Until then, I’m riding shotgun, because if they put me in the back with that squawking shrew Lana, shit will get ugly.
I just need to play it cool and then run the first chance I get.
Chapter Three
The entire ride back to pack land, I sit ramrod straight, with a white-knuckled grip on my bag. Seamus says nothing, and I don’t either. Despite being overheard, I meant every word of what I said, and not one of my pack members in the car can deny that I’m right.
The females talk quietly amongst themselves in the back of the van, all the previous enthusiasm deflated out of them like an old forgotten balloon. With practiced ease, Seamus cuts through the town and into the forest area that separates the human territory from ours. A dirt road through the woods leads past the rushing twin rivers our pack is named after.
White rapids cut a path, each river at least fourteen feet across with a wide strip of land separating them. They’re two sisters who refuse to see their similarities and get along enough to become one. Their water is tumultuous and punishing while also nurturing the land and our people since we first settled here.
In no time, we’re pulling up to the main pack house where hundreds of shifters are already gathered. My stomach threatens to lodge itself in my throat, but I know better than to risk an elevated heart rate in front of Burke. So I take a fortifying breath, forcing myself to go numb before I step out and close the door behind me.
The other females stream toward the huge circle that the pack has formed. I glance around surreptitiously for a place to stow my bag, but there are too many people around. I consider stuffing it under the van, but when I make a move to do that, my eyes snag on Seamus, who’s staring right at me.
Fuck.
I jerk my attention away and turn back to the pack, falling into the crowd. Letting myself get swallowed into the tightly packed bodies, I shove and squeeze my way forward. I need to bide my time, and curiosity has its hook in me too, pack mentality taking over the second I’m in its midst.
When I work my way to the front, I find Alpha Burke there with the person who must be the Spirit Weaver. The male has tan skin and white hair strung with wolves’ teeth and rawhide ties. His lined face is pulled into a friendly smile, but the bright orange paisley shirt he’s wearing mismatched with the pea-green corduroys really sets him apart.
This isn’t the same Spirit Weaver who came last year to perform the Flux, but since they’re so rare, even more so than healers, I’m not surprised. They’re not always available to help. Apparently, this one dresses like he’s ready to watch reruns of That ’70s Show.
“Ah, I sense our hosts have arrived,” the male says.
Burke raises two fingers to his mouth and releases a shrill whistle. Immediately, the crowd parts, letting the rest of the females through. They all gather to the front together while the rest of the pack backs away to give us a respectful distance, but I’m the only one to stand alone. How fitting.
“Spirit Weaver Yaromir, these are the members of my pack who will be taking part in the ceremony,” Burke announces, standing straight and tall, and behaving every bit like the proud and prudent alpha he pretends to be. I have to control my lips so they don’t draw up into a sneer.
Bright, wise eyes take all of the females in as the Spirit Weaver nods at them, and then his gaze lands on me. For a second, I’m frozen beneath his scrutiny, worried that he’s looking right through me and seeing my spirit inside. Will it show him the truth of what I have planned? Does he know my wolf is going to be doomed to walk the spirit world alone forever?
Just as nervous sweat begins to bead at the base of my neck, he looks away and offers the crowd a genial smile. “I am honored to perform the Flux with Twin Rivers pack. Should we get started?”
Burke nods, and like the pack has practiced this, they all turn and begin walking to the ceremony setup that’s located behind the large home that houses the alpha and other higher up members of our people. I take advantage of the busy moment, eyes flicking left and right, but Seamus is nowhere to be found, and Burke is walking the Spirit Weaver the opposite way, their heads tilted toward each other like they’re in deep discussion.
Making sure that no other betas are watching me, I spin on my heel and race to the trees just behind me that nestle against the side of the pack house. As soon as I’m beneath the shadows of their cover, I stop at the first full bush I see and then shove my bag between its thick branches.
I rip off pine needles from the tree above it, stripping the branch bare and dumping them on top. That will help disguise my black bag, but also help to cover up my smell. I check my handiwork, bending back some of the bush’s leaves and branches to better cover it, and then wipe my hands on my jeans. It’s the best I can do.
Hurrying back to join the others still moseying toward the ceremony grounds, I walk as fast as I dare, knowing that if I were to run, it would just draw attention. Luckily, there are a few stragglers, but I quickly pass them by with a nervous smile, catching up to where everybody else is now gathered. There are picnic tables on one side of a massive bonfire that’s already being lit beneath the pre-dusk sky. The base of the converging rivers sparkles in the waning light, and just behind us is the place where the spirit ceremony will take place after the feast.
Every second is going to count.
I waste no time filling up a plate and picking a seat away from the commotion and as close to the trees as I can get without being conspicuous. I eat my mountain of food, barely even tasting it as I wolf it down, my eyes on my pack and my mind on how the hell to get away from them. I go over what I know is going to go down tonight. I’ve attended these every year since I can remember, but it all feels so different now. Maybe it’s because there’s so much riding on my getting away, or maybe my wolf spirit is close and that’s what I’m reacting to, but I feel off, anxious, and desperate.
I focus on something else and tell myself I have time, that I’ll figure this out. First, the Spirit Weaver will invite the spirits to dine with us, and the pack will bring all of the sacred and specially prepared dishes and set them out on a special table for them. Then all the Flux participants will be excused to go dress in their ceremonial robes and return here for the blooding, but if I’m still here by then, I’m screwed.
My best bet is to sneak off when we’re supposed to get dressed. By then, a good portion of the pack will be drunk, full, and relaxed. I’ll grab my robe and then slip out of a window or something. I’ll only have maybe a forty-minute head start, but I’ll have to make it work.
The feasting pack starts to quiet down, and I glance around from my spot on the picnic table to see Burke and the Spirit Weaver walk into the gathering. They greet a few people as they make their way toward the front, Yaromir carrying a leather pack with him.
Part of me is saying I should run now while this man sets up and everyone is busy watching him, eagerly anticipating what’s going to happen. But I worry they’ll notice too quickly that I’m not here when they call all the participants together to get changed. There’s also another part of me that desperately wants to see him call the spirits down.
I’ve never felt or seen anything at any of the other Fluxes I’ve attended, but I wonder if this time it will be different. Will I feel her? Will I know she’s nearby? Will she understand why I can’t take her on?