Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,191
stay stay you must stay this is where we part this is where we say goodbye the doors the doors are closed and you can rest rest knowing i have never been prouder of you
Joe’s shift receded. He said, “Dad?”
The wolf tilted his head.
Joe took a step toward him. “I….”
Our father leaned forward, pressing his snout against Joe’s forehead.
Joe said, “Oh.”
Green, like relief.
Blue, like sadness.
And white. The white, pure light of peace.
I OPENED MY EYES.
I turned my head.
Joe held Ox’s hand.
His eyes filled with red.
Ox’s claws were pressed against his skin.
“Now,” I heard Aileen say. “You must do it now.”
Joe said, “I love you.”
And pierced his own heart.
His head rocked back as blood began to drip down his chest.
Ox arched off the ground, the rose through his stomach in full bloom.
The petals began to fall.
Ox opened his mouth, fangs descending.
He screamed.
The color in Joe’s eyes flickered.
Red.
Blue.
Red.
Blue.
Orange.
Orange.
Orange.
One last petal remained on the rose.
Joe jerked Ox’s hand from his chest.
The wounds began to close.
Ox stopped moving.
Joe whispered, “Please. Please don’t leave me.”
Our mother said, “Come back.”
Gordo said, “We need you.”
Tanner said, “Alpha.”
Chris said, “You’re our Alpha.”
Mark said, “Our friend.”
Kelly said, “Our brother.”
Robbie said, “Our light.”
Jessie said, “Our hope.”
Dominique said, “Our past.”
Bambi said, “Our future.”
Rico said, “Our home.”
I said, “Our love.”
And Gavin said, “Our savior.”
Ox breathed.
In. Out. In. Out.
The last petal fell. It landed on the ruins of Ox’s stomach, soaking in the blood.
And then the ragged hole began to close.
Bone and muscle and organs reformed.
Skin grew.
The rose stem sank slowly back into the earth.
A raven circled overhead.
The wound healed completely.
His heartbeat slowed.
Joe said, “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. I was lost in the dark, and you were the sun finally coming out again. I found my way back because of you. Now you have to do the same for me. Come back. Come back to me.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Gavin clutched my hands.
And then Oxnard Matheson sucked in a great breath.
The pack bonds vibrated wildly.
He opened his eyes.
Red. They were red.
He blinked once. Twice.
He turned his head to look at all of us crowded around him.
Our Alpha smiled and said, “It is finished.”
home
My mother said, “Will deserves it.”
I looked to her. “Really?”
She nodded, touching the back of my hand. “He was one of us. A wolf.”
I built the pyre myself. The others wanted to help, but I told them no. Gavin stayed with me, watching me with a knowing gaze. He sat with his back against a tree, his breath streaming out from his nose and mouth in a white cloud.
Will didn’t have family. He was the last of his line.
But that didn’t matter.
He had us.
He had me.
Once the pyre was finished, I was sweating. My back hurt, as did my heart.
Gavin came to me then.
He said, “Good man. Will.”
I wiped my eyes. “He was.”
He nodded toward the pyre. “This is for important people.”
“Yes.”
“Kings and queens. Alphas. Shannon. She had one too.”
“Yes.”
He said, “Will not a wolf. Not a king. Not a queen. Not an Alpha. But still important.” He wrapped his arms around me as I started shaking. I told myself it was from the cold.
“Is it enough?” I croaked out.
“Think so,” Gavin whispered. “Send him back to the moon. Run with wolves.” He laughed quietly. “Shape-shifters. That’s what he always said.”
I carried Will. He was wrapped in a white blanket. The clouds were gray, and snow was coming. I led the procession through the forest to the clearing. My pack was behind me. The people of Green Creek followed, their heads bowed.
I laid him on the pyre as gently as I could, taking care with his head.
I stood above him for a long time, trying to find the words. It felt too big, too important.
Eventually I said, “He was my friend. And he was pack. He gave himself to protect those he loved. I will never forget him.” I leaned down and kissed his cheek through the sheet.
Joe lit the fire. I couldn’t do it.
The wood was a little wet, but it caught.
I stepped back.
The pyre burned.
Will burned.
And as the fire reached up toward the sky, it began to snow. I told myself it was a sign.
I turned my face toward the sky.
I howled.
The others joined in.
As our voices rose, as the smoke mingled with the falling snow, we sang our friend home.
ROBERT LIVINGSTONE WASN’T GIVEN the same honor.
He didn’t deserve it.
And yet….
“He was our father,” Gordo said. He looked as exhausted as we all felt, but he seemed lighter somehow, even more so than after