Dark Lies (Magic Side: Wolf Bound 3)

In my heart, I knew she was right. Casey wasn’t entirely lost to me. But I knew our relationship would never be the same. Not after what I’d done to his mother. Not with what I was. He might hold his tongue, but I would always know what his beliefs were.

Maybe, with time, my aunt and uncle would even accept me. But there would always be prejudice, a desire to cure me and bind my wolf and turn back time so that things were like they once were.

That was one thing I knew I could never let happen.

Damn straight, sister,Wolfie said.

Jaxson led me toward the fire. Sitting werewolves rose and moved out of our way as we approached, clearing a spot for us close to the flames. I felt self-conscious walking beside Jaxson. He loomed over me, and every step betrayed his power. No wonder they all treated him like a king.

My earlier confidence left me, and I felt like an imposter, a hanger-on. At least it would get me a spot by the fire, and I wasn’t too proud to take it.

We flopped down and basked in the warm glow of the hypnotic flames, and I breathed deeply as the heat began to work its way in beneath my skin. My front was too warm, and my back was too cold, but my wolf and I gave a collective sigh of relief.

After a moment of basking, the hair on my back rose. I glanced behind me. Jaxson was staring back, devouring me with his golden eyes. I couldn’t quite discern his expression, but I got the sense that he hadn’t been able to look away since we’d arrived.

My wolf rolled lazily to the side and stretched out for his benefit. Do you do this every time the pack runs? I asked, using that strange not-quite-telepathy that we shared.

Jaxson gave me a wry look. Not the swimming part.

With a huff of feigned annoyance, I turned my attention to the wolves around us. Those in human form were chatting in low, almost expectant voices. Most were in wolf form—six or seven dozen, in every size and fur color imaginable.

These were my people now, but they weren’t family. Not yet.

The murmur of voices stilled as an expectant hush filled the air. The wolves on the far side of the circle rose and parted as an old woman with a walking stick shuffled out of the shadows and into the firelight. She walked to a spot between the flames and bowed her head to Jaxson. “Alpha.”

Jaxson bowed his head in turn. Grandmother.

She brandished her stick at him. “My grandchildren can call me that. You can’t. Makes me feel old and decrepit. It’s ‘Loremaster.’ My stories are old, not me.”

Something about the exchange told me that it had all been said before. That this, as much as anything, was part of a well-worn ritual.

The loremaster sniffed and gave a filthy look at two shifters whispering on the far side of the circle. She pointed her walking stick. “The gods, bless their teeth, gave us all two forms. One is for talking, while the other is for listening. Which should you be in?”

The couple looked sheepishly at each other, and in a swirl of magic, they transformed into a pair of wolves. The remaining shifters did so as well until after a few moments, the pack was only wolves and one old woman.

She jabbed her walking stick into the ground. “Now is the time for me to talk and for you all to listen. You’re here for a story. But what should I tell?”

A few wolves yipped, though I couldn’t understand what it meant.

The loremaster shook her head, waving her hand. “No, no, those won’t do. I’ve told the story of the Wolf Queen too many times already, and the others aren’t right for a night like tonight.”

She turned to me. The firelight—or perhaps something else—glinted in her eyes. “We have a new wolf among us. We’ll let her decide.”

The ancient woman leaned on her cane as she made her way over to me.

I lowered my head onto my paws and looked around, unsure of what to do. I didn’t know how to speak in wolf, and I didn’t know any wolf stories.

“Bah.” She scoffed. “Of course you do. You might not have grown up in this pack, but you know the stories, if not by their name. The stories are part of us. They make us who we are.”

I blinked in surprise. Apparently, the loremaster could read my thoughts.

The old woman scrunched up her face as she studied mine, then straightened as her expression fell into shadow. “Oh. I see. That story.”

I looked at Jaxson, my head spinning. But I didn’t ask for anything! Or even think it!

The loremaster laughed and waved her hand as she walked back over to the fire. “You don’t need to say anything to ask for a story, silly pup. Your eyes are saying it, your body is saying it, you’re begging for it with every movement you make. I know the story you crave.”

She turned to the assembled werewolves and raised her hands. “I have been asked for a story.”

Silence. Instant, utter silence. Jaxson commanded attention like a general, a king. But this woman demanded absolute stillness with her words—like an actor standing before the opening curtain, the audience hanging in the moment. No one spoke. No one even breathed.

What story had I chosen? The hair on my back rose, and my chest constricted as a slow dread filled me.

The loremaster’s words cut through the air as she haltingly circled the fire. “Our new wolf has asked for a very old story, a story that I have not told for a long time. We are the stories that we tell ourselves. Some we do not like to speak aloud, but we must tell them all the same.”

She spun and looked directly at me with eyes that burned with bright red flames.

“Tonight, I tell the story of the Dark Wolf God.”