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’s us,” Harlan offers from behind me, and it’s clear by the look on her face that us now 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 that this is 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.
“That was 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 mark off.
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.