3. Blood Moon pack
Blood Moon pack
R ipples disturbed the water, bubbles popping above the surface. Muffled voices trickled into Geralt’s ears beyond the confines of his bedroom. Annoyed and glaring up at the distorted ceiling above him, he forced himself to come up for air, hands gripping the edges of the porcelain tub. Water cascaded down his face. Wet hair dribbled water into his eyes.
“Do you really think this is wise? You know it’ll stir up old memories,” a voice carried through the walls of the packhouse. Gunter, if he had to guess. His head thunked against the lip of the bathtub. He closed his eyes, letting his supernatural hearing pick up the whispered conversation.
“It needs to be addressed before a challenger steps forward and takes matters into their own hand. Besides, I may be his mother, but he’s still the Alpha. The decision to address the pack was Geralt’s,” Helen’s melodic voice answered the other Elder. His hands slipped when he shifted his weight to rise out of the bathtub. Grunting, he nearly fell back under water.
He clambered out of the unexpected death trap. He could hear the dissenters now if he fell and suffered a concussion, preventing him from attending the meeting. They’d use it as an excuse to challenge him, a sign of weakness. The need to dominate drove every Alpha Lycan. Their beasts constantly fought for control.
He raked his fingers through his hair, sloshing water around the tiled flooring of the bathroom. “ It’s the nature of the beast,” his grandfather would puff out, a cigar held in one hand, settling into the old rocking chair downstairs. The old man loved delivering a good history lesson with dramatic flair and a younger Geralt ate it up, perched in his lap.
“ There used to only be one type of Lycan, an Alpha. A world filled with Alpha Lycans, fighting for dominance. Packs were rarer. Then some wolves were born calmer, less volatile. After the first shift, their eyes shone a color the others had never seen before, yellow. They called them Betas. They had no other word for it. But make no mistake, there’s no such thing as a submissive animal. All Lycans come equipped with teeth sharp enough to rip a man’s throat out.”
He’d pause, draw from the cigar, orange tip brightening. His father would stalk in, snap and snarl at grandpa Alaric for polluting the air, then grumble on the way to his office, stress lines bracketing his mouth. His grandfather would grin at Geralt conspiratorially before launching back into his unsanctioned lesson.
“ Life is strange and the ways of nature are stranger. First there were Alphas, the first Lycans. Then Betas, born several generations later. A freak mutation perhaps. But, do you know what the real freaks of nature are, my boy?” Geralt would nod his head eagerly, bangs flopping into his eyes.
“ Omegas ,” Geralt would lisp between missing teeth. The male passed before all of Geralt’s adult teeth came in.
“That’s right,” Alaric crowed, lifting a hand to give Geralt a high five.
“Omegas are strange creatures, a rarity among Lycans. They possess the unnatural ability to calm even the most enraged Alpha, putting their beast to sleep.” Weathered hands stroked Geralt’s hair. “Once more Betas were born, packs were easier to establish and maintain. The key is to have fewer Alphas. They’d always salivate for the chance to challenge each other. It’s in their nature. But to maintain a pack, the Alphas had to agree on one among them to lead. It’s an uneasy alliance, one you’ll have to juggle some day, my boy.” Gnarled fingers tipped with aged claws tilted his chin up. Crimson eyes flared bright, searing into Geralt’s young gaze.
“Watch your back. Trust no one. Keep your enemies close. Too many young Alphas end up dead at the hands of their second, the selected Beta for the pack. Choose yours wisely.” Wrinkled skin kissed his forehead when Alaric leaned down to touch his to Geralt’s.
“I’d say choose a Beta for your Beta, but like I said, there’s no such thing as a submissive animal. In fact, Betas could be more dangerous because they’re calmer. A clear-headed Beta can plot your end easier than a hot tempered Alpha. An Alpha is more likely to attack you in the heat of the moment.” Leaning back, grandpa cupped Geralt’s round face.
“Trust your instincts. Just because it’s in the beast’s nature doesn’t mean the animal is always wrong for choosing violence first. It could save your life one day.” Grave words wormed into a young and impressionable mind.
Geralt toweled off absently. Instinct told him he couldn’t have chosen a better Beta than Gabriel. The younger Alpha never gave Geralt the impression he’d turn on him, but Ryker remained alert, even sometimes suggesting Geralt end the male.
The nature of the beast. His grandfather’s words drifted to him beyond the grave. It craved blood and violence, never sated. His heart ached for his mate. Her hands alone rendered Ryker into a pile of goo.
He pushed the melancholy thoughts away. Instead, as he padded out of the bathroom, eyes landing on the clothes Helen laid out for him, he pulled Ryker closer to his skin, leaning into the beast’s aggression. He’d need it to survive a meeting filled with hungry Alphas, sniffing for weaknesses, their beasts straining the confines of their human skin.
