4. Runa
Runa
Ihope the peace treaty holds the way the table holds under the onslaught of fists and jugs slamming it. It should. It’s made of iron, not the easily cracked wood that humans make their tables from.
Werewolves are stronger than humans. We’re also immune to many diseases, and we heal at a much faster rate.
Our remarkable health and resiliency are among the reasons that alchemists obsess over us.
Most of the human leaders are superb alchemists who secure leadership positions once they’ve proven they can serve humanity’s never-ending quest for longer life.
On the other hand, werewolves surrender their fate to the moon that rules the wolves.
The humans preside over the earth element, and believe earth rules us all.
Because they’ve developed alchemy from earth that can alter all the other elements, we fall under their rule.
Since there are billions of them to hundreds of thousands of us, they watch us with their drones, robots, and invisible submarines that they park in the seas.
They study us as if we’re zoo animals. My brother feels the sea intrusions near our shores. He just doesn’t do anything about them since we’re allies with humans.
But the Fireborns are allies with the Skyrender pack. Which is precisely why my sister must stop eye fucking the Regulator and pay more attention to the werewolf beside her.
The wolves working the party place a round iron table at the center of the room. The Peacebroker, a tall, willowy man with disproportionately long ears and nose, approaches it first and unrolls an ancient scroll over the tabletop. Gasps sound, and we all rise to peek at the paper.
It’s covered with signatures. A few coffee stains that alchemists of old spilled as they studied or scribed mar the left side of it. I speculate that the treaty will be signed into law on this paper.
My father invites the Alphas to gather around the table.
My mother joins them. Damn it.
“Mother,” I hiss too late. She’s wedged herself between my father and Ash.
Maren and I exchange knowing looks and hurry after her. Our father tries to appear unaffected by her intrusion but fails. He growls, hoping that might chase her away.
Soren breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Now that we’ve all gathered here, let’s get this over with.”
Ash grunts.
Maybe that’s approval.
My mother moves closer to the scroll, but my father holds her back. My mother’s been drinking enough to lose her balance. She starts to topple, but I catch her under the armpit and hold her up so she doesn’t make a fool of herself and fall in front of all these people.
My dad should pay attention to her state of mind, but my mother shouldn’t drink so much during such an important event. Tonight isn’t the time to make mistakes. Mother makes us look bad. Maren isn’t helping our image by swigging from a bottle of wine before joining us at the table in the center.
I watch Ash’s face for clues as to how he feels about our alcohol consumption and catch him staring at me for no reason. Heat crawls up my cheeks.
Why is he staring at me? I can’t help my mother or my sister. If that’s what he wants from me right now, I’m doing my best. I can help him out by speaking with Maren later, but not now. Nope. She can drink all she likes. As can my mother.
The Peacebroker sets up ink and four pens, each engraved with elements and each dripping with designated colors when he tests them by writing on the sleeve of his white uniform. Strange, but what do I know of alchemy?
“I will sign first,” he says in a confident, authoritative voice. “Fireborn will sign last.”
The Fireborn Alpha rolls his eyes. It’s so childish that I snicker. This earns me a glare from my brother. Soren, ever the killjoy.
The Peacebroker signs in green ink. He picks up the pen dripping silver-gray ink and holds it out to the Skyrender Alpha, who signs his name using an old werewolf alphabet.
My brother and sister know how to write in this alphabet.
My brother, as an alpha who will marry and produce an heir, and Maren, as a female omega who will marry and produce an heir to another pack, have had to take an extra course in school that has prepared them for signing treaties in the awkward lettering of the dead werewolf language. Among other things.
The rest of us aren’t taught that language at all. It’s not necessary. The language that humans use is now universal.
Maren’s hand shakes. As she bends over the paper, I think she’s crying. I slide my hand into hers and dig my fingernails into her skin until she signs with a blue pen and turns to me, her mascara melting off her eyelashes.
“Maren,” I hiss and squeeze her hand harder. It draws blood, and the moment Maren smells it, she blinks as if pulled out of a stupor. Which is precisely why I did it. Wolves respond to blood, and it calls to our tougher, more primal side.
