Page 41 of Fated Exile

The hairline cracks that I found last night while speaking to Vivia have stretched, widened, and multiplied.

Nearly a quarter of the pack has streamed up to the pillars and made it to the ancient stones, but most of them mill listlessly at the edge of things, murmuring in low, concerned voices. I feel a few eyes on me as I walk towards the pillars and pull away from Finn, not wanting him to be tainted by association with me. He pulls me close, and Roarke jogs over to join us, closely followed by Kieran, Bastian, and Lance. All of them have troubled expressions on their faces—and they're not the only ones.

"It's gotten worse," Roarke says in a low voice, motioning to a crack nearly as wide as my hand that stretches at the edge of our feet as we walk further into the circle. "The patrol I had out here this morning measured, and none of the cracks were wider than two inches. Some are as wide as six inches now."

I'm barely able to swallow the lump in my throat before speaking. "If it's this bad now, how bad will it be tonight when the moon rises?"

He grimaces. "I don't know, but we can't exactly move the Summit up. The pack flame is only strong enough to connect a new alpha at the exact moment the moonlight shines directly on the stones from the right angle. There's no option but to wait until tonight and hope that the Mating Circle is still intact then."

Glancing around at the pack members around us, who seem to be feeling either despair, anguish, resignation, or suspicion, most of it pointed at me, I can't agree with Roarke. Something has to be done about thisnow.I just don't know what that something is.

Bastian speaks up hesitantly. "Is there any way to heal the cracks before then?"

"I don't know," I confess, glancing around and finding no answers in the familiar faces around me. Niall has joined our loose group, and he also shakes his head. "If there is a way, it's the Summit tonight, and the five mating ceremonies. At least according to Vivia. But at this rate, I don't know if we'll make it that long."

"That's not the only bad news. The pack flame is weakening," Kieran says, his voice low. "I spoke to Ian, the warrior who was here before anyone else arrived. He was trying to heat up the tattoo ink for the children before they arrive, and he said the flame was barely even orange, it was so cold."

A stricken panic climbs my chest. This is the day of the Summit, mere hours before the sun sets and the festivities begin, prior to the induction of a new alpha. The pack will expect to have any children of theirs who are ready tattooed with their pack runes before they send them off to bed. If we're not able to do that because the pack flame is cold,andthe Mating Circle is crumbling at everyone's feet, I'm not sure they'll even listen long enough to hear our proposal of co-alphas. They'll start looking for an alpha John deLance instead, to save at least a few of them, even if the others aren't welcome anymore.

"Let me look into it," I tell Kieran. "Maybe if I summon the flame, it'll respond."

As I take a step forward, though, Roarke grabs my arm. Stopping, I shoot him a questioning look. He leans towards me and murmurs, "Just... be careful. Don't make too much of a show of it. If the flame is too dead to respond, I don't want the pack to think that's your fault."

"I can do it." I raise my chin, confidence thrumming in my chest. "Iwillmake a show of it, and let everyone see, because I know that it's going to work.”

Roarke eyes me for a long moment, then nods sharply. "Up and at 'em, then."

As I pass Kieran he says, "I'd wish you luck, but you don't need it."

"Wish it anyway."

He grins. "Good luck."

The pack flame is set in the center of the Mating Circle, up on a platform with four steps carved into it. It's shaped like a torch, but many times larger. When the pack is healthy, the alpha can call the flame and it burns nearly as high as the pillars. Warriors can call it with a bit of blood, to use its heat for ceremonies, but only the alpha can call the flame with a single motion.

And me. I can call the flame. I proved that to myself, and the pack, the last time I tried it. But as I approach the platform, nimbly stepping over cracks in the ancient stones beneath my feet, a little worm of doubt wiggles through my chest.

What if I put my hand out and nothing happens? It would be humiliating. And risky—if the pack sees me fail, they'll lose confidence in me. Roarke is right about that much.

But if I don't try, then I don't deserve to become a leader. The pack is about more than just me and my place in it. There are countless people who are counting on me to lift the curse so they can finally live full, healthy lives, mated and free of fear. I have to risk it for them. Whether they're willing to acknowledge it or not, I'm their last hope.

Barry, one of the warriors, is leaned up against the far side of the platform. He nods to me as I approach and steps away, making room. I feel his eyes on me as I walk up the steps. "The flame won't light. It's dead and cold."

"That's what I'm here for."

I can see the skepticism in his eyes. I can't blame him; after watching the curse take so many females for so many years, he must be resigned to things the way they are.

As I step up to the torch, he clears his throat. "Take this, then. Maybe you can get it to work if the flame lights up for you."

He hops up the steps and hands over a thick, short black stick wrapped in paper, with one end ripped open and exposed. It's a compressed tattoo ink bar, made with our own recipe. Once warmed by the magic of the pack flame, the bar's heated end simply has to be pressed to flesh, and it leaves the pack's runic tattoo behind. No needles required—though it sure as hell hurts as much as one, at least based on my childhood memories.

"Thanks." Glancing at my own faded tattoo, which would've been re-inked at my mating ceremony, I tell him, "Guess I'll go first, before all the kids."

"Guess so. Better hurry it up, though." Leaping off the platform, Barry thumbs over his shoulder towards the gathering crowd, which is milling into the Mating Circle and cautiously stepping over the cracks. "The kids are starting to arrive."

They are. I can spot their small, slim figures in among the adults, most of them no older than six or seven. A few are eager or curious, running around to touch things, or kneeling by the cracks to shove their fingers inside. Tired parents watch over them, and in some places, pack members take over to give the moms and dads a break. When you're a part of a pack, you never truly have to go it alone.

As the thought occurs to me, I face off with the empty torch, ink bar held tightly in my left hand. My eyes stray over it, and I find myself looking into Lance's clear, collected face. He jerks his chin towards the torch a little, mouthingdo it.Beside him, Finn is watching with an encouraging smile, while Bastian stands a little off to the side, fidgeting nervously with his shirt. Kieran and Roarke pace over to him, gathering him in, and I feel all their eyes on me.

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