Chapter 21 Mona #2
I don't get why Grayson reacted like that. I mean, I'm pretty sure he saw one of the bite marks last night at dinner? Maybe he didn't realize how many there were. Orion hugs me tighter, while Doc pretends the last five minutes didn't happen.
"A shifter will scar if the injury is profound or by magical interference. The full moon helps us heal, as well as proximity to our mates—" Doc's eyes twinkle. "In any case, you might have these scars the rest of your life. I'm sorry for that."
My fingertips trace the raised scar on my neck. But this time, the memory flooding in uninvited isn't the usual fare. It's from last night. It's from my dream.
I had nightmares about what he did to me for months.
But this was different. This felt like I was watching through someone else's eyes.
And it felt so real. Who was that girl? Twice now, I've seen her in my dreams. Why did she look so…
feral? Why would I have dreamt of some random woman I've never met before?
Sometimes an omega carries other gifts, such as premonitions or healing powers.
What? I ask Beep in my head.
That's what your mate said. Only yesterday. Were you listening?
I think back. Orion answered a lot of questions yesterday while I was coming off of the pain and sleep meds. Didn't he also say how rare it was? I add.
She doesn't answer. I shake my head and pull away from Orion. His brow furrows in concern.
I don't have special powers. It was just a nightmare.
Before he can ask whatever question is forming, I decide I'm more than ready to go exploring, to wipe that curiosity off their faces, and to clear the charged air since Grayson stormed off.
"Doc? Ready to go exploring?"
Orion tilts his chin toward the doorway. "I'll go with Grayson to the enforcer's gym. Doc, if you need anything—"
Doc holds up his hand. "She will be well cared for. Now, go. You have work to do, and the sooner we introduce Mona to the community, the sooner she can integrate."
Orion begins cleaning up the mess Grayson made. I'm tempted to help, but Doc ushers me along, stopping just before we leave the cabin.
"Hang on, I've got another bag for you," he says, shuffling outside ahead of me. He pulls a few overstuffed bags out of his truck. When he returns, he sets them all on a table.
"Donations—clothes, shoes, toiletries. Anything you should need, but if something's missing, you just let me—well, really, let anyone know and they will be more than happy to help you."
I stare at the bags longer than necessary. Tears prick my eyes as I think about how much I took for granted in my old life. And how many times I stole a pair of pants in the last few months. Or a leftover piece of soap. Food, scraps. Dug things out of the trash.
I didn't have space to feel shame when I did it. I was just surviving.
And here I am in this wonderful mountain community, and they just gave me everything I could ever need. All these people who don't even know me. Donations. I can tell it's from a range of people, women mostly. I can scent them on the clothes.
"Mona?" Doc asks. "Are you alright, dear?"
I clear my throat. "Thanks for this," I say before taking the bags and hauling them all upstairs and into the bedroom I've commandeered. I took a shower yesterday, but it was quick. I was afraid if I let myself enjoy it, I'd never leave.
I get dressed in clean clothes, setting the ones I was wearing in an empty laundry basket.
I opt for a tank top, but grab a cardigan to cover my arms, pull on a pair of jeans that are snug in the hips, followed by a clean pair of socks and shoes.
I'm relieved to find a new package of generic underwear and a few simple sports bras.
When I finish, I still probably look like I rolled around in a lost-and-found bin, but this time, I don't feel embarrassed by it.
I feel… grateful.
Doc points things out as we drive. I'm well-rested and fed, so I can pay closer attention than yesterday.
We talk about the different leaders in the community—the enforcers, and the elders, who claim Grayson's attention at least once a month—though Doc makes it sound like it's more of a courtesy from Grayson, a gesture of respect, than a necessity.
I don't know how to reconcile this kinder version of Grayson with his outburst earlier. My omega wasn't scared, she was worried for him. But something about all of this still feels volatile, like he doesn't know where I fit in his world, while Orion seems so certain.
We pass a schoolhouse, though in a clan of a few thousand, there are surprisingly few children—they're playing outside, and I spot Joey, the little boy from yesterday, hopping around with his friends, giggling wildly.
Everything about this place makes me feel like I've stumbled into a storybook.
Maybe Beep was right. Maybe our destiny does lie here.
Told you. We wasted months on the road.
"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" I mutter to her under my breath.
