Rabid: The Savage Spirit of Seneca Rain Read online

  “Omg, who do you think will claim you?” I hear Lana ask Tiernan.

  “Ugh, I’d love for Ollie to have a go, but he’s been stalking Harper for a minute, so I doubt I’ll get what I want.”

  I hold in my snort. From what I know, Harper would gladly have Ollie off her back, but stuff like that doesn’t mean anything to the males in the pack.

  It’s shifter nature. You’ll understand when you have your own wolf, is what people always say when objections to this kind of behavior come up, but it reeks of bullshit to me. Yeah, I get that there’s an animal’s drive to contend with, but why are the males circling someone without their wolf spirit yet? Wolves seek out wolves for mates, but some of the hierarchy tries to push a claim before the females are even full wolves. It’s what Burke has been trying to do to me, and what my mother put a stop to while she was here, but not all pack members have the chance to shut it down.

  “I don’t care who claims me, I just hope it’s good,” Lana announces, a foxy gleam in her dark brown eyes, her new platinum bob bouncing around her face as she giggles impishly. All the other females laugh and encourage her.

  Becca throws a towel at her teasingly. “Yeah, right. You and your wolf are going to be chasing after Alpha just like you’ve been since he first took over our pack.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and her face falls a little as though she forgot I was here.

  It gets even more awkward when the girls all turn to look at me, as though I’ll have something to say about Lana pursuing him. I return their stares and offer a shrug. “Take him. I have no issue or interest,” I offer genuinely.

  Instead of making Lana happy, her eyes narrow angrily on me. “Oh, please, Seneca. I’m so tired of you thinking you’re such hot shit.” The entire salon goes quiet. You could hear a worm fart from a mile away, that’s how quickly her words vacuumed up all the noise.

  “Lana,” Trinity admonishes after a beat, shooting me an apologetic glance.

  “What?” Lana clips in return. “You know you’re all thinking it. She walks around the pack like she’s God’s gift with her long legs and pretty face, convinced that she’s too good for our own alpha. Our alpha!” she repeats, as though that fact needs to be emphasized. “I’m not just going to kiss her ass because her mom died and she deigned to step down from her imagined throne to slum it with us common wolves. She acts like Burke is a monster and we’re all her enemy.”

  I bark out a hollow laugh at her words. The other females look as though they’re watching a riveting tennis match and it’s my turn to hit the ball. Their eyes search my face, expecting to see anger and outrage, but they won’t find it. I don’t care what Lana thinks about me or how I live my life. I know what she’s saying is pure crap, and that’s all that really matters.

  “Yeaaahhh, I’m gonna go.” I stand, taking this as the perfect opportunity to get away, no questions asked. Thank you, Lana.

  “See?” Lana whines as though my lack of response is all the proof she needs. “Like mother like daughter,” she lobs at me venomously as I bend to grab my bag.

  I freeze, her words slicing into me despite my efforts to ignore them. “Excuse me?” I ask evenly. There’s no sign of the anger now flowing through my veins in either my tone or my face, but it’s there, simmering to a boil.

  She looks at me with a flash of vindication. “You heard me. Your mother was a pretentious bitch. She never gave our alpha the proper amount of respect. She was barely even civil with our betas.”

  I look at her like she’s lost her goddamn mind, because clearly, she has. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and say the nail polish fumes you’ve been inhaling for the last hour have fucked with your good sense,” I warn her. “I’m also going to give you a pass because I’m sure the stress of the Flux is making you say stupid shit. But I suggest you shut the fuck up now.”

  “You’re not even worthy of Burke,” she spits at me as though it’s some kind of insult.

  I laugh. “You know what? You’re right. I do think I’m too good for him. Even you, the nasty bitch that you are, are too good for him. At best, the asshole is unstable, and at worst, a cancer to our kind.”

  There’s a collective intake of breath in the room. Even the Lycans look nervous. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop.

  “My mother wasn’t a pretentious bitch, she just wasn’t about to roll over to a bunch of thugs who killed her husband and violated pack law. Or are you forgetting what happened that night, Lana?”

