Chapter 20
The Head Guard
JESSICA
EIGHT YEARS AGO:
Emerald Guards Training Facility
Ean pushes through the door of Anders’s office. My glasses sit askew after he harshly placed them back on my face. I push them up the bridge of my nose with my index finger and adjust my hat so the brim faces forward, instead of the haphazard way he plopped it on my head.
Anders watches me without saying a word. I study his stern expression, his rigid posture, the way his arms rest stiffly on his desk. I have never visited Anders’s office, and our interactions in my room at the clinic have been brief. But we are now in his domain.
Curiosity swells within me, and I glance around the room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves contain leather-bound books. Forgetting myself, I walk toward them and trail my fingers along their spines, reading titles as I pass.
Over the past couple of weeks, studying with Justin and Jeremy, I discovered that history is one of my favorite subjects.
I especially love reading. Reading has been my solace since my vision returned, especially at night.
Anders’s office offers its own little library, something I hoped to see on our tour earlier.
I would love to read some of these books, everything from sonnets and classic novels to history books from all over the world on the art of war and weapons.
For me, this is so much better than any clothing or makeup store.
On the far wall before Anders’s desk, a five-tier shelf holds books of various sizes and shapes.
The spines are worn, cracked, and peeling from overuse.
I gape at the numerous volumes, retrieve a small, slender leather book, and carefully open it.
On the very first page, scrawled in neat cursive, is a name, while the second contains a date and a handwritten entry.
These are not printed books but handwritten journals.
Staring at the journal in my hand, I smile. My heartbeat races with excitement. It’s like finding treasure. I want to know who wrote these. There are so many of them. Were all these written by one person? A strong urge compels me to start with the very first book. Would Anders let me read these?
Anders stands from his desk and strides toward me.
“So, you like to read?” He gently lifts the book from my hand and returns it to its space.
Before I can protest, he reaches for the first book on the top shelf and hands it to me.
“These are journals from the original Obsidian Pack Alpha, who we now refer to as the original head guard. Of course, while most shifters can live over 150 years, many of the head guards, due to war, have not lived as long. These journals are passed down from head guard to head guard. They detail a series of events that you will never read in history texts and accounts of their personal lives.”
I wonder if Anders keeps his own journals. Where would he keep them?
Anders laughs. “I do keep my own journals but in a secret place. Only my replacement will have access to them once I pass or leave my position, as is tradition. Many Alphas keep the same tradition. It’s a way for the former Alphas to leave their legacy behind and help guide the future Alphas in their current role.
It was once thought of as a way for the future Alphas to understand the foundation of how the pack came to be and hopefully to prevent the current Alpha from repeating mistakes from the past.”
Anders pauses. Emotion crosses his features, but he quickly masks it and offers me a small smile.
“History lessons are designed to teach future generations how to analyze and solve problems in the present and understand the past leaders and previous cultures. They’re supposed to strengthen our critical thinking skills.
Today, with social media, technology, and, well, just the basic understanding of history being manipulated, we have forgotten who we are and where we came from.
As shifters, we forgot how to rely on our basic animal survival instincts.
” He turns to the shelf full of journals.
“As the head guard, I try to teach the recruits the importance of who we are, what we protect, and what we represent. That is why the history of the LS territory is the most important lesson the recruits learn.”
I look down at the journal. I could learn so much, not just from these journals but also from Anders.
I hand the journal back to him. I don’t want to ruin it, and I don’t know where I will go once I heal.
Maybe, one day, I can return, and he will let me read these precious artifacts of our history.
We can sit and have meaningful conversations about the past.
Anders finally takes the journal after studying me for a moment and places it on the top shelf. “It will be here when you are ready to read them, although I prefer it doesn’t leave my office.”
I furrow my brow, unsure how to interpret his words. I don’t want false hope, so I glance at the floor and nod.
He rests his hand on my shoulder. “All this talk about journals and history gives me an idea.” Returning to his desk, he opens a drawer and passes me a leather-bound book.
Imprinted in the leather, filled with gold overlay, the cover depicts an emblem.
A dark green emerald sits in the center, and diamonds embellish each corner of a triangle.
I delicately trace my fingers over the design, loving the way it feels. I open the cover to reveal a blank page. I arch my eyebrows. What is this?
He clears his throat. “I know that you can’t remember anything prior to waking up in the clinic, but I think this might help. Journal writing isn’t just about documenting events. It’s about reflection. You could write about your experiences, discoveries about yourself, maybe even your nightmares.”
I run my hand over the emblem again. This looks expensive. I can’t accept this. I shake my head and give the journal back to him. But he doesn’t take it.
“The emblem on the cover is the guard’s crest designed by the first head guard. The emerald represents the Emerald Pack. The white diamonds represent the white wolf species. I think this was meant for you, Little One.”
Hanging my head, I fight the tears that threaten to fall.
I fidget, unsure why Anders is so invested in my wellbeing.
When the doctor decides to discharge me from the clinic, I will most likely be sent to an orphanage.
With my memory gone, I cannot aid Anders in investigating my attack.
Because I’m not from this territory nor belong to the Emerald Pack, there really is no reason to investigate it, unless someone reports a missing child to the guards.
Anders narrows his eyes. “You are definitely not going to an orphanage, and because you’re still recovering, according to Dr. York, you will be here for a while.” He chuckles softly. “You’re quite observant, aren’t you?”
I scoff. I don’t have a choice. My vision sucks.
I can’t talk. My only option is to listen and take note of my surroundings.
I never know when someone will attack or betray me.
So, I must be prepared. One can never be too sure, and I won’t repeat the mistake of assuming I will stay with a pack when I am not asked.
The memory of Alpha Agnus returning me to the guards still stings.
“On second thought, you’re not as observant as I thought,” Anders counters, forcing me out of my internal rant.
My eyes widen. Anders is talking to me as if I spoke aloud. I cock my head to the side. How is he doing this?
He laughs. “It’s not me. You are doing it. It’s quite a neat little talent. I have not encountered many shifters who can mind-link outside of their animal form, including very powerful Alphas.”
I shake my head. Alphas? I am no Alpha. How does a mind-link actually work? Did I do it on purpose, or does it just happen? Like the twins, they can communicate only with each other through their link.
“You think too much. It makes me wonder, when you find your voice again, if you will talk nonstop, like you do in your head.”
I snort. Can you blame me, if the only conversations I can carry occur in my own head?
Grinning, he replies, “Alpha Agnus warned me you were a bit of a wiseass.”