Confronting Expectations
Glen got up from the couch at the first knock on the cabin door, opening it before their visitor could knock again. Cat was still sleeping, and he didn’t want her awakened. He finished chewing his breakfast, glad he swallowed before surprise made him choke.
He certainly wasn’t expecting a naked Ghost to walk past him with a smile and a cheerful wave. Glen gaped, then found his wits. “Hey, buddy.”
“Hi, Glen.” Ghost scampered to the couch and jumped on the cushions, dropping to his knees and flopping over. Glen closed the door, charmed by the odd yet sweet behavior of the young creature he helped raise. Of course, he thought Ghost was an abnormally intelligent animal back then, not an actual paranormal creature who could shape shift with a mere thought.
“Is Cat here?” Ghost asked, lifting his head and sniffing the air.
“She’s still sleeping in, she hardly got any sleep. Silly scientist was up all night listening to our neighbors howling at the moon. Cat is convinced she can decipher the howls if given enough time.”
“Huh. Why doesn’t she just ask them? The Red Fern wolves are nice. They can tell you what they were saying to each other. They like you.”
Glen was reaching for a thick quilt on the back of the couch, and he paused a moment, looking down at the young creature sprawled out naked without a care for his state of undress. “They do?”
“Sure they do,” Ghost rolled onto his back, giving Glen an eyeful of lean muscles and youthful exuberance. He chuckled, cheeks heating, and tossed the quilt over Ghost’s lap.
“I know you’re not used to being human yet after all these years, buddy, but maybe you can practice. I’m not used to seeing a naked man lounging about where I plunk down my own ass.”
“I hate clothes,” the kid grumbled, his plump lower lip coming out in a pout.
“I can tell. It’s weird for me though. I raised you, so that’s like you’re my kid. I don’t need to see my grown kid’s junk flapping about.” Glen shook his head and laughed when Ghost pouted a moment longer, then slumped in defeat.
“Where have you been? With your mate?” Glen asked, and Ghost grumbled.
“Been running around the mountain all night long, thinking. Being a man is hard. How do you do it?”
Glen snorted out a laugh. “Practice.” He nodded at the blanket, and Ghost sighed loudly.
Ghost sat up, wrapping the quilt about his hips. He threw himself back down almost immediately, and Glen found himself unable to resist the plaintive whine that came from his pretty lips. Glen was as straight as they came, but even he could acknowledge the sheer beauty of the human form of his wayward wolf. Ghost was beautiful, inside and out, and yet he had a shade of sadness hovering about his expressive silver eyes. He walked around the couch and paused as Ghost scrambled out of the way long enough for him to sit down. A bare second later he had an armful of lean youth and wiggling limbs.
Ghost curled up in his lap like he used to as a pup, though it was different now, as Ghost was not a wolf anymore. Glen heaved out a groan in complaint, but let Ghost hide under his chin and snuggle. He hugged the boy to his chest, and they both relaxed, adjusting easily enough to the new dynamic.
“What’s wrong?” Glen asked, and Ghost responded in a tiny voice.
“They put Kane in a cell in the woods yesterday. And they want to destroy our mate bond.”
Glen could recall only two times in his entire life he ever got angry enough to kill. Once was back in college when he tore a drunk frat boy off a cussing and furious redhead who then proceeded to wallop her attacker. The other time was when he rescued a malnourished wolf-hybrid from a careless and ignorant suburban family in the outskirts of Toronto, the poor thing starved near to death and skeletal thin. As he did then, he ran his hands over the back of a young wolf’s head, and said, “Everything is going to be okay.”
Glen managed to hold onto his temper, but it was a battle. The youngling needed a shoulder to cry on, a place to relax his guarded emotions, and Glen would be that safe place for him.
“I wanted to come home more than anything,” Ghost whispered, pressing his face into Glen’s chest. “But nothing good has come of it. They think me damaged, weak. Vulnerable.”
“We both know you are not damaged or weak. I don’t think I would have survived fifteen years locked away in the body of a wolf, deprived of any sense of self or family. You’re strong. And what do you mean nothing good has come from returning to your people? You have your man now, Kane. He’s your mate, no matter what those fools may say or think.”
“He’s in a cage, Glen. In the woods, alone, surrounded by alphas who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him. I can feel him through our bond. He’s frustrated, and misses me. I haven’t seen him since they took him away yesterday We can’t talk because the alphas might be able to overhear us, but I can still feel him. It hurts not being with him.”