  She glares at me like she wants to rip me apart, and I really wish a bitch would try.

  “Let me remind you,” I coo, tone saccharine but infuriated. “Burke challenged Alpha Wolcott and then didn’t fight fair. Tell me, Lana, how does a male die from stab wounds when the fight is supposed to be wolf to wolf?”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I take the chance to look around the room at the shocked females, faces blanched and eyes filled with denial.

  “And before any of you say that was just a rumor, I saw the wounds with my very own eyes. But anyone who challenged the result was killed, so the rest of the pack stayed quiet because they didn’t want to die. We can all pretend the shit that happens in our pack these days is okay, but each of you knows deep down inside that it’s not. Our alpha...” I mock, “isn’t even worthy of the title, so he’s sure as fuck not worthy of me, my body, or my wolf, and if you were smart, you’d stay the fuck away from that psycho.”

  “That’s enough,” a deep voice suddenly booms through the room, making me flinch.

  I look over to find Seamus standing in the doorway, glaring at me, a phone clutched in his palm. He gives me a long, heavy look, and I swallow, palms going sweaty. Silence stretches between us as the tension peaks, so thick in the air that I have a hard time breathing through it.

  None of the other females moves. I’m not sure if anyone even dares to blink with the angry beta glaring at me. Lana probably has a pleased smirk on her face, but I won’t turn to look.

  I wonder exactly how much he heard from my rant, but judging from the enraged look in his eyes, I’d guess he heard plenty. I have no doubt that Burke’s right-hand thug will be reporting all of this back to him, but the question that makes my stomach roil is...what will Burke do? Will he order his men to rip me apart like he did my father? Will he excuse my rant because he wants to get into my pants?

  I’m not sure which option is worse, and doesn’t that just say everything about what I’m up against?

  Finally, Seamus moves his gaze away from me to cut across the room. “Time to leave. We’ve been called back to the pack. The Spirit Weaver has arrived.”

  The other females gasp in surprise and excitement, but my breath hitches with dread.

  How am I going to get away now?

  I thread one arm through the strap of my bag and hang it from my shoulder. Without waiting, I stomp past the other females and squeeze past Seamus, heading upstairs and back outside for the van. No one says a thing to me as I go, but I can feel every set of eyes following me.

  My plans for escape burn to nothing right before my very eyes. Like a flame to a piece of paper, one minute it’s there, and the next it’s charred ash floating on the wind. There’s no way I’m going anywhere right now. Seamus would be on me in a second. Which means I’ll have to try and run again before the ceremony. That doesn’t give me a lot of time and decimates the head start I was hoping to have, but it’s doable.

  Until then, I’m riding shotgun, because if they put me in the back with that squawking shrew Lana, shit will get ugly.

  I just need to play it cool and then run the first chance I get.

  Chapter Three

  The entire ride back to pack land, I sit ramrod straight, with a white-knuckled grip on my bag. Seamus says nothing, and I don’t either. Despite being overheard, I meant every word of what I said, and not one of my pack members in the car can deny that I’m right.

  The females talk quietly amongst themselves in the back of the van,
all the previous enthusiasm deflated out of them like an old forgotten balloon. With practiced ease, Seamus cuts through the town and into the forest area that separates the human territory from ours. A dirt road through the woods leads past the rushing twin rivers our pack is named after.

  White rapids cut a path, each river at least fourteen feet across with a wide strip of land separating them. They’re two sisters who refuse to see their similarities and get along enough to become one. Their water is tumultuous and punishing while also nurturing the land and our people since we first settled here.

  In no time, we’re pulling up to the main pack house where hundreds of shifters are already gathered. My stomach threatens to lodge itself in my throat, but I know better than to risk an elevated heart rate in front of Burke. So I take a fortifying breath, forcing myself to go numb before I step out and close the door behind me.

  The other females stream toward the huge circle that the pack has formed. I glance around surreptitiously for a place to stow my bag, but there are too many people around. I consider stuffing it under the van, but when I make a move to do that, my eyes snag on Seamus, who’s staring right at me.