Maren wipes her cheeks and looks up at Ash. “I mean no offense.”
“None taken,” Ash says, picking up the pen that drips red ink. Between his fingers, the pen melts.
Ash sets the melted pen aside. “You have another pen?”
The Peacebroker produces another red pen. Oh, so he anticipated this. We sure didn’t. My brother hovers over Ash like a hawk in case water will be needed to put out the fire before it fries everyone at this gathering.
Ash goes to sign and melts the pen again.
Annoyed, he flicks the object away. “Another?”
“Are you doing this on purpose?” the Peacebroker asks.
“Melting pens? Certainly not. Your pens are plastic, and fire melts plastic easily.”
“We were under the impression your element was under control,” the Peacebroker responds.
“This is controlled. Do you have another pen or not?”
“I don’t.”
Ash picks up the gray pen, but the Peacebroker places his hand on Ash’s forearm as if to stop him. He hisses and snatches his hand away. The smell of burned skin makes me rub my nose.
“Were you one of those kids who touched a pan right out of the oven, then screamed about how it burns?” Ash asks.
“I’ll write you up for this.”
“My balls quiver with fear,” Ash says.
Ash Fireborn has a dry sense of humor. Maren and I giggle, which earns us a dirty look from our dad.
“You must find a way to sign the treaty,” my brother says. “Use our pen.” Soren wouldn’t offer his element for help because it would clash with fire, and that’s the last thing we need while signing the peace treaty.
Ash picks up our pen. Blue ink drips, and the pen twists, losing its shape.
“You must sign in red,” the Peacebroker says.
“Your blood is red,” Ash says.
Oh shit.
My brother steps away, and I can feel the tension in his shoulders as he gathers the storm in case a fire breaks out.
“Do something,” my mother whispers to our dad.
“What do you want me to do?” he hisses back.
Soren’s Regulator, the one Maren’s been eye fucking, slithers through the crowd.
Angry, determined, and maybe fearful, he makes his way to the front with his hand hidden inside a brown bag slung over his shoulder.
Slowly, he withdraws something, and the instant I spot a shiny gun grip, I surrender to my instincts.
I circle the table and block his view of the people signing the treaty.
“I’ve got an idea.” I don’t, but one will come to me, hopefully faster than the silver bullet my sister’s jealous lover (I’m at one hundred percent certainty at this point) would strike the Fireborn Alpha’s heart.
Or head. I picked the heart because the wolf’s chest is massive and would make for a bigger target than the head.
If Ash dies, fire would jump to another wolf, and without the heir who carries Ash’s strength, we have no idea which wolf would receive the element.
But history records that violent elemental jumps, such as those caused when an elemental werewolf catches a bullet, cause natural disasters.
Stormcrest Castle is my home. We are not crumbling now.
People watch me, expecting me to explain the idea I mentioned.
“I have no title or designation, and my birth carries no significance. This makes me a good conduit for fire. If nobody opposes, my hand could be a conduit.” Before the others protest, and before the assassin fires at Ash, I pluck up our blue pen, grab Ash’s hand, and slam it over mine.
His touch burns the top of my hand. I hiss. “Hurry up and sign before my arm melts.”
Ash looks bewildered, but he doesn’t hesitate. He scribbles his name in blue ink, then lets go of my hand as if he’s the one who got burned. He even has the audacity to stare at his palm, eyes wide and unblinking, while I blow on my reddened skin.
I shake my hand, hoping it will cool off. Holy crap, my hand might melt. This is so painful. Tears prick my eyes.
Soren covers my hand with his, and I sigh at the comfort of his freezing skin. “Thank you, brother.” It’s like holding a popsicle after being burned.
“Don’t mention it.” He leans in so only I can hear. “Lunatic.”
“You had a better idea?” I whisper-hiss.
Near us, Ash tucks his hand into his pocket and returns to his table, leaving my sister standing there without a single kiss or even a hug. Asshole.
I look around. I’ve lost sight of the Regulator who might’ve tried to kill him.
This signing was awkward but not disastrous, and that’s more than we could hope for considering who’s in the room. Now comes the hard part: confronting my sister about her boyfriend. Her very human boyfriend.