“I don’t know a thing about what you can do, buddy. They call you a shaman, yeah? It’s all magic to me. You’re not by any means weak, or vulnerable. You’re dangerous, just like any wolf, no matter how tamed or domesticated. Danger is part of your very existence. So, own it.”
“Own it?”
“Yes, own it. You may not have all that super-secret training the other shamans seem to have, but that doesn’t mean you’re not their equal. Make them listen to you. I’m not saying hurt anyone or go power mad—just find a way to make them listen. Prove to them the bond between you and Kane is real.”
“There’s to be a Tribunal tomorrow, and Kane has to face these charges of something called blasphemy. I’m not allowed near him, and Andromeda told me not to talk to him.”
Glen huffed out an exasperated breath. “Ghost, you have never played by the rules. Never. Even as a pup, you flaunted the rules. Why are you following them now?”
Ghost sat up, leaning back in his arms. Silver eyes narrowed, Ghost tightened his jaw and Glen could almost count the thoughts as they raced through Ghost’s mind. He grinned, unrepentant, when Ghost slid from his lap without a word and headed for the door, dropping the quilt to pool on the floor. The door magically opened with a weird sigh and rush of cold winter air, and Ghost leapt from the stoop, a brief flash of white and silver before he disappeared.
“What did you just do?” Cat demanded, Glen looked back over his shoulder, still grinning wide. Cat had her hands on her hips, green eyes glaring at him, her expression stern. She was cranky in the morning and gloriously tousled.
“I just pointed out the obvious,” Glen said, getting up with a groan, stepping to the door, and shutting it against the wind. “I think he’s about to set some tails on fire.”
****
Ghost made short work of the miles between Glen and Cat’s cabin and the cabin where the shamans resided. Their combined presence shone as a beacon on the mountainside. It was a new day, so perhaps tempers were cooled enough for him to approach his erstwhile peers. His Spiritsight lit up with the brilliant inner stars of the shamans, and from what he could see, they were all there, plus one.
Shaman River.
Ghost paused his headlong run in the field of snow outside the cabin’s front door, materializing as a man before taking the stairs in one bound. He opened the door, walking in to be met by startled expressions and exclamations. He huffed, thinking they wouldn’t be surprised by his appearance if they opened their senses. How blind were they?
“Ghost, I would say I’m surprised, but you’re not one for taking advice,” Shaman River sighed, a wry smile on his lips.
“This is all human failings and foolish politics,” Ghost declared, sniffing at the combined shock and disgruntled expressions of the assembled shamans. “Test my mate bond now. It will not fail whatever test you put against it.”
Michael stood from where he sat near the cold hearth, shoving his hands in his pockets staring back at Ghost. Ghost stood his ground, determined not to show how upset he was at his friend. The Tribunal members did things as most alphas did—bluntly and without grace, it was the role of a shaman to temper the actions of an alpha. Instead, Michael and his peers let the clan leaders ambush Kane like a criminal, throwing him in a cage. Michael held his gaze for only a moment before breaking away.
“Before your impetuous arrival, I was attempting to convince our brethren to do just that,” Shaman River gave a sigh, a wry tone in his words that made Ghost twitch. Perhaps he was too impatient.
“Oh.” Ghost shrugged, but was too riled up to calm himself. He wanted this matter settled now. Ghost walked over to the coffee table set amongst the couches and chairs where the shamans were gathered, and sat down on the rough wood surface. This was an older cabin, with the dusty scent of an unused space, and the furniture looked like stuff Cat would have kept in the storage shed back at the sanctuary. There was a plate of sweet smelling foodstuffs by his hip, and Ghost snagged one, moaning in quiet joy at the explosion of berries on his tongue. He sniffed at it, licking at some of the filling as it dripped onto his hand.
“He is a wild thing, not even a shaman. He’s all beast.”
Ghost continued to eat the delicious food, but he sent a sharp glance to the one who spoke. An older shaman sneered back at him, Ghost licked his fingers clean, maintaining the challenge in his gaze. Eventually, like Michael, this shaman looked away, and Ghost huffed in satisfaction. Human insults were just that—meaningless to a wolf. Ghost tried so hard to find his footing as a man, after years as a wolf, but perhaps that was not wise. Why change who he was—She never expressed the desire for him to be like these…tamed wolves.
“Orsen, don’t be cruel. The boy has been a man for only a handful of days,” Shaman River scolded the older shaman, but Ghost flapped a sticky hand at him to back off. Shaman this one may be, but Ghost had his measure.