"What was that?" Doc asks.
"Oh, nothing. Sorry. Umm, so, you have a hospital, a jail, a cafeteria…"
"Whatever a community needs. There's a laundry house, a blacksmith. We have carpenters, bakers, a brothel, treasurers who help us manage our community finances with the humans."
Did he just say brothel? I chew on the word before clearing my throat, moving on. "How does that work? With the humans, I mean."
"Well, the deltas mostly handle human relations—they have the skills for it.
Alphas and betas can appear too aggressive, which creates…
problems. Some deltas work in human-owned stores down the mountain, where our clan also owns several businesses—a diner, a trading post where we sell deer pelts and meat.
Some of our more patient betas teach the humans wilderness workshops.
It's a lucrative arrangement that keeps relations peaceful. "
"And the humans know you guys are…"
"Wolves?" Doc chuckles. "Yes, they know. The locals don't bother us. We have a good relationship with them."
"Cool."
"Ha. Yes, it is cool."
"And the pack hierarchy? How does that come into play with how the community functions?"
"Clan hierarchy," he corrects. "Every wolf in Silent Peak chooses their work, regardless of rank, but naturally, more dominant wolves will gravitate toward positions of strength. Like the enforcers."
"Like Andrea and Stance?"
Doc sighs. "Yes." It seems, for a moment, like he's going to elaborate, or apologize for their behavior again, but instead, he holds back. We arrive at the cafeteria a few minutes later.
The sliding barn doors hang open, revealing several rows of picnic tables lining old wooden floors.
There are industrial-sized drink coolers, tables stacked high with mismatched plates, bowls and cups, steaming platters of food, baskets overflowing with bread rolls, and slices of meat. No plastic anywhere.
Late morning sun floods the space. Simple electric lanterns—now off—hang low from the vaulted ceiling.
I've always been sensitive to neon, even before Beep. Maybe Doc was right. Maybe I have always been more wolf than not, because I've never felt like I belonged anywhere until now.
It's such a small thing. Low lighting. And yet, it feels like another thing clicks into place. No more sensory overload from lights, sounds, smells—everything here is just… perfect.
People eat their last bites of breakfast, sipping drinks and carrying on conversation, but as we step inside, the room falls silent. A hundred pairs of eyes swivel toward us.
I've never been a particularly shy person, but my cheeks flame with embarrassment and I want to bury my head behind Doc's shoulder.
Across the room, a woman with a cloud of blue-ish white hair and a midnight-blue shift dress pops up with surprising dexterity and begins weaving between tables in our direction.
Other people rise from their chairs, smiling and waving enthusiastically.
Doc huffs. "We told everyone to act normal, I swear."
I laugh nervously, but before I'm forced to make small talk, Doc shuffles me through a small door at the back of the dining hall.
"Trust me, once Elder Cora catches you, you'll never escape," he chuckles as we push into the kitchen. The room is sweltering—above us, skylights crank open, just enough to allow the steam from various boiling pots to escape.
We walk through the crowded kitchen, and though we've never met, I know it's Hilde instantly when we find a petite woman barking orders at three kitchen assistants—deltas I think—who quickly scramble to obey.
I recognize her scent from the basket of food Orion gave me yesterday, but she's not what I expected.
I'd pictured someone a little older, but then again, with near immortality, I suppose she could be two hundred.
But she appears to be in her late forties, with straight black hair and a hint of gray at the temples, tied at the nape of her neck.
Though barely five-feet, she's built like other female shifters I've seen—lean, muscular, all angles and sharp lines.
Her red plaid shirt and faded blue jeans make her look more like a lumberjack than the clan's revered head cook.
As we approach, Hilde's stern expression transforms, and she rushes toward me with open arms. My body stiffens at first, but like when Doc held my hands earlier, when she wraps her arms around me, it feels like my omega is sharing energy. The warmth both fills my chest and spills out of me.
"Mona, I am so happy to finally meet you!" Hilde squeezes me tight, then clasps my shoulders and holds me back, taking in my features, like I'm her long-lost niece or something. Her eyes rake over me, cataloging everything.
"It's nice to meet you, too," I sputter when she hauls me in for another bone-crunching hug. I catch Doc over her shoulder chuckling to himself. I widen my eyes, hoping for a little bit of help, but he only smiles bigger.