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I bit my thumb. Should we consult with the Great Pack?
She snorted in my head. No! We don’t consult with them at a drop of a shoe!
A hat, I corrected.
Why would you drop a hat? she asked, mystified.
It gets blown off easily in the wind. Why would anyone drop a shoe? I countered.
It happened to Cinderella, she muttered mutinously. She sniffed. That is why fur and claws are superior in every way.
I rolled my eyes. Sure. Can we get back to why we don’t consult with the Great Pack?
Her tone was sober. The cost is too high.
I frowned. What is the cost?
A wolf.
I don’t understand.
We used to have a magical artefact that facilitated the connection between us and The Great Pack. The artefact is lost, and now when we have to forge a connection between ourselves and the Great Pack, a wolf’s soul has to be that conduit. In doing so, that wolf leaves the Great Pack. Forever. Without the artefact restored, every summoning diminishes the Great Pack.
What an almighty mess. What can you tell me about the artefact?
Nothing. The removal of it has made the Great Pack’s recollection of it hazy. Like it has been shrouded from us somehow. Hidden. We remember it was, but not what it was.
I frowned. Okay, but even without the artefact, new wolves are still born, right?
On this earth, yes, but in the Great Pack, no. Our numbers are static or reducing. It is why we do not speak to the Great Pack unless there is real need. It is our greatest power but also at the moment, it is our greatest weakness. Unless the artefact is restored, then one day, we will simply run out of wolves to sacrifice. Her tone wasn’t sorrowful but matter of fact.
A chill ran down my spine. My God, I really was Queen of a doomed race. I clenched my jaw. No, I would not accept this or any other limitation on my people and our future. If the Great Pack needed new wolves then I’d find a way to give them, even if I had to haul them back from the afterlife like I had with Roan. Fuck, what a mess. I suppose the first order of business was finding out more about this artefact. If I could find and restore it, everything would be okay. I had to cling to that hope.
Why the hell didn’t you tell me this sooner? I hissed at Esme, as I rubbed my forehead. Oh my God. How many times did I summon the Great Pack while I was dealing with Beckett?
Three times, but they were all necessary. And once it was the Great Pack that reached out to you.
Does a wolf die when the Great Pack reaches out to me?
She gave a wolf shrug. I assume so, but you have taught me about the ‘you and me asses’.
When you assume, it makes an ass out of you and me, I corrected.
That’s what I said, she harrumphed.
Close enough.
I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to focus. I was about to stroll into the seat of power. Surely there would be records of such an artefact there, if anywhere? I needed to get my game face on and pull myself back into the moment, because Esme was right; something was off about this place. A trickle of unease ran up my spine and it felt like more than natural worry about strolling into the lion’s den.
Greg reached out and took my hand; maybe he felt the wrongness too. Archie was driving our car, Liam was sitting next to him in the front and David was squished next to Greg’s broad frame in the back seat with us. Rolling up in a stretch limousine had felt like a dick move, and taking two cars was an unnecessary toll on the environment: this was just me in a car with all of my ‘suitors’. Nothing to see here.
Once Jacob had made sure my father was secure at his own house, he’d returned to the pack and was now flying overhead. He had firm instructions to remain hidden and unseen. I didn’t have a lot of allies with me, but the ones I had were solid.
For all David complained about being perceived as a wallflower, he’d acquitted himself well in the battle with the Devon pack, and Greg was pretty much a walking weapon in human or wolf form. Even so, the space between my shoulder blades itched. I could almost feel the blade that would soon be plunged there by my ‘loyal subjects’.
Greg had given me a dossier on various alphas and betas who were all movers and shakers that he considered likely to attend Fellworth House. The most notable was Jimmy Rain, and I had spent a long time reading his file. Frankly, the level of abuse and violence that seemed to penetrate his pack was obscene. Why anyone would stay in such a horrific environment was beyond me, but maybe it was a case of better the devil you know. And the black tourney had made it almost impossible to stay a lone wolf and live.
Rain had shot up my black-tourney suspects lists; Larsden may have handed the names of the lone wolves to Ghost, but he wasn’t alone in this venture. Making it so that the alternative to leaving the pack was death… Yeah, maybe Rain was in on it. Mark Oates certainly had been, and he’d started out life in Rain’s pack. Perhaps that wasn’t a coincidence.