V oices blended together in a chorus in the spacious room of the meeting hall. The domed ceiling provided good acoustics, allowing voices to carry and Lycan hearing granted anyone present the ability to pick up on individual conversations. Geralt’s eyes scanned the room, making note of facial expressions and body language. Everyone talked animatedly over each other regarding the news of a new pack settling a couple counties over, nestled near Lake Erie. It provided the new pack with the unfair advantage of being safe from attack in the rear. It was a good defensible position if the new pack had nefarious intentions.
He stood from his seat upon the raised dais. Silence descended over the room. A few crimson gazes roamed over him, searching for weaknesses. An implacable mask shielded his expressions. He gave the attendees a wide fanged grin. A hint of menace seeped into his aura. The few Betas present averted their eyes and tilted their necks in his general direction. He didn’t wait for the Alphas to give him their submission. He demanded it, challenging each with the power in his gaze. His beast, Ryker , stirred lazily within his skin. A few years had passed since they’d ripped the throat out of their last challenger.
“Before we discuss matters of importance regarding the pack, I’d like to know if anyone is feeling lucky tonight and wishes to challenge me for my position as Alpha of this pack?” he asked the crowd of Lycans. He waited, body tense and poised for action. Fear, anxiety, and nervousness wafted toward him in waves. But no challenger stepped forward.
He made a mental note of the Alphas, whose red eyes stalked him hungrily just moments before he spoke. Cowardice was a disease and it would be a mistake waiting for the challengers to grow some courage. Weariness tugged at him, but he shoved it aside. He would confront the males later, he decided.
Turning to the row of seats to his left, he nodded at the Elders. Some packs killed off the weak and old. Geralt learned from them instead, letting wisdom guide his actions when bloodlust clamored for violence. It was a knee jerk reaction to want to eliminate a threat before it could cause harm.
He retook his seat, motioning for the Elders to provide their input. His step-mother, Helen, stepped up first. He forced his eyes away from her, ugly memories threatening to surge forward. His father never returned home from a “peace talk” with another pack several years ago. Bile stung his tongue. Déjà vu itched his skin. How quickly a boy could become a man when life demanded it, he thought sardonically.
Helen’s voice was clear and firm, echoing off the walls. “As you know, a new pack has settled near ours.” She paused, hands clasped primly in front of her. “It pains me to say this, seeing how I lost my mate, but patience may be the best course of action.” She waited, allowing her words to sink in. Hair streaked with gray tumbled in curls around her shoulders as she glanced around the room, gauging reactions the same way he did.
Paul rose slowly from his seat next to Helen, a wheeze easing out of thin lips. Claw marks in an even slash ran diagonally across his face. His lips twisted in a snarl as he voiced the opinion Geralt expected of him. “Waiting makes us look weak. If they think we’re easy prey, they’ll attack first—” A coughing fit interrupted what would’ve been a long spiel. Helen placed a firm hand on the male’s shoulder, urging him to retake his seat. He glared up at her while silently obeying .
Gunter stood up next, two seats down from Helen. The dark-haired male gave a respectful nod to both Geralt and Helen. If he’d wanted, he could’ve had Paul’s position as Beta to Geralt’s father, but he preferred not having the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Paul turned his hateful glare on Gunter. Geralt eyed the males speculatively, and Ryker’s excitement shivered down from their bond. The beast looked forward to the spilling of blood.
His nose twitched, whiffs of his mother’s scent drifting lazily off of Gunter. His father, Nate, rested in Selene’s embrace for two decades now. Helen’s private life was none of his business, but the redness in his gaze brightened. If Paul crossed a line, however, letting his petty jealousy rule his actions, then he’d suffer the same fate elders did in other packs, bleeding out around Geralt’s claws.
Gunter ignored Paul and seconded Helen’s voice of reason. “We’ve already lost one Alpha by reacting rashly. I’d like it if we could avoid that in the future.” He concluded his statement by shooting a meaningful look at Paul while retaking his seat. Red suffused Paul’s face, but the unpredictable male kept his seat. Kill him , Ryker urged in his head. He dismissed the animal’s seductive whispers. An elderly Lycan wasn’t the most prominent threat.
Geralt didn’t raise his voice, but it carried across the hall all the same. “Pack patrol rotations will double. Anyone not afforded the position as border warrior but is interested, seek out Gabriel. We’ll hold biweekly training and tryout sessions. If you wish to join the reconnaissance team, let either myself or Gabriel know and we’ll provide you with more details at a later date.” He waited a beat for the information to sink in before opening the floor for questions and suggestions.
A quick glance at his watch revealed it was only a quarter past one. He suppressed a sigh and massaged his temples. His intuition informed him it would be a long time before the meeting ended. He nodded at Gabriel to begin fielding questions. Helen shot him a wink before making her way to the exit. She’d said her piece and dinner would not prepare itself. He was almost envious. Relaxing some of the tension in his shoulders, he returned his attention to the gathered Lycans, reconciling himself to a long evening and a test of his patience.
T he moon shone through the paned glass windows of the meeting hall when he gave his Beta the signal to close the meeting. His patience stretched taut.
A headache pulsed in his temples, and his jaw ached from clenching off and on for several hours at a time. Ryker prowled his mind, keeping his gaze a burning crimson, and the room bathed in shades of red and orange. If he chose, he could trace the path of blood flowing through the bodies of the Lycans surrounding him.