  Fuck.

  I jerk my attention away and turn back to the pack, falling into the crowd. Letting myself get swallowed into the tightly packed bodies, I shove and squeeze my way forward. I need to bide my time, and curiosity has its hook in me too, pack mentality taking over the second I’m in its midst.

  When I work my way to the front, I find Alpha Burke there with the person who must be the Spirit Weaver. The male has tan skin and white hair strung with wolves’ teeth and rawhide ties. His lined face is pulled into a friendly smile, but the bright orange paisley shirt he’s wearing mismatched with the pea-green corduroys really sets him apart.

  This isn’t the same Spirit Weaver who came last year to perform the Flux, but since they’re so rare, even more so than healers, I’m not surprised. They’re not always available to help. Apparently, this one dresses like he’s ready to watch reruns of That ’70s Show.

  “Ah, I sense our hosts have arrived,” the male says.

  Burke raises two fingers to his mouth and releases a shrill whistle. Immediately, the crowd parts, letting the rest of the females through. They all gather to the front together while the rest of the pack backs away to give us a respectful distance, but I’m the only one to stand alone. How fitting.

  “Spirit Weaver Yaromir, these are the members of my pack who will be taking part in the ceremony,” Burke announces, standing straight and tall, and behaving every bit like the proud and prudent alpha he pretends to be. I have to control my lips so they don’t draw up into a sneer.

  Bright, wise eyes take all of the females in as the Spirit Weaver nods at them, and then his gaze lands on me. For a second, I’m frozen beneath his scrutiny, worried that he’s looking right through me and seeing my spirit inside. Will it show him the truth of what I have planned? Does he know my wolf is going to be doomed to walk the spirit world alone forever?

  Just as nervous sweat begins to bead at the base of my neck, he looks away and offers the crowd a genial smile. “I am honored to perform the Flux with Twin Rivers pack. Should we get started?”

  Burke nods, and like the pack has practiced this, they all turn and begin walking to the ceremony setup that’s located behind the large home that houses the alpha and other higher up members of our people. I take advantage of the busy moment, eyes flicking left and right, but Seamus is nowhere to be found, and Burke is walking the Spirit Weaver the opposite way, their heads tilted toward each other like they’re in deep discussion.

  Making sure that no other betas are watching me, I spin on my heel and race to the trees just behind me that nestle against the side of the pack house. As soon as I’m beneath the shadows of their cover, I stop at the first full bush I see and then shove my bag between its thick branches.

  I rip off pine needles from the tree above it, stripping the branch bare and dumping them on top. That will help disguise my black bag, but also help to cover up my smell. I check my handiwork, bending back some of the bush’s leaves and branches to better cover it, and then wipe my hands on my jeans. It’s the best I can do.

  Hurrying back to join the others still moseying toward the ceremony grounds, I walk as fast as I dare, knowing that if I were to run, it would just draw attention. Luckily, there are a few stragglers, but I quickly pass them by with a nervous smile, catching up to where everybody else is now gathered. There are picnic tables on one side of a massive bonfire that’s already being lit beneath the pre-dusk sky. The base of the converging rivers sparkles in the waning light, and just behind us is the place where the spirit ceremony will take place after the feast.

  Every second is going to count.

  I waste no time filling up a plate and picking a seat away from the commotion and as close to the trees as I can get without being conspicuous. I eat my mountain of food, barely even tasting it as I wolf it down, my eyes on my pack and my mind on how the hell to get away from them. I go over what I know is going to go down tonight. I’ve attended these every year since I can remember, but it all feels so different now. Maybe it’s because there’s so much riding on my getting away, or maybe my wolf spirit is close and that’s what I’m reacting to, but I feel off, anxious, and desperate.

  I focus on something else and tell myself I have time, that I’ll figure this out. First, the Spirit Weaver will invite the spirits to dine with us, and the pack will bring all of the sacred and specially prepared dishes and set them out on a special table for them. Then all the Flux participants will be excused to go dress in their ceremonial robes and return here for the blooding, but if I’m still here by then, I’m screwed.

