Of Fate and Freedom

Chapter Three

As we pull onto the road leading to base, I feel the intense stares of every Sentry on me, and I quickly duck my head to avoid them the best that I can. No doubt my mother has already notified every clan leader of our current predicament, and word travels fast among conriocht. A few of the Sentries keep pace beside our car as we ascend to the top of the hill, while the rest remain behind to guard the entrance. I lift my head to sneak a glance at the large wolves on my side of the car, trying to determine if I know any of them or not. The one closest to me, a silvery grey figure with eyes as blue as the sky, tilts its head toward me, and, while the eyes seem familiar, I can't place who they belong to. The others, two jet black, one tawny, and a grizzled grey, don't seem to be anyone I know; but I have been gone for quite some time now.

After a few minutes, we reach the house that Moira and I spent the first twenty years of our lives in. My childhood comes rushing back to me in waves, and the nostalgia is unexpected, yet welcome. As we step out, Aedan Hughes, my usual sparring partner who joins in on my training sessions with Father, runs out of the house to greet us.

"Saoirse! Moving back in I see," he beams, noticing our bags being unloaded onto the snowy ground from the Land Rover by a few younger omegas that I don't recognize. "Did you miss us that much? Or do you just want to get your ass handed to you by yours truly more th-"

His gaze falls on my right hand that tightly clutches the strap of my purse. I quickly pull the sleeve of my burgundy sweater over my seal and tuck my hand under my left arm, but he's already seen it.

"What's going on? I thought... I thought your birthday is in the summer," he says quizzically.

I sigh and rub my forehead, knowing this is the first of many times I'll be asked the same question. "We don't know. I'm surprised no one kept you in the loop. I'm pretty sure most of the clan already knows, thanks to my over-sharer of a mother."

"I was on the sparring grounds with a few of our younger guys who've just gotten their affinities for combat, so I haven't been linked in to what's been running through the clan's minds. You'll love these guys, Saiorse. They're shy and brooding -- just like you!"

I roll my eyes at his comment regarding my less than peppy demeanor, thankful that he doesn't press the issue about my early Sealing. I start reaching for my backpack with my Academy textbooks, but Aedan is quicker than me and slings it over his shoulder, almost knocking me out in the process.

"I've got that for ya! It's not every day your best friend decides she wants to move back in with the clan, so I should at least make your decision feel like it's the right one - which it is!"

As Aedan practically skips into the house, my easily fourteen kilogram bag of books slapping against his back with every step, I can't help but chuckle as I notice he reminds me a lot of Father. They're roughly the same height and build, and seeing as Aedan is training as Father's apprentice to one day assume his role of Leifteanant, it comes as no surprise to me that he acts like a younger version of Father. He's just as lighthearted and lively, with a blindingly white smile that contrasts his suntanned skin, and a keen sense of humor that gives Father a run for his money. At only twenty-seven, he's the youngest Maor -- second in command of our warriors -- in our clan's history, but he's earned the title. He's quickly become my father's right-hand man, and I think Father may trust him even more than Mother with his life.

He has short ash brown hair that he keeps just a little longer at the top, allowing his natural wavy hair to show just a bit, and his amber eyes practically glow with how vibrant their color is. I appreciatively notice that the flannel shirt he wears today hugs his shoulders and biceps modestly, and though I do my best not to stare at his ass, I can't help but notice how his jeans reveal every ripple of his quads and hamstrings as he moves away from me. I've always found him attractive -- even when we first started training with each other and he had a chipped tooth from a school fight and a terrible bowl haircut his mother refused to fix -- but he's been like a brother to me for the past fourteen years, and I've never been sure if he sees me as anything more than the skinny legged eight-year-old little girl he first met, so I don't want to ruin things by making a move.

"Did I just hear Aedan calling you his 'best friend?' Oh, I'm so putting that mutt in his place next time I see him!" The musical voice of my lifelong best friend -- and my future Beta -- crushes me into a suffocating bear hug before I can realize she's there. "I'm serious, Saiorse, if he tries to steal you from me, I'll send him running for the hills with his tail tucked between his legs."

