Page 3 of Moonlight and Mischief
I finally resign myself to checking on my grandmother before dinner. The door jingles as I step into the stone structure Sable has lived in for decades. Hercottage sits just north of Cedar’s garden, making harvesting herbs and medicinal plants convenient.
Grandmother hovers over the dining table, bundles of herbs spread around her hands as she sorts and stacks leaves of lemon balm. Her rolling pin thuds on the table, startling me. With gusto, she flattens the spikey leaves before tying twine around them and setting each in the pile. Lemon balm is good for insomnia, something that often bothers shifters with all of our wolf energy.
“Good afternoon!” I chime, slipping my sandals off and plopping onto the floral couch serving as my bed. The card table I use as my nightstand has been overrun by tiny bottles of pink liquid - rowanberry concentrate. It’s not toxic like wolfsbane, but the bitter juice incapacitates our magic for a few hours and is helpful during a crisis. Superstition says rowan wood blocks enchantment, and I’ve always wondered if the berry’s effect on our physiology may have played a role in that mythology. As fascinating as the compound is, I would prefer it if my space wasn’t covered in individual doses of it.
“Hello, dear,” my grandmother murmurs absently.
I draw a calming breath. “Grandmother, can I move these bottles somewhere for you?”
“Why would you do that?” She doesn’t even look up.
“I’m trying to keep my area tidy.”
“That’s not necessary.” Her eyes are stormy when she glances back at me. “Indigo will move them tomorrow when he finishes the task. You know better.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
Her silver braid undulates like a snake as she shakes her head. “I’d think you’d understand by now - healing others comes first. Before personal space.” She exaggerates those last two words, repeating phrases I’ve said in previous arguments.
I flinch, but she’s only prioritizing her work over our comfort. It’s understandable. Shame weighs me down, causing my shoulders to round.
“I’m sorry.” My chest aches with resentment, but I won’t upset her, not when everyone relies on her constantly. More than a few times, I’ve been woken by an injured packmate stumbling in at three in the morning.
Her frustration is clear in the way her fingers crawl across her plants. Sable is an incredible healer, but her compassion and gentleness seem reserved for her patients only. Her sharp words cut me.
I don’t need personal space. I have a warm bed and a roof. The mantra repeats in my head as I change my shirt and wash up to my elbows. We don’t get sick often, but I have no interest in being covered with children’s fingerprints and whatever dirt or germs they carry on them.
My grandma forgot me in my two minutes at the sink, her face serene as she stacks the herb bundles into woven baskets. I should offer to help her or something useful, but it’s easier to slip out the back door and enjoythe peaceful lull of the forest for an hour or so before dinner.
JASPER
My cabin is all knotty pine and classic plaids. It might be small and several decades out of date, but compared to the cold concrete houses of my birth pack, it’s a haven. It’s one of the older structures in the pack’s community, serving as a guest cabin when needed.
I’m welcome to stay here as long as I need, but eventually, I’ll get my own place. I’ve considered finding a roommate or maybe buying a trailer like some single wolves in our pack have done, but nothing seems like the right fit.
The front door squeaks as I push it open. I’ve learned no one locks their doors here. There’s a sense of mutual trust and safety that feels like I’ve won the lottery.
I shed the remainder of my clothing and step into a steaming shower. The hot water eases the soreness in my muscles and the pain from my fresh bruises. For a few minutes, I tip my head back and let the water sluice down my body, feeling utterly content.
Scrubbed clean, I pull on black sweats and a fresh t-shirt before heading out. But as my hand lands on the doorknob, a knock echoes from the other side. Swinging the door open, I’m greeted by my mentor.
Hawthorne is the pack’s Gamma, a mediator and ambassador, as well as our Alpha Heath’s cousin. With his tall frame and dark hair, he’s imposing, whichserves him well in negotiations. When I first joined the pack, he questioned me about my father, and that became an ongoing discussion until I was helping him with gathering information on other packs as well. I'm endlessly grateful that Hawthorne took me under his wing.
Among our pack, he’s patient and supportive. Watching him with his two daughters makes my chest ache. My father mostly ignored me during my childhood. So Hawthorne has become my role model for when I have my own family.
“Hey, what’s up?” I dip my head in respect and hold the door open.
He waves his hand, indicating he doesn’t need to come in. “I wanted to stop by and tell you the news. It looks like the Alpha Counsel is going to happen.”
I want to pump my fist in the air and holler “Yes!” but I restrain myself. The Alpha Counsel is our most recent project. It used to be an annual meeting between all the local Alphas, but it hasn’t happened in many years. Hawthorne feels that it’s the most effective way to begin repairing the relationships between our neighboring packs and I agree.
“That’s awesome,” I say, unable to stop my giddy smile.
“They still haven’t agreed to a location, but your dad finally confirmed, so that makes four of the five Alphas.”
“Still no Nyx?” I ask, frowning. The sole leader of the Raven pack avoids gatherings when she can help it.I’ve never met her, but it still seems strange she would refuse to meet with all the other Alphas.
“We can’t win them all.” He quirks his mouth. “And Ironcrest wants to meet with us tomorrow. So that should be interesting.”
