Ravensong (Green Creek 2)

I said, “Now you howl. As big and loud as you’ve ever howled before. Bring them here. The Omegas. Bring as many of them here as you can. They’ll hear you. And they’ll come running.”

He studied me for a moment, eyes glittering. Then he nodded.

He turned his face toward the sky.

He exhaled a stream of white smoke.

Above, the clouds shifted, revealing the moon.

It was almost full.

His eyes were red and violet.

The Alpha of the Omegas opened his mouth.

And howled.

hear your voice/cry havoc

IT WAS close to dawn when Oxnard Matheson looked at me and said, “They’re here.”

I smiled.

THE MOON was bright overhead as we trekked through the snow. The clouds had mostly cleared, and the air was cold. The stars were blinking against the black sky. On the eastern horizon, the night was beginning to fade toward day.

Ox led the way. I was behind him, stepping in the paw prints he left in the snow. Joe was behind me, snout pressing every now and then against my back, huffing out a warm breath. Mark growled every time he did it, a threat Joe ignored. Carter was behind Mark, and Elizabeth brought up the rear.

Somewhere in the trees, the timber wolf prowled, never letting Carter out of his sight.

Kelly had tried to come along, had all but demanded it, but Ox had asked him to stay behind, to help Robbie guard the house with Jessie and Rico. He hadn’t been pleased with being left behind but did as his Alpha asked.

He wouldn’t look at me before we left.

It was different now. In our heads. Before, when the packs had been split and Richard had lost his head, it had only affected those under Ox. Joe, Carter, Kelly, and I hadn’t felt it. The Omegas. We weren’t a part of them.

We were now.

Ox took the brunt of it, and in turn Joe. But even though we had two Alphas holding it together, there was still the undercurrent running through all of us. It was like wasps trapped in our heads, building a thick nest in our brains. I felt their wings fluttering, their stingers scraping.

I felt wild and savage.

Feral.

The tattoos on my arms hadn’t stopped glowing since I’d woken up after shattering the door.

I snorted, shaking my head.

Ox looked back at me, a question in the form of ???? pushing through the bond between us.

I sent back a memory of when we were younger, buried under the wasps—

Does it hurt?

What?

The colors.

No. It pulls and I push and it crawls along my skin, but it never hurts. Not anymore.