I laugh and hug her back. "I know you will, Isleen, but you might send me running for the hills if you continue to crush my rib cage this way." Isleen quickly releases me from her smothering embrace and steps back, holding me at arm's length to study my appearance and looking less than pleased.

"Sweetie, you move off into the big, bad world and this is how you choose to dress? If I don't teach you how to dress soon, you'll never find a mate and you'll die a lonely, bitter old bat. Is that how you want to spend the rest of your life?"

Her comment stings just a little. I thought I dressed myself rather well today. My sweater has a slouchy cowl neckline with decorative buttons on the sleeves and it hugs my waist modestly, leaving just enough to the imagination. I had paired it with whitewashed skinny jeans that accentuate my curves with brown quilted leather riding boots, and I'd thrown a soft white beanie on my head when we left the house. It was simple, but with Isleen bringing it up, I feel a bit self-conscious as I absentmindedly fiddle with my small silver family crest charm that always hangs around my neck, and just want to head inside. There's just no pleasing the queen of fashion, I think to myself, shaking off her look of discontent directed toward my outfit.

"There could be worse ways to go. At least I somewhat match today! You should be proud of me. Besides, I don't think it matters much how I dress. The whole my-mate-is-already-predestined-for-me kinda makes that null and void. No need for me to doll myself up when he literally can't refuse me unless he has a death wish," I point out to her, and she shoots me an exaggerated eye roll.

"You -- my strong, brave, independent best friend -- are a lost cause and a disgrace to attractive women everywhere. Do you know how many women would kill for your figure? And here you are dressed like some 2015 Pinterest influencer. You should at least try and do yourself some justice. C'mon, I'm sure you're tired. Let's head to your room so we can get you into something more presentable, and you can tell me about all the mouthwatering men you go to OA with!" She takes my hand and practically drags me into the house. Luckily, my legs are much longer than hers and I quickly close the distance between us as Father and the omegas gather the rest of our things. Mother and Moira must've slipped into the house around the time Aeden and Isleen had gotten hold of me, because I couldn't see them anywhere.

The house - though, estate would probably be a better name for it, considering the size - is just as I remember it. My favorite part of living here was the constant smell of the fresh cut roses grown year round, and even in the middle of winter, the gammas and sigmas who developed their affinity for horticulture kept a steady supply of the namesake of our clan to decorate with throughout the house. Red, white and silver are the color scheme throughout the expansive rooms, the colors of our clan meant to bolster a sense of pride within our pack and present a strong image to visiting clans. As we make our way through the Great Room towards the hall that leads to my family's wing of the house, my eyes quickly scan over the portraits of our past Alphas. My grandmother, now our Great Elder on the Council, is the newest portrait on the wall, preceded by her mother, her mother's mother, and so on. Although we all had varying hair colors, our Conall genes are very hard to ignore: dark blue or green eyes, straight, strong noses, light caramel to deep brown skin tones... Looking at those portraits always makes me feel like I'm looking in a mirror and trying on different wigs and colored contacts. I turn away from the wall, continuing to follow Isleen and wondering where my family vanished to.

Like clockwork, my phone buzzes in my back pocket and I fish it out to see a text from Moira flash across the screen:

Mother says we need to meet in her study in ten minutes.

I'm about to respond when two more texts from her pop up under the first.

Are you in your room?

I'm scared, sis. What if we don't make it?

I begin typing out my response, paying no attention to where I'm going until I run straight into a wall. Isleen bursts into laughter somewhere in front of me as I'm knocked flat on my ass. Rubbing my sore forehead, I look up to see that the "wall" I ran into is actually an ill-placed marble statue of an extremely attractive man. At least, that's what I think it is until the statue suddenly moves, offering me his hand to help me up. I sit on the floor in shock as my eyes drink him in.

