Page 43 of Jayce

Designated volunteers have set up tents, tables, and chairs in the field we spar in.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, amber glow over the field. The park for the children comes alive with the boisterous energy of our young ones. The park’s location might seem odd, but our kids love coming out to watch and cheer us on when we practice.

Tables covered with a blend of borrowed linens showcase an eclectic fusion of culinary favorites, reflecting our natural Greek heritage mixed with the Cajun upbringing of our surrounding area.

At one end, platters piled high with golden-brown spanakopita and savory moussaka pay homage to our roots. The aroma of grilled souvlaki and tzatziki sauce wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of laughter and chatter.

Meanwhile, at the opposite end of the buffet line, cast-iron pots bubble with spicy jambalaya and fragrant gumbo. Steam rises from crock pots of red beans and rice. The earthy fragrance intermingles with the sweet scent of freshly baked cornbread.

Families gather beneath the sprawling branches of oak trees; their voices rise and fall with laughter and casual conversations. Children dart between tables. Their squeals echo off the nearby playground equipment.

My foot taps anxiously, waiting for everyone to fill their bellies and settle in before the call to action I’ve invited them here for.

As the evening progresses, speakers set up near the gazebo, filling the air with the spirited rhythms of zydeco music. Couples twirl on a last minute thrown together dance floor made from leftover plywood. Their movements are fluid and carefree, while others simply tap their feet to the infectious beat.

Our origins trace back to ancient Greece, but our deep engagement with the local culture over many decades significantly shapes our music and dance preferences.

Amidst this festive atmosphere, people sometimes forge new friendships and strengthen other bonds over good food and shared stories. Even in our tight-knit herd, cliques still emerge.

It’s been me, Anjal, Nikolaos, and Damian since we were toddlers. Our families are, of course, a part of our clique, which includes Anjal’s nephews Frank and Peter. More so now that they are adults.

I know our families will walk through hell for our mates. Will the herd?

I look over at Shay, laughing amidst my sisters. All of them except Elena who's not here. Shay protested when I mentioned meeting my large family. Her excuse—officially meeting my family is a privilege for my mate.

She rolls her eyes anytime I argue, saying she’s my mate. We haven’t had a conversation about why she’s certain I have another mate out there. I’m more determined to prove to her that there’s no one else for me than listen to her try proving otherwise.

My mitéra drops what she’s drinking and takes off running. I turn to see what’s exciting her.

Elena walking hand in hand with Jamie can only mean one thing—a new baby grows inside of my sister. It’s the only way Jamie can enter the labyrinth. My niece or nephew shares his blood, meaning he’s free to come and go as he pleases.

I catch my brother-in-law’s eyes and nod my congratulations. Elena’s swarmed. I’ll wait for the crowd to move away before pulling her in for a hug.

Once the excitement of Elena and Jamie’s news settles down, Anjal rests his arm on my shoulder. “It’s time brother.”

A hush fills the air as Emjay walks up to us. Damian wanted to escort her, but despite their mate bond, she resists him.

Even now, he stands off to the side, jaw clenched, and fists balled at his sides.

Shay hasn’t fully accepted me, but she hasn’t pushed me aside either. I can only imagine what he’s feeling.

Anjal and I offer her an arm. We warned Damian that we’d lead her to the center of everyone, but it didn’t stop him from chuffing in our direction.

Priscilla and Shay join us. Anjal and I discussed tag teaming with him, taking the lead.

“While it’s exciting news that my new brother-in-law and Elena are expecting. It’s not why we’ve gathered you here.

“This is Emjay. She’s been in hiding for more than thirty years. Hiding from an oppressive herd. So much so that she chose to abandon her daughters, hoping their father would never find them and force them into slavery like the rest of the heifers in the herd.”

“Thank you, Anjal,” Emjay interrupts.

We hadn’t expected her to jump in and take over. Hearing her story a second time isn’t any easier than the first. The rage evident in most eyes encourages me.

“We’ve asked you all here today to help us with a plan. We could wait for this herd to find us, or we could go to them. Meet them on our terms, instead of theirs,” I explain.

“Do you have any ideas?” my patér asks.

I bow my head. Patér rubs my shoulder. “There’s no shame in asking for help.”

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