  My best bet is to sneak off when we’re supposed to get dressed. By then, a good portion of the pack will be drunk, full, and relaxed. I’ll grab my robe and then slip out of a window or something. I’ll only have maybe a forty-minute head start, but I’ll have to make it work.

  The feasting pack starts to quiet down, and I glance around from my spot on the picnic table to see Burke and the Spirit Weaver walk into the gathering. They greet a few people as they make their way toward the front, Yaromir carrying a leather pack with him.

  Part of me is saying I should run now while this man sets up and everyone is busy watching him, eagerly anticipating what’s going to happen. But I worry they’ll notice too quickly that I’m not here when they call all the participants together to get changed. There’s also another part of me that desperately wants to see him call the spirits down.

  I’ve never felt or seen anything at any of the other Fluxes I’ve attended, but I wonder if this time it will be different. Will I feel her? Will I know she’s nearby? Will she understand why I can’t take her on?

  An ache starts in my chest, but I do my best to ignore it. One look at Burke as he fawns all over the Spirit Weaver is enough to remind me that I don’t really have a choice. This is about survival, and if my wolf doesn’t get that, how compatible would we have been in the first place?

  Weaver Yaromir unrolls his leather pack to reveal tufts of fur, oils, and all sorts of other things he’ll need for tonight’s ceremony. Then he walks over to the large bonfire, stopping just in front of it, and sets down his sacred haul. Meticulously, he spreads out several small pots filled with dried herbs, powders, and other mysterious things that those with magic know about, while those that don’t never question.

  As quick as a stalked hare, the Weaver pulls an arm-length log from the burning fire, not even flinching as it sparks and sputters in protest. A hush further blankets the pack as he lowers the burning wood to the things he gathered and sets the contents of the pots aflame. Immediately, large plumes of white musky smoke pour out from the bowls, and the Weaver hands the torch off to Seamus.

  I watch the beta, wondering if he’s had a chance to tattle on me yet. When I look away from him, my gaze accidentally lands on Burke, but to my dismay, he’s already watching me. I try to
read what’s swimming in those inky, conniving depths, but it’s impossible to know the inner workings of such a tainted mind. If he knows what I was saying about him, he doesn’t let on, and even though I know I should drop my gaze and not provoke him, something in me refuses to do it.

  Just this once, I don’t want to feign submission. I stare at him for what I hope is the last time. Soon, I’ll no longer be forced to cater to his ego for the sake of flying under the radar. For whatever reason, tonight, I want him to feel the weight of my judgment and scorn, to know that I don’t bow down to him and never will. I want him to see the girl I’ve been forced to hide, the one I decided deserves to be free.

  Our eyes stay locked on each other for a long moment. I can tell he’s waiting for me to avert my gaze like I always do, but it’s not going to happen this time. Whether I make it out of this pack alive or dead, I’m done pretending to have any respect for this wolf and the wolves that follow him.

  Weaver Yaromir starts to chant the magical words of the wolf spirits, and Burke is forced to break my gaze when he’s handed something. I quickly get to my feet while his back is turned and slip amidst the group of people who have already gotten up from their tables to gather around. As soon as his attention comes back, he’ll be searching me out instead of paying attention to the ceremony. Good. Maybe then the Spirit Weaver will start to see the cracks in the perfect alpha facade.

  Several older members of the pack start to hum in harmony, lending their voices to the steady chant spilling from Yaromir’s mouth. The eerie wolfish music mixes with the magic smoke that carries the smell of bay leaves, angelica, and calendula. The Weaver picks up an apparatus that looks very similar to a priest’s aspergillum, but instead of sprinkling holy water, he whirls it around his head, spilling blessed and secretly curated oil out in arced circles around him. Then he raises a small ball and chain and whips it expertly around his head, creating an unearthly whistle to aid the call of the spirits. If I listen closely, it’s almost as though I can hear the lonely note of a single wolf calling to the moon.