Moon Bound

11. Ryder

Death is a funny thing. It’s an event people go through life fearing will one day occur, whether through illness, aging, or something more malicious. But when it happens, the person dying seems to be able to accept it all. Accept leaving their family and loved ones behind to mourn after them. Accept leaving everything they’ve ever known, their possessions, and their favourite items behind, as if nothing matters anymore. Puzzles that are half-completed. Books remaining unfinished forever.

Or in Father’s case, a son and a pack left to struggle under his lack of leadership. Left behind to figure out how to move on, to rebuild stronger. Be the pack he’d want to see.

Death is also interesting for how time seems to pass differently after it. The air around me grows thick, murky, and cold, and I have no idea how much time has passed since Father’s final breath—no idea how long the pack has been anxiously waiting on news from the other side of the door.

“Ryder.”

Carina. The witch I took. I suppose she’s definitely free now. Even if her coven changed their mind, there’s nothing shy of bringing back the dead that can be done. Now, I’m not even sure why I took her. Threatened to keep and kill her—for what? For a man who’ll never see the light of day again, who accepted death even before we returned?

And still, after all that, she helped me. The witch—a nurse—soothed his pain. Today, she’s given me a unique final gift. Something no one will ever be able to gift to me again and there’s no way I can ever repay her for the kindness she’s done. Not to me, but to Father.

Considering my actions, I wouldn’t blame her if she was vindictive and remained quiet about her abilities—something I more than deserve.

“Ryder.”

She’s calling me. Needs me. For what, I’m not sure. But my head doesn’t have the energy to lift and regard her.

“Ryder, your pack is waiting.”

Of course, they are. They want news. They want a ceremony. They want to know if I’m officially alpha.

Alpha. My heart races. I should only be alpha when Father is…

Oh, God. I can’t move. I can’t tell them Father is dead, because that requires movement—requires picking up the shattered pieces of my heart and putting them back together. The second I put those pieces back together, I accept his death.

My shoulders slump lower, something I hadn’t thought was possible until now. He’s dead and I need to accept it. I need to be able to lift my head high and go out with all the strength the pack will be looking toward me for.

“Lucas is at the door.”

Loyal Lucas. He’s more than my beta. He’s my best friend, my brother. Born only days after one another, we’ve grown up together, trained together, hunted together. He learned under Father’s leadership as well. I’ve relied on him for everything, but this… I don’t want to see him right now.

“It’s been hours, Ryder.”

Impossible. She’s claiming hours, but I know it’s only been minutes. I know because I’ve counted my heartbeats as time passed, and there wasn’t many.

“You need to move soon.”

My teeth clench. A witch telling an alpha what to do? I don’t need to follow anyone’s rules but my own now because I’m…

Because Father is…

Oh, God.

I blink and sensations snap back into me. Her breathing and racing heart is loud—tauntingly loud, because not everyone in this room has the ability to make these noises right now. Feeling rushes back to my bones and I sit up, dropping Father’s bony, wrinkled hand onto the bed below him. Finally, my eyes shift, moving away from his body—his corpse—and toward the girl who stands beside me.

She’s back to being a deer again. Her widened eyes track my movements, watching as I stand, my knees screaming in agony at being straightened for the first time in… however much time had passed. I step by her, my hand reaching out for hers.

I can’t stop myself, though I’m not sure I even want to. She’s supposed to be my mortal enemy but has been nothing but a friend so far. Last night, I couldn’t deny enjoying talking with her, finding it comfortable and natural. With those feelings clouding my head, the only thing I want to do now is hold her. A level of affection from someone who wants nothing from me.

Because once I walk outside this door, an entire pack will be on me about leadership. Marissa and Amos will support my decisions, but they’ll want meetings, updates—everything they did with Father. And I can’t. Not yet.

Her eyes widen further as I move into her space. Her chest touches my own, her breaths spiking. Her cinnamon scent changes, deepening, the telltale sign she’s feeling one of two things right now—fear or attraction.

I open my mouth, forcing my lips to form a shape for the first time in a while. “Thank you.”

Her gentle smile rids a fraction of the darkness inside me, forcing itself through the dim light of my life. “You truly don’t have to thank me right now.”