He has unusual charcoal grey hair that falls in effortless waves down to the top of his shoulders, and his eyes are an intense vivid blue that appears almost purple in some spots. He looks as though he only has a few years over me, but commands an air of authority that makes him seem much older. His lips are smooth with a slight flush of pink to them, complementing his lightly tanned skin. A well groomed stubble of facial hair spans across his strong, sharp jawline, and his muscular neck gives way to what I assume is a perfectly chiseled chest that is barely visible beneath his crisp white shirt and navy blazer. I take his offered hand and feel the calluses along his palm that tell me that he either builds or fights quite often. Fights, I note, as I catch a glimpse of his seal on his right hand. The sword sheathed within a crown tells me that he's a Kane -- the child of an Alpha from the Ceallach Clan, where Father is from. He helps me to my feet with ease, but speaks to me coolly, as if I've inconvenienced him.

"Miss Conall, though it is a pleasure to run into the Heir Alpha of this esteemed clan," he says, and through the silky baritone of his voice, I think I detect a sense of sarcasm in his beginning statement, "I must ask you to please be aware of your surroundings. Now, if you will excuse me, I will continue on my way," he states, releasing my hand and brushing past me as if I were a lowly omega. Five older but similarly dressed Ceallach warriors follow behind him, each briefly nodding to me in recognition to my status. I watch them as they disappear around the corner we'd just passed before turning back to Isleen.

"Who the hell was that?" I muse, my brow furrowing as my lips turn up in a sneer.

Isleen, who normally has naturally rosy cheeks, seems to have had all the color drained from her face. "Do you really not know?" she asks in a hushed tone. I shake my head, still visibly confused. "That's Niall Kane. He's the only son of Sloane Kane, the Alpha of Ceallach... you know, your father's old flame?"

Shit. No wonder he was so indifferent towards me, I discern. I remember that Father had his first Transfiguration a few months before his childhood sweetheart, and when she was just a month away from hers, my mother had Transfigured for the first time and immediately was linked to him, her predestined mate. Sloane had almost fought her own transfiguration, still healing from a broken heart and not wanting to be mated to anyone else. After meeting her mate from the neighboring Darach Clan a year later, Father said she seemed to have forgiven him, but after struggling to give birth to Niall and not being able to conceive a daughter and heir, she blamed it on Mother claiming her "true mate" and now rarely attends any business where my parents will be. Judging by Niall's cold demeanor, it seems her distaste towards my family was passed down to her son.

"Ahh. So what's he doing here?" I wonder aloud as we turn into the hall leading to the Alpha wing.

"Alpha Saorla called the Great Elder Council in for a meeting. He's the only Kane left to represent his family since his grandmother, Elder Edana, passed away a few months ago. They haven't found a suitable replacement yet, and Alpha Sloane refuses to name an heir or step foot on Róisín Clan grounds, but she knows her clan has to be represented at all Great Elder meetings, so she sent him as a liaison."

"I thought Mother was just calling a meeting of the Ossorian Council? She never mentioned anything about all of this. No wonder there were so many guardians just at the front entrance. How many of the Elders are already here?"

Isleen tilts her head thoughtfully. "Right now, I think about 160 out of the total 173, give or take a few. We're still waiting for the Elders from Arcadia, but their plane landed an hour ago so they should be arriving soon."

The entire Great Elder Council is here. Great. Just in time for them to see just how incompetent and unprepared the Heir Alpha of the Róisín Clan is. I shake the thought from my head and pull on Isleen's arm. "Moira said I needed to head to the study. Is that where all of this is taking place?" I ask her.

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. I'm not the Beta yet, so I'm only working off the thoughts passed on to me from those in sync with the Clan, but I do know your mother's study isn't near large enough to hold this group."

I knew it might've been a stupid question, but Isleen was more in tune to the clan mind than anyone I knew who hadn't already Transfigured. She was my only connection to the daily happenings around here. "Okay," I finally said. "Let's just head that way. I'm pretty sure after this assembly, my lack of knowledge of modern-day fashion will be the least of the worries of the Elders." Isleen laughs with me, but there's none of the usual humor in her eyes.

"Yeah, probably not," she says at last, as we round the corner that leads to the stairwell directly connecting to Mother's study. We make the ascent in silence, but I can feel her curiosity burning a hole in my back. Neither of us knows what to expect when we reach the top, and I shoot an unsure glance towards her, my hand hesitantly reaching for the doorknob. She gives me a nod of encouragement, and I turn and push open the door, not at all expecting what I see when I enter the room.