“I was a wolf for many years,” Ghost said, grabbing another of the bread things and taking a huge bite. This one was apple, and he swallowed with enjoyment before continuing. “I don’t care about laws or rules or politics. It all smells of lies. I like the scent of truth far better. So maybe you should say what you really mean. You call me a beast, as if to lessen my words, my voice. A beast gets no say in how it is treated. You call me a beast so you can follow the path of least resistance, and let the Tribunal do to me as they wish.”
“How dare you!” The shaman named Orsen spat out, Ghost remained unmoved by his display of temper. Like an old wolf snapping at a younger, stronger male, this Orsen knew his weaknesses and hated that others saw it.
“Correct me then. Prove you are not a pawn of your clan leader. You act like an alpha, all snapping jaws and sharp temper. You say I’m not a shaman? Neither are you.”
A whisper broke the silence, an instant before Orsen jumped from his seat to swipe at Ghost. He licked his fingers clean, sparing a flicker of thought and a twitch of his pinky finger. Orsen gave an aborted howl in shock when he was smacked backwards, the couch skidding a few inches. The whisperer became louder, the shouted complaints from the other shamans grew quiet as swiftly as the unseen speaker’s voice arose. Ghost spared Orsen not another moment of his concern, the whispers in the room harsh, sharp, and full of disapproval. The words were indistinct, but they weren’t for Ghost.
She wasn’t displeased with him.
****
Burke snuck out the back of Clan Leader Andromeda’s cabin, closing the door silently behind him. It was still early, and the grounds around the cabin were empty and quiet, the shadows long under the trees. He took off for the tree line, disappearing in the deeper shadows. He sprinted in the direction of the old worshipping grounds, and followed the pack links to where his best friend was being held. The noise of his boots crunching the thin ice was absorbed by the thick snow and the heavy branches of the pines, but he slowed his approach. No point in being careless.
He stopped, his gift stretching out through the woods, the minds of the greater alphas lighting up in his awareness like the tiny flares of lightning bugs. There were six of them, only two of them known to him by casual greetings at gatherings past. Burke kept his mental touch light, delicate as gossamer spider silk, and opened his mind. The way he saw minds was different than a shaman’s ability to see soulstars—Burke saw mental signatures, the energies created by thought and the organic charges generated within living creatures’ nervous systems. Shamans with Spiritsight saw the soul—Burke saw the energies of the mind.
A clan without an alpha should be easy pickings.
Shame that Kane had to fall into such disgrace.
Blasphemous monster! Poor pup must be broken.
A myriad of thoughts and impressions flew by, Burke’s mind catching and deciphering every one of them, pinning each thought to the mind that birthed it. Some of the greater alphas burned with anger and righteous indignation, deeply insulted by Kane’s presumed indiscretions. Others were entirely indifferent, thoughts focused elsewhere, bored with guard duty. One wolfkin mind was deeply perturbed by the lack of an alpha clan leader for Red Fern, bothered by the thought a mere beta female was considered a clan leader. That wolf had nascent ambitions of rising in the ranks, too young to believe Andromeda a true threat but old enough to be wary of her reputation. Burke expected an unwise challenge issued sometime soon, considering the grumbles. The other wolfkin were quiet, minds on their tasks of guarding Kane.
Burke increased his mental touch, sending out wordless inclinations to sleep, to doze. It was boring here in the woods, nothing to do but stare at the trees and listen to each other breathe. Nothing to do but wonder why they were there, bored out their minds. They had been out here all night long, and their prisoner had been quiet, doing nothing but sleep.
Burke smirked when two of the greater alphas put their heads on their paws and closed their eyes. He may not have the Voice like Kane or Caius, but his gift of command was more than enough to sway a vulnerable mind with suggestion. Burke waited a few moments, then slunk through the woods, coming within line of sight of the old rusted cage stuck beneath the pines.
Kane was curled upon a thick layer of pine needles, bushy tail covering his snout. Kane was as black as the depths of a moonless night, his fur without any hint of brown or sable. Burke hunkered down in the shadow of a wide tree trunk, and mindful of the greater alphas nearby hidden in the woods, sent a thin thread of awareness to Kane.
