Page 4 of Banished From the Pack

A True Mate will make me even stronger than choosing a mate on my own. Having a True Mate gives a man respect, as it’s rare. I hope she’s strong like me, a good fighter, a political strategist.

The only trouble is, I don’t know who or where she is. Sterlina said to look around me, and when I asked again, she shut the door in my face. Guess I insulted her by asking what she’d already answered. “Look around you” doesn’t mean shit, though. Was I supposed to look around right then, under her treehouse? Is Luna coming to the Jacksonville area soon? Or am I supposed to look for her across the country, across the world?

I’ll fucking do it. I have to find her—the sooner the better. The vampires are getting way too fucking cocky.

Ama can help me find her. That’s the sort of thing a Second does while I’m running the pack here. Only the last thing Ama wants to do is to find the woman who will fill the role she so desperately longs to fill.

Chapter Two

Luna

Standing knee-deep in murky swamp water, I thrust my bare hands into the catfish hole I discovered a second ago. Some of my wet hair lands in my eyes, making it hard to see. When my fingers curl around the slimy beast, I yank back, lifting my prize high.

“Gotcha!” I crow to the wriggling critter, avoiding its stinging spine. “Dinner is served.”

Clutching the fish with both hands, I use my upper arm to push the hair from my eyes. Mama always tells me my light hair reminds her of the swamp buck’s hair when it’s standing in the sun. Then she always adds, “and your eyes are the color of the sky on a winter afternoon.”

Right now, I’m guessing I resemble a drowned fox more than anything.

As I wade out of the water, hauling my bare feet from the mud with each step, a scream pierces the air. I stand stock-still, attentive. The dying fish flapping in my grasp jabs me with its dorsal fin, immediately flooding my hand with an explosion of venom. “You bastard,” I say to the fish. I pick the spines from my skin with my teeth.

Another howl lances my eardrums.

“Mercy on the swamp dogs, that’s got to be Mama!”

Still clutching the catfish with my now-swollen hand, I take off at a sprint. Nothing can happen to my mother—nothing. Mama has been through enough, and on top of that, she’s all I’ve got. After losing Daddy to murder while I was still a pup curled in her belly, Mama broke with the savage pack of demon-dogs nearby and headed for the safety of the swamp. We’ve been here ever since.

When I was young, Mama took care of me, filling me with the knowledge of every danger in the swamp, the skill to hunt, and the companionship of each other. She taught me that ogres might look scary, but they’re harmless to us, since they only eat magic. She taught me how to know when a storm means rain and wind that could take down the little house I built for us six years ago on a hillock in the swamp, so we need to take everything we own and get up in the trees, where the water won’t rise.

Most of all, she taught me that danger comes in the form of man, even when they wear the disguise of a panther or wolf. I’ve never spoken to a soul besides my mother in my life, though when Mama’s not looking, I sometimes sneak a wave to the panther shifters in their fishing boats that glide silently through the swamp like gators. If more than one of them’s in the boat, sometimes I hear them whisper to each other, “There goes Looney Luna.”

That’s my name.

I like the sound of it hissing across the water and into the mossy trees, like a secret only the swamp knows.

“I’m coming, Mama,” I shout as I sprint through the boggy landscape. If Mama took care of me growing up, that slowly changed after I came of age until now our roles have reversed. I take care of Mama now. So that’s what I gotta do right now, when she’s shrieking like a panther. Pushing through the underbrush, shoving aside branches, I come face to face with a terrifying sight.

A panther is attacking my mother’s human form.

I don’t think about it. I pitch the fish into the glade, shift into my wolfskin, and launch my body at the big cat. It drops Mama to fight back. Success! My canine teeth snarl and snap, trying to get purchase on the feline’s neck. I manage to sink my teeth into the puma and rip some of the skin from muscle with several mighty shakes of my head.

It’s enough. The panther lets out an ear-shattering snarl and turns tail. As it takes off into the swamp, I turn to Mama. Panthers usually leave us alone, both the shifter and regular varieties, though maybe if they’re starving, they’ll attack. The panther shifters are as wary of us as we are of them, and besides an occasional wave from a fishing boat sliding under the trailing Spanish moss, they’ve never paid us any mind. They keep their distance and don’t bother us, even though technically, Mama says this part of the swamp belongs to them.

I don’t have time to think about why that panther attacked. Why doesn’t matter, anyway. It happened, and now Mama’s in bad shape, and it’s my job to make sure she heals. I focus on her moaning form.

“Mama,” I say, shifting back to human and crouching next to her. “Mama.” Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the catfish still engaged in a listless struggle with death. “Look, Mama. I brought food.” I crawl toward the fish, pick it up and bite off the head. Then, like a good wolf pup, I bring my morning catch, gripped in my teeth, to my mother. “Look, Mama, see? Here’s food. Eat some and get your strength back.”

Eyes closed, Mama sniffs the fish and shakes her head. “I don’t need fish, Luna love,” she wheezes. “It can’t help me. I’m afraid this is it for me.” Her voice comes out in a gurgle. Claw marks crisscross her body, and blood seeps from the jagged tears in her skin.

Don’t die on me. Please don’t die. I’ll be all alone out here.

My head whips around as I search for something to staunch the blood oozing from Mama’s side. As I search, I swat at the blood-sucking insects attempting to make a meal out of me.

A giant gator drags its body from the slew and makes its way in my direction.

You can smell the blood, can’t you, you bastard?

I toss the fish and send it flying. The gator catches it with a snap of its hinged jaw. Then, it makes an ungainly pivot and waddles back toward the water.