Fighting Free

“Metztli tecuani, hide here.” His father placed him inside one of the woven baskets in the corner of their small adobe home. “I’ll be back for you very soon.” Metztli’s heartbeat was strangling his throat as his father quickly placed the lid on the basket. Outside, he could hear the screams of the neighbors and men yelling in a language he had only heard in snippets through his life. On the radio while in the only beat up car the tribe owned. The mercado owner where he had gone with his grandmother to buy necessities. The voices outside sounded angrier, more forceful than the honeyed voice that played out the radio or the warm timbre of the man at the counter at the store. Metztli knew that what was happening outside was terrible, horrible in every sense of the word. He also knew his father had just stepped out of their mud and clay home to brave whatever monsters laid outside. He felt his heart rattle wildly within his chest. He couldn’t leave his father out there alone, he told himself. Without thinking, he stood, forcing the basket lid to fall to the ground. The basket fibers crunched as he swung his legs over the brim. As soon as his feet touched the dusty floor, he shot for the door, but when it opened, blackness overtook him. Metztli’s eyes fluttered open. It was the same dream he had since he was a child. A memory that wouldn’t die. No matter how hard he tried to bury the specters of the past, they still seemed to claw their way up through the layers of forced mental submergement.  He sat up and dragged his fingers through his hair. The ebony strands clinging to the cold sweat on his brow. Around him, his small dwelling glowed golden from the popping fire near the end of his bed. He could see the dark blanket of night still hanging heavily in the sky. Too early to wake up, but too late to stay up, he thought. With a sigh, he rolled over onto his back. He needed to get away and distract himself for a while. Things weren’t so bad while his grandmother still lived here with him. There was someone to talk to, someone to joke with and someone to distract him from those old ghosts. But with her buried at the foot of the mountain outside, he had spent the last year restless. Metztli knew what he had to do to shake the restlessness off his back. It was about time to visit his sister, Eliza. Eliza, with her gaggle of children, pack members and hanger-ons, had a chaotic order revolving around her at all times; always filled with interesting people and strange situations. The perfect environment to distract him enough to rebury the past. When the sun finally burst over the mountain tops, Metztli had slept very little, but had set everything in order to leave that day. The small garden next to the house was tended to, firewood was brought in so rain wouldn’t soak it, and food stores were hidden away from possible hungry animals. By the time he closed and locked his small wooden door of his home, Metztli was more than ready for his trip. He had taken the journey countless times the last few years, since his sister moved to El Paso and became Luna to the Moon Pack, but she was half wolf. He wasn’t. He was a full blooded Ixchele warrior and while past generations of Ixchele would scoff at wolves and their packs, Metztli had found them endearing. Their loyalty, love for one another and comradery had made him feel like he had found small slivers of the life he had as a child in his tribe. So, he gladly took the hour-long flight to Eliza’s pack house in El Paso. Metztli smiled to himself as he looked at the clear, blue sky. The cool air, brisk and welcoming, called to him. He began to undress, leaving his white clothes neatly folded in a woven basket near his front door.  Before he shifted, Metztli could feel the tingle of excitement before changing form. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to see the stern expression of a bird of prey gliding through the air. The wind pushing copper colored feathers high above. Then, as easily as the thoughts unraveled within his mind, Metztli’s form changed to a carbon copy of the bird in his mind. A piece of cake, he thought, testing out the expression in his mind. He shifted as fluidly as water changing shape in a different container.  Being able to shift from one form to another so quickly was a gift from the Goddess, at least that’s what his grandmother always told him. The Ixchele people passed down stories of jaguar warriors and hummingbird maidens in their oral histories, but it was the origin of their people that always stuck Metztli. Since he could remember he was told that the Goddess had grown tired of her other creations, their limitations blinding their understanding of life, and made the Ixchele out from her own flesh, carving them to perfection with her fingers and granting them with all her abilities. He questioned many times if it was true or not, but he never lost any sleep over it. As he soared high above the mountaintops with the roads and cities' gray geometric figures below, it didn’t matter if the legend was truthful. Whatever the past, Metztli felt that the freedom he held in being who he was made life that much sweeter. He could come and go when he pleased. He wasn’t tied down to obligations like his sister, who had the same amount of responsibilities as a Queen. Metztli had the ability to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and with whomever he wanted.  