A bright eye that glowed with the strength of Kane’s wilder nature cracked open, a pinpoint of light in the gray haze of early dawn. *Burke.*
*Brother.*
*Can they hear?*
*No. Their minds are open to me, and they are focused elsewhere.*
*Can any mind stay closed against you?* Kane’s usual dry humor came across clearly, and Burke sighed in relief that his best friend was no worse for wear.
*I’ll let you know when I start hearing humans.* His gifts were only useable between himself and other wolfkin—human minds remained closed to Burke, despite his power.
*Day that happens you’ll take over the world.* Kane could quip, but Burke could feel the worry beneath the teasing. *How is Ghost?*
*I lost track of him when the shamans took him away, but Andromeda put her foot down when the Tribunal suggested that Ghost be sequestered. I’ve been tracking him mentally—he spent the night running around the mountain, hunting squirrels and talking himself out of coming to see you, afraid he would bring trouble to your feet if he didn’t stay away. Ghost is fine, if a bit of a loose cannon.*
Kane’s satisfaction and pride in his mate came across clearly. Burke smiled, glad for the shadows he hid within. *I haven’t tried to talk to him. Who knows who may be listening.*
Burke splintered his focus, maintaining his link to Kane while part of his mind went back to the greater alphas hidden around them, blissfully unaware of Burke’s presence. A swift measure of the minds around them was all he needed. *A pair of them here have the strength to overhear you, so caution is wise. I’m not sure what they would do if they spied upon you and your mate speaking to each other.*
*The less trouble for Ghost, the better. Find him and stay with him, Burke.*
*No problem.* He paused, then let some of his concern leak through to his best friend. *Are you well?*
*I am fine. The accommodations are a bit small, but that’s all.*
Burke sighed silently, smiling ruefully at Kane through the darkness. Kane had yet to move, a lurking monster amongst the slumbering trees. The cold night caused Kane little difficulty, but loneliness was something Burke wished he could spare Kane. Were they even feeding him? He would mention it to Andromeda, though he had a feeling she was taking care of it.
*If there is trouble, reach out to me,* Burke said at last. *I will hear you no matter what happens.*
*I will. Find Ghost. Tell him I…tell him I miss him.*
Burke suspected Kane was going to say something else, but those words were best said for the first time in person. He gave Kane a short nod and a grim smile. Burke moved quietly through the shadows, leaving behind his alpha and the oblivious guards. Dawn was coming quickly, and he had a wayward shaman to find.
****
Ghost lifted his chin and squared off with Michael. “Test the soulbond. All of you. Whatever is done in proving such things, do it now.”
Michael blinked at him, before turning to Shaman River in appeal. River sighed loudly, shaking his blond head, and spoke to Ghost. “Youngling, the test of a mate bond by a shaman is a deeply intimate process and can be…intrusive.”
“Intimate? What does that mean?” Ghost frowned, sending a suspicious glare at Michael and the watching shamans, the other male wolfkin all looking uncomfortable.
“The shaman testing the bond will enter into a trance, allowing him to See into the soul of the mated wolfkin. During this time, the shaman will be privy to memories, feelings, and will be able to feel the bond of the mated wolfkin as he were a part of the pairing.”
River was decidedly uncomfortable, and Ghost glowered. How was this a hindrance? It made sense to him—all stronger wolfkin could apparently sense a bonded pair, but sensing the bond and proving it was entered without coercion were a matter of degrees. Ghost shrugged, and turned back to Michael. “This is the reason you came, isn’t it? One of you would be doing this regardless. Do it now. I am not afraid. Witness what our Mother has wrought. I have a mate to free.”
“If he was compelled by the Voice, surely the cub wouldn’t be so eager,” a nameless shaman said from his seat on a nearby chair. “The process is uncomfortable, but he is right—one of us would be doing this anyway.”
“Youngling, wouldn’t you rather Shaman River perform the procedure? He is familiar to you. Having a relative stranger perform such a spell may be too much.” This from another shaman, one yet to speak. Ghost shrugged, impatient.
“Would Shaman River’s word count amongst the Tribunal?” Ghost asked, and the scent of guilt was acrid in the room. “I thought not. Michael can do it. He counts as a stranger, since I have not seen him since the day Gray Shadow died.”
Michael flinched, Ghost almost regretted the words, but he did not apologize. Michael had erred, one choice after another, since appearing back in his life. Let Michael see the truth. Prejudiced the other shamans may be against the validity of his mating, Ghost had no doubt they would believe Michael. And if they didn’t? Then Ghost would tolerate all of them performing the mysterious spells themselves.
He had nothing to hide.