty mammoths, capable of feeding dozens of people from one kill.
And in the north, were the beasts who hunted the mammoths.
Dire wolves, pack hunters that flowed over the steppes in waves of single-minded, predatory determination, relished the incursion into their hunting lands. For these wolves did not see mankind as predators, but as prey. Humans were small and weak, their senses dull, their fires and stone spears easy to avoid. The clans, besieged by these great hunters, fell in ever increasing numbers, until grief affected every family, and the clans were left on the edge of ruin.
A wise man, heavy with the weight of scars and long years, walked one night out into the steppes with hunters from each of the clans. He was the canniest and most experienced hunter of Red Fang, and he walked with the men who would one day lead Red Claw and Bright Moon clans. Three men in total, convinced they had no other option but sacrifice. They went with weary steps, their blood and flesh chilled by the deep winter; they were to die. They were a sacrifice to the Wandering One, the One Who Walked the Trails, the Woman. Only glimpses of this Power had been caught by humans over time, yet they knew, as surely as the sun melted ice and that winter meant Death, that She was out there, and watching.
They went to the steppes alone, expecting to die in a last helpless plea to the Power.
She Who Was watched, curious. Never had humans appealed to Her directly, and that this young species would even be aware of Her in such a manner drew Her near, her curiosity roused.
‘Great Mother,’ the Red Fang hunter cried into the cold winds, ‘spare our kin. The last of our people. Take our flesh, drink our blood, and give our children the strength to survive.’
She came to them, cloaked in starlight and a coat of mist-gray fur. She took the form of those who hunted the humans, and they fell back, certain they were to die. As vast as the sky, tall as the glaciers that swallowed the mountains, Her breath the icy winds that scoured the earth, She eclipsed the night.
‘You would die for your people?’ She asked them, Her words shaking the ground beneath their feet as the men shook with terror. The oldest hunter met the eyes of the celestial wolf, eyes that blazed brighter than the steadfast star overhead in the night sky.
‘Yes,’ the Red Fang hunter replied, baring his neck, falling to his knees, his companions following. ‘For our children, our mates, we would die. Take our flesh, and spare them. Give them the strength to survive.’
Such bravery was a new concept to Her. She could see fear in the old hunter’s heart, but it did not stifle his desire to see his people safe. Selfless and brave, devoted to one another and willing to die for each other, the humans were far more than even She had seen.
It was then, in that moment, my little wolves, that the wolfkin were born. Stirred by the novel idea of sacrifice, She gave to the men instead of taking their lives. In their hearts She saw their greatest fear, and gave it form and flesh.
Pelts and spears became fur coats and fangs; limbs trembling from the arctic chill grew sturdy and sure; claws gripped the frozen tundra and muzzles lifted to the sky, songs spilling from thickly muscled throats. She poured Her will into the men and they became more—they became our forebears, the First Wolves.
The First Wolf, the greatest hunter of Red Fang, grew strong again in body, his spirit matched in flesh. He walked at Her side, listening to Her words on the wind, the songs She sang among the stars and forests. Her words, Her will, his duty and honor to obey. He sought Her guidance, and our people flourished.
The early years of our people are shrouded in mystery and ancient legend—but one thing is certain. Our Great Mother, our Goddess—she walked with us, as one of us, guiding our path and teaching us the ways of our new forms. Her First Wolf lay the foundation for our society. And in those ancient days, the First Wolf became known as the Wolf of the Northern Star. She was a constant, as faithful and static as the unmoving star in the infinite sky. He followed Her as he had once led his people north looking for life and hope.
Wolf of the Northern Star was an honor given to the wolf who walked at Her side, to denote his place, that his words were Hers. As eons passed, and the First Wolf left this mortal coil and his spirit ran free among the stars, his true name long forgotten, the title was eventually returned to the Great Mother, our Goddess. As surely as the northern star burns in the sky above us even now, our Goddess is with us.
She is both the Star that led us to our birth as a people, and the Wolf who guides the clans.”
—From the teachings of Shaman Gray Shadow
PART 1
1
THE YOUNG WOLF
He woke quickly, heart thumping, a shout dying in his throat. The room was dark, curtains deepening the already murky shadows that crawled across the bed. He rolled to his feet, the sheets falling away. He shivered, sweat chilling his skin.
The house was quiet. He didn’t know why he was awake, or what woke him. A nightmare, perhaps. He recalled a darkness, a deep moonless night, and a whisper in the shadows. Eyes glowing from the dark, and a harsh whisper woke him, the words indistinct but the urgency enough to make him wake, terrified.
The house had been empty since his father disappeared one day, not coming back from work. A few days missing, and nothing. His repeated calls to the labs where his father worked went unanswered, and eventually, the phone calls stopped going through at all. The police came up empty handed. Since he was eighteen, there was nothing they could do for him. He didn’t have access to his dad’s accounts, the car was gone, and his after-school job was in downtown Augusta. While taking the bus was an option, there was no route nearby where he lived in the suburbs. He couldn’t handle the cold very well; he wouldn’t survive getting sick if he walked to the nearest bus stop. If the police didn’t find his father soon, he didn’t know what he was going to do.
He walked out of his room, flicking on the hall light on his way to the bathroom. He paused at a framed paper on the wall.
Dr. Mitchell Harmon graduated with honors with several degrees in genetics and biology, and had a medical degree from some big-name school in Boston. The diplomas lined the wall. There were no family portraits, no smiling faces and cheesy birthday photos. From the sparsity of personal touches, even he had trouble believing anyone lived in this house at all.
He continued down the hall, doing his best to ignore the quiet and solitude. Even if he called Mitchell Harmon his father, he was not all that close to the man who adopted him when he was a toddler, but the emptiness was enough to make him miss the remote and sometimes callous man. He was ill, had been all his life, and having a doctor for an adoptive father was probably why he was still alive. Dr. Harmon was infinitely better than the cold and insidious man he worked for. Just thinking about Simon Remus was enough to make him walk faster.
He reached the bathroom and took care of his needs, washing his hands and then flicking off the light. He paused, thinking he heard something. A thin sound, a whisper of wind? He stepped out into the hall, and took a few steps towards the front door. There it was again, something, a rustle. The wind, it had to be, otherwise there was someone whispering to him through the door.
The door slammed inwards, bright light flared in his eyes, and he screamed, covering his face. Shouts and thuds from many feet assaulted the quiet as he was knocked off his feet. Rough, gloved hands twisted his arms behind his back, and plastic ties went around his wrists. He tried screaming, but a fist knocked into the side of his head, stunning him.
The warehouse echoed with a ragged scream that escaped from the steel crate when it was jostled, the large metal box raking along the inside of the moving van. The cry was shrill and piercing, and made Simon’s head hurt. This was the last van, several others carrying out the rest of the specimens earlier in the night.
Simon winced, wishing the sedative could be stronger to silence the occupant, but a higher concentration would leave the specimen comatose, not to mention the silver poisoning degrading blood samples. Simon moved away, watching as the warehouse was systematically emptied, his soldiers removing all traces of the experiments and test subjects. The scientists and doctors were already moved to the new secret location, and he would start over. With Dr. Harmon now an unwilling guest of the werewolves, he had no doubt Harmon would spill the truth about the locations of his labs. And Roman McLennan was by no means a loyal beast.
His heart raced thinking about the monster that, for the last twenty years, had conspired with the Remus family to exploit the werewolves’ abilities. The last time he saw Roman was when the beast was fresh from forcing himself on Simon, leaving him naked, bloody, and fueled by rage and shame.