Why would he want to change that, he often thought. And that thought also popped into his head as he landed outside the Moon Pack’s large estate. The estate didn’t bring on the reflection, it was the three beautiful she-wolves casually chatting on the front steps. All long legged and pouty lipped, they were pretty possible bed playmates. Metztli had found another reason why visiting his sister’s pack was an enjoyable task. He reveled in the attention that the large amount of unmated females lavished him with every time he set foot on pack territory. Being the Luna’s brother and also being one of the last Ixchele made him a hot commodity. Whether it was for power or just for bragging rights, whatever the reason was that the pack’s females tittered their amorous care over him, he delighted in it to the fullest. He knew the women on the steps were watching him. So, he made a show of shifting back to his every day form, making sure they saw flowing motions of a graceful change in midair and a landing on two feet that would make any Olympian proud. “Hello, ladies,” he crooned smoothly at the girls watching him with heated eyes. He was all corded muscle and taunt planes. Wide shoulders and narrow hips reflexively tightened as the women caressed him with their gaze. Hunting on dangerous mountain sides had left his body chiseled like a mountain climber. “It seems I will need some help getting clothes.” His accent made him seem twice as appealing to the ladies. “Oh, honey, it would be a shame to put clothes on you,” a tall blonde drawled out. Metztli chuckled and flashed them a flirtatious smirk. “I’ll freeze to death,” he said, taking a few steps closer to them. “No you won’t,” a brunette grinned. “I’ll keep you warm.” “Shut up, Stacy! I talked to him first,” the blonde playfully snapped, a slight edge hidden in her words and smile. “Don’t listen to them,” the third one said, her green eyes focused on Metztli like she was hunting him. “Let them fight while I take care of you.” She brushed up against him, her hand wrapping itself around his arm like a vine. “Ladies,” a voice called out from the entrance way. It was his sister, Eliza, in all her Luna glory. There to rain on his little sexy parade. “Luna,” all three women said in unison, heads bowed in submission. “I will make sure my brother is settled in. I’m sure your help can be used elsewhere at the moment.” Her voice carried authority and gravity. It was very different from how she talked to Metztli, but he understood that she had to play her part as a leader of the pack. Without even the smallest glance his way, the three she-wolves climbed the steps and walked into the pack house. Metztli glowered at Eliza. “Don’t look at me like that, Metztli,” she warned with a finger hovering low. “I was about to get a very warm welcome.” “Too warm,” she laughed as he walked up to her. “Come on, she continued. I have clothes you can use inside. I’m sure you won’t mind strutting through the pack house.” “Sounds lovely,” Mitztli said with an earnest smile.  “Sorry, it’s so busy,” Eliza said as they walked through the pack house's double doors. There were dozens of pack members carrying things this way and that. Metztli received a few appreciative glaces, but for the most part, everyone was so busy that the arrival of the Ixchele warrior was pretty much missed. “Dakota is getting ready to meet with a new pack in Phoenix over a treaty and I’m heading to San Francisco to meet with the packs there.” “Metztli,” a voice boomed from the top of the stairs just beyond the main entrance. He turned to see Eliza’s Mate, Dakota, taking the stairs down in a calm, but deliberate way. “Dakota,” Metztli called back happily. “My sister was just mentioning to me that everyone is getting ready to leave.” “You came at the perfect time,” Dakota stated. "I hope you are planning on staying with us for a few weeks again.” “Stay here at the pack house? By myself?” Dakota chuckled as he came down the last step, stopping in front of Metztli and Eliza. “Of course not. You could accompany Eliza to San Francisco. Have you ever been there?” “No, I never have, but this trip sounds like tedious pack politics.” Metztli’s brows tilted upwards. His biggest complaint about wolves was their need to outmaneuver each other with overly complicated schemes. It was all too ridiculous to him. “It is,” Eliza admitted. “But it’s all done to make sure your nieces and nephews are kept safe.” Eliza didn’t have to say another thing. He had heard Eliza rattle on about keeping her children safe and knew he couldn’t say no to her now. Two years before, Eliza and Dakota had denied a pack the pleasure of meeting her children. The refusal was taken as a slight and all attempts to deescalate the clash failed, leading to one of Eliza’s daughters going  missing. Since then, Dakota worked hard to make deals and treaties with as many packs as he could and Eliza made sure to befriend every Luna from coast to coast. All done with the dual intent to gain favor with wolves that could see them as potential enemies and to look for their missing daughter, Metztli’s niece. Metztli never saw himself as a father. He enjoyed life and enjoyed the lack of larger responsibilities his life claimed. Adding children, Ixchele children, seemed contrary to what he like about his current state. But his nieces and nephews were different. They were each different and each held their own special place in Metztli heart. He would do anything to keep them safe as well. “Well, I guess I’m going to San Francisco,” he beamed, grabbing his sister’s shoulders by one arm and pulling her next to him. She stiffened and looked uncomfortable. “How about we get you some clothes first,” she ground out. He laughed and let her go. “Lead the way,” Metztli said as Eliza walked passed him towards the back of the house. He happily gave Dakota a quick smirk and a shrug before following his sister. If he was going to get stuck tagging along on this trip, he might as well do it with a smile, he thought. At least there would be some new pretty faces to flirt with in San Francisco.