Page 59 of Rabid
Britton steps toward me next, and I turn to him as he too presses his forehead to mine. “Congratulations,” he offers wholeheartedly. “Tyran’s been parading those bites around all morning like a proud peacock. I’ve never seen the bastard so happy,” he teases, stepping back and shooting a sly smile to his alpha. “We all thank you for that by the way,” Britton teases. “There’s been a sudden rush in meeting requests over the last twenty-four hours. I’m sure that’s not related though.”
Tyran laughs, and it moves through me like the rumble of a geyser on the edge of erupting, which only makes me want to do a little erupting of my own in the near future. His chuckle is punctuated by a low groan, and a flash of satisfaction strikes through me as he shoots me a look.
Britton clears his throat, pulling our attention back. “I thought we’d stop by the ceremonial grounds and make sure everything is in order for tomorrow, and then we can circle around the territory,” he declares. Tyran nods and gestures for him to lead the way, and I fall into step next to him as Britton pops on his tour guide hat and starts showing me the ins and outs of Ruin Falls.
“Ceremony?” I ask as we wind past the alpha house in the direction of the sparkling lake. I can picture just how much fun it will be to play and swim in there when the days are sweltering and muggy like they’re bound to become in a couple months.
A hint of worry coalesces in my chest that doesn’t belong to me, and I turn to look at Tyran. He runs his fingers through his dark and shiny hair and looks around before fixing his gaze on me. “We have a Flux planned for tomorrow,” he explains, and a trill of alarm rings in my mind. Tyran presses his lips together in understanding, while I try to push the rush of emotions away, ignoring the consternation they stir up in me.
I’ve witnessed dozens upon dozens of ceremonies in my life. One bad one shouldn’t spoil them all, even if it did happen to be mine.
“You don’t have to attend. No one will pressure you or be offended if you don’t,” Tyran tells me, his hand firm and ardent where it’s clasped around mine. “But I do want you to know that we do things very differently here, and it might be good for you and your wolf to see that.”
Nodding, I do my best to stave off memories of Spirit Weaver Yaromir standing by while Burke tore into my arm. I can still smell herbs and lust tinging the air, tainting what should have been sacrosanct and hallowed.
“How is your Flux different?” I ask, as I banish all thoughts of what happened to me and focus on the here and now.
“We stick closer to what the ritual used to be, before it became convoluted and more about the pomp and circumstance that some packs now embrace,” Britton tells me over his shoulder as he leads us through the trees, the sun sneaking past the tall tops and dappling us with its warm blessing.
His explanation makes me think about Twin Rivers and the gifts and competing that always surrounds the Flux there.
“Here, it’s more wholesome, more rooted in tradition and the old ways. Every year, when there are enough ready members of the pack, we get together and invite the spirits down. We gather on a blessed piece of land, and the participants choose who they want to blood them—usually a family member or close friend. Once they shift, they run with pack members who’ve been chosen and tasked with guiding them and teaching them the ways of their wolf and our pack. We all get together for a pack meal afterwards. Enjoying what the kappas have been hunting for the past couple of days,” Britton explains, the last bit clearly his favorite.
Tyran looks over at me with a warm smile, and I offer him one back. It definitely sounds more low-key than the Fluxes I’ve attended my whole life.
“It’s sacred, but it’s simple. It’sus,” Harlan offers from behind me, and it’s clear by the look on her face thatusnow includes me, and the sentiment warms me from the inside out.
The trees end abruptly, and Britton guides us out into a clearing that looks perfectly round. I can see the lake not too far off between the trees, and just outside the hard-packed circle, there’s an interesting table that’s made out of perfectly positioned boulders.
I step into the circle that’s empty of all vegetation, not a single stray leaf or twig in sight. Without them having to tell me, my spirit seems to recognize thatthisis the sacred ground they were talking about. I can feel it.
As I look around, a playful breeze twirls around my legs and sends the ends of my hair dancing around me, and I swear I can hear the whimsical yip of wolves playing in the wind. A shiver moves through me, and I gasp, looking around and finding the knowing smiles on the others’ faces. A giggle slips out of my lips as I spin slowly to take it all in, feeling the connection to the land.
“What was that?” I ask, wide-eyed and thunderstruck, as Tyran pulls me closer and kisses my lips softly.
“Thatwas one of the eager spirits who’s ready for tomorrow,” he declares, his beautiful eyes alight with excitement.
I can’t help the smile that stretches over my face before I plant my lips on his, needing to taste the happiness I see on his face. Reluctantly, I pull away, all too aware that we’re not alone. With a chuckle, Tyran brings our entwined hands up to his lips and kisses my knuckles. The gesture is sweet and intimate, but when I catch a flash of the scar on my arm—the one that every Totemic shifter carries, indicating that they’ve been blooded and joined by a wolf—my smile falls.
I look at the marks in my skin, and something heavy and hated sinks into my depths. Burke did that to me. As grateful as I am for my wolf, I want to cut the skin from my arm, suddenly unwilling to bear Burke’s mark for another second. I start to run my fingers over it, as if I can simply smooth it away, but the more I touch them, the more I hate it.
Off. I want Burke’s markoff.
My nails start dragging down my skin as I try to scratch the marks, clawing them out of existence, and my mate bond spikes with concern. I know Tyran can feel the disgust and anger coursing through me, because he asks Britton and Harlan to give us a minute.
The next thing I know, he grabs my arm and tugs it around him, away from my nails, and then I’m being pulled down into his lap. “Breathe,” he murmurs, cradling my face. But a wall of red has slammed down over me, the untamable rabidness rearing its head and demanding blood and vengeance. “Just breathe, Vicious. If you need to shift, we can. We can run it off. You just tell me what you want to do,” he encourages softly, raw power running like an electric current through every word.
“I want to rip this off,” I declare, my voice more a frantic snarl than anything else. I call on my wolf’s claws, determined to scratch Burke’s bite from my body.
Tyran tugs my arm forward to look at it, and understanding darkens his gaze as he bites back a menacing growl. He stares at my arm as though the mark is now the most offensive thing he’s ever seen. That makes two of us.
When he glances up at me again, his eyes are angry, but it’s on my behalf, not aimed at me. “May I?” he asks, and it takes me a moment to understand what he’s asking. His mouth slowly morphs into the half-shift of his wolf’s muzzle, and it dawns on me what he wants to do.
My throat grows tight with emotion, and I nod, unable to speak.
I watch with bated breath as Tyran aligns his teeth with the marks. I feel the passion and affection he has for me swelling in his chest as he does what he can to right this wrong. I gasp as his sharp teeth sink into my arm, then throw my head back when I’m suddenly flooded by sensation as a rush of wind whirls around us.
My wolf howls inside of me, the sound both a celebration and a lament. Tyran holds us tightly against him, his fangs digging in deeper, ensuring that everything he is replaces what was forcibly taken from us before. Images fill my mind of flashes of my wolf, but I’m not looking out throughhereyes, I’m seeing her through Tyran’s and his wolf’s perspective.