“I do.” And before I question myself any further, I wrap my arms around her, hugging her to me. Her tiny gasp has my chest rumbling in quiet amusement as I wrap my arms around her delicate body, dropping my head into her neck.

This feels right. I realize it’ll probably have her washing me—the dirty, uncivilized wolf—off of her the first chance she gets, but for this moment in time, I don’t care.

“Ryder—?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again. This time, I’m not even sure what for. For yanking her into my arms? I force my muscles to loosen, to give her the opportunity to pull from them if she wishes. Much to my surprise, she remains where she is.

Underneath my skin, my wolf rumbles. He likes holding Carina. Maybe it’s her size and the way she fits into my body, but whatever it is satisfies him.

“I’m sorry,” I continue. “I just need…”

“I get it,” she whispers. Her arms finally come up, wrapping around my waist. “Death is hard. Was it like this with your mother?”

I exhale into the enticing scent of her black hair, letting it ease my mind for just a moment. “No. Perhaps because I was closer to my father than my mother. Maybe it’s because I knew I still had him.” But now I have no one. No parents.

For this brief moment in time, I have her. The witch my wolf enjoys far too much for the realm of possibility and appropriateness.

And so, I release her, stepping away from her addictive heat and toward the door. The weight of her confused and wary stare nails into my back, but still I continue. My hand wraps the knob and I breathe in once, then twice, before opening it to Lucas’s concerned face and the pack beyond him.

Depression is heady through the crowd and I cough, hating the reason it’s present in the first place. Drawn eyes lift at my approach, throwing various scents toward me. They range from despair to hope. All pack members from the elders to the toddler pups wait for the traditional ceremonies to commence.

I swallow, striding down the steps to the head of the crowd. “Our alpha has passed on.” Despite the anguish clogging my throat, I force my voice louder. “Tonight, we will celebrate his life. We will hunt in his honour, drink in tribute, and salute his passing.” I take a deep breath of air into my lungs for the next part. “Decided by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, I am in line to be alpha, unless someone here would like to challenge me for the position.”

While rare, it’s still not unheard of. If a wolf felt they would lead the pack better, they can challenge me for the position. Becoming alpha is most often inherited, but occasionally the line does switch. If not mistaken, my great-great-great grandfather had been the one to challenge the position. Had he not, or lost, I wouldn’t be alpha today.

I scan the waiting crowd, but no one steps forward. I’ve been Father’s beta for so long, it’s merely expected I should be next-in-line and clearly no one finds any reason to believe otherwise.

Briefly, my eyes rest on Carina who stands in the doorway of Father’s cabin, observing the beginning ceremonies. She’s the only non-pack member to ever witness an alpha changeover, in my lifetime anyway. Her expression is a mix of fascination and curiosity; her wide eyes flicking over the pack as her teeth dig into her bottom lip and I’m dying to know what is going through her mind.

“No one has challenged me, so like my father and my grandfather before him, I take the inviolable vow to lead this pack into the future. To make it prosper and thrive, under the assisted leadership of my beta, Lucas.” Eyes move from me to him, where he stands a few feet away. I spot the tightening of his skin on his hands, the telltale sign of anxiety. Still, he nods his head toward me and then to the pack.

“Let’s commence the hunt,” I finish.

As one, the pack begins their shifting. Within moments, various shades of reds, browns, blacks, and greys make up the sea of wolves in front of me. I risk a glance up to Carina, finding her eyes locked on the pack, lips parted. I sniff the air in her direction and my wolf rumbles in pleasure at noting no fear drifts from her. The distinct increased thumping of her heart must be from anticipation only.

Other than her and myself, Marissa and Amos remain in human form. As per tradition, they have different roles tonight and will remain behind and tend to Father.

I tug my gaze from her and to the swarm of waiting wolves. They’re anticipating my own change so they can greet me as alpha officially. This is it. I steal a final look toward Carina, and then to the dark cabin behind her, and accept the familiar quiver and itch of my changing body. My body drops, landing onto four fuzzy paws as my body finishes its change. Soon, I’m looking at a long snout and the waiting pack through clearer eyes.

Eyes I allow myself to use on the witch beyond the crowd. While her expression hasn’t changed, her focus remains pinned on me. Her lips, still parted, has my wolf purring. My chest tingles with something—with need—but once again, it’s something I can’t focus on. She’s free and can leave any time now, which I fully expect her to do after we take off.