His canines ached to tear and rend, but he kept his claws pressed into the fleshy part of his thigh, the pain helping leash his aggression. Too many scents assailed his nostrils, all familiar, but the luminescent full moon enhanced everything. Eager feet led him swiftly to the exit once the attendees got the message and rose to their feet as well. One glance at his face, Ryker staring out at them, provided enough deterrent for most to step out of his way.
His skin rippled with revulsion when a soft hand wrapped firmly around his bicep, claw tips digging into his skin. A snarl twisted his lips, and red eyes bore into the face belonging to the offending hand. Evelyn curled lush lips at him, blinking brown eyes coyly.
His cock twitched at the blatant invitation. Bringing a hand up, he pried her fingers from his arm, eyes never leaving hers. Her arousal polluted the surrounding air at his rough handling. He sent a silent prayer for patience to the moon Goddess. His lungs craved fresh air and his body loathed the oppressive heat from so many bodies in one space.
Gripping Evelyn’s hand in his, he gave it an experimental lick. Ignoring her soft gasp, he assessed his body’s response. Ryker rushed to the surface of his skin, lengthening his claws to pierce her skin. With his wolf’s voice layering his own, his mouth shaped the words, “We’re done. Do not touch us again, or it will be the last thing you do.”
Releasing her hand, he resumed his linear path for the door. Fresh balmy night air slammed into him, ruffling his clothes and lifting his short dark hair. The moon’s glow kissed his skin and his desires bled into Ryker’s . Of one accord, their clothes shredded as their bones cracked, skin shifted, and body realigned into a four-legged form that sprouted fur. Once his paws touched the soft packed earth, they took off for the woods.
A night gust of air shifted through their gray fur and paws crunched through fallen leaves and branches alike. Various scents drifted to him on the breeze. He followed the familiar scent of chrysanthemums. Trickling water teased his ears. Staying downwind, he approached a weathered oak tree with neat carvings etched into the bark. He sat on his haunches a few inches shy of a wreath of red chrysanthemums. His head lowered to rest on his front paws, the water lulling him and brushing some of the stress of the day away into the ether.
Precious moments of tranquility were difficult to capture, but sometimes Selene blessed Geralt with one when he needed it the most. His eyes blinked lazily and his mind wondered to his daughter, Abbigail. Running the pack and the businesses attached to it funding their way of life often distracted him from worrying about his only child. But resting in front of the tree memorializing his late mate directed his thoughts to his daughter.
Two years passed since she mated the Lycan king, Michael. Six months had flown by since the last time he’d heard from her. A parent’s intuition suggested something was wrong. Logic said it wasn’t unusual for newly mated she-wolves to immerse themselves in their new pack to the point their old one was an afterthought. But he’d assumed he possessed a closer relationship with his only pup than most .
His former mate, Angel, died shortly after gifting him the most precious thing in the world. With the help of his pack and Helen, he’d raised Abbigail on his own. Objectively, he thought he’d done a decent job while grappling with the debilitating loss of a mate. Shaking a furred snout, he shifted to his paws, stretching his front and hind legs. Evelyn would’ve been a pleasurable distraction, he thought at Ryker .
She’s not ours, his beast snarled back. Grumbling internally, he padded away from the chrysanthemums and adjacent stream. Second chance mates weren’t rare. Merely a strong enough connection was required for a Lycan to choose another mate and mark them. Selene’s generosity toward Lycans wasn’t limitless. The moon Goddess granted every Lycan a fated mate, but only one. If they rejected their fated mate or they died, the bond was permanently severed. Granted to each matebond, fated or chosen, was one chance. Ryker refused to waste a chance on Evelyn.
He forced thoughts of Evelyn to the back of his mind on the route back home. When the sprawling log cabin that served as the packhouse came into view, he stilled. Scenting the air and listening intently for sounds coming from within the wooden walls, he stalked toward the stairs leading to the front door. Helen and Gabriel were the only occupants inside the house. After several hours interacting with the pack, he desired solitude.
Bones snapped, and fur receded when he reached for his human skin. Breathing through the brief pain of shifting, he rested on hands and knees, allowing his body time to adjust. Feet pounded down the steps. Gabriel’s earthy scent invaded his nose when the male stooped to his level, a bundle of clothes clasped in his hands.
Shooting his friend a grateful smile, he rose to his feet, ignoring his body’s minor complaints, and pulled on the gray sweatpants and plain white shirt his Beta supplied. When Gabriel opened his mouth, Geralt shook his head sharply .
“Tomorrow, Gabriel. Tonight, I’m going to my room to get some rest. I recommend you do the same.” Side-stepping the other male, Geralt didn’t wait for a response. The old steps creaked beneath his bare feet, teasing a smile to his lips. Before his first shift, when all his heightened senses came online, he used to wonder how his father always knew where he was in the house. Now I know, dad, now I know . He hoped his father heard the whispered words in his head through a phantom mindlink.