The pack comes in waves then, pulling my attention back to the ceremony at hand. Cool noses poke at my skin. Small ones hit my legs as the pups approach me. It’s the pack’s official acceptance and welcoming before the hunt begins. When they finish, they jog to the edge of camp, gathering to wait for me.

An anxious scent rests over the pack; excitement and dread mingle together. To hunt and feast in the old alpha’s honour is something not done lightly; an act masked with sorrow, but the small addition of pride and tribute make it a celebration of life.

Lucas pads up beside me, his shoulder lightly bumping mine. His dark eyes brim with sadness and eagerness, and he blinks once, before taking the lead of the group. I start to follow him, before halting one more time.

I turn around, hoping Carina understands the apology and farewell in my animal eyes. Her life can return to normal, and my life will adapt to a new normal. The next time I will see her will be… never. The fact has my throat turning dry and my paws itching to approach her. But in the end, we’re not friends. We’re two strangers forced together after I made a stupid error and brought her into our lives.

So, I blink once in goodbye and lower my head in a final thank you before turning away from Carina and the knowledge of never seeing her again.

The pack spreads across the vast woods. Pups chase each other and squirrels. Lucas and Mia took off a while ago, likely in search of elusive mountain lions that occasionally frequent the area.

I jog farther into the bush. Nose to the ground, I’m guided by the scent of musk, winding through the trees, growing stronger with every step I take. Musk becomes leather. A deer. Its path leaves behind a trail I follow around the bend of trees and down a slight slope of the ground.

The smell grows stronger, encompassing the air around me and I sniff, noting it’s through the trees in front of me. Perking an ear to the sky, I listen, lying in wait. Deer are slow creatures. They can spend a long time munching on a single grass patch before they move on, making them predictable and easy to kill.

My body drops low to the ground and I pace forward, cautious of any stray branches, crunchy dried leaves, or other bush that will signal my arrival to the deer.

Finally, through two trees the familiar sight of soft brown fur peeks through. I continue forward, hiding behind a tree line to watch it—her, noting the deer’s antler-less head. She’s bent close to the ground, her large teeth pulling at the grass, completely oblivious her death waits so close.

For you, Father.

My claws flex into the dirt, ready to grasp whatever earth is needed to propel me forward faster.

Preparing for the kill, my hunting senses strengthen. My breath hikes and holds within my lungs; my body stills, waiting for the perfect moment in time; my claws flex again, feeling the ground underfoot; and my eyes lock on her neck, her beating pulse so apparent, so alive, and asking to be masticated.

I lunge, making it the half-dozen feet before she can properly react. My feet push me off the ground and throw my body into hers, knocking us both to the dirt. Her bony legs fly into the air, struggling to right herself and escape when I roll on top of her and bite into her leathery skin. Agony and terror overtake her scent right before my teeth rip into her throat, halting her pulse mid-beat.

Her body slumps to the ground, declaring me as the clear victor. I unlock my jaws from her neck to examine my kill. She’s fairly large and will make for a nice meal tonight. If the others bring back even more, there will be a feast for everyone who comes tonight.

Everyone. I swallow past the lump in my throat. Now’s as a good time as any to begin the evening’s ceremonies. I gulp, calling upon a deep breath before it releases into a piercing drawn-out howl. The first is a call to the pack, asking for their response.

In the seconds following, various pitches of howls greet me. The pups’ howls are lower with a sharper tenor, having not fully developed yet.

This time, I pull in memories of Father.

Him teaching me to hunt.

To fight.

Holding me as a child.

Leading me through pack politics.

Every flash of him, every memory of pain injects into my heart and continues into my throat, mixing with the breath I’m holding.

Which I then release.

My howl reaches my pack, who joins in, and collectively we push the cry out of the woods and as far as it can reach, stretching toward other packs we know are on the edges of neighbouring provinces. When a pack alpha dies, it is expected other nearby packs come to the celebration—in respect for the past and to meet the future alpha.

My howl dies down, and seconds later, so does my pack’s. The woods wrap in a deafening, dull silence, as if everything around me is muted other than my soft pant. No animals scurry, and the breeze is dead, so no trees rustle. Everything around me is silent.

Just like my heart.