Page 44 of Fated Exile

And exiled.

I'm going to be one of them, and that means so much.

Holding up the ink bar, I look up into the crowd. "It's time to get those runic tattoos stamped on the young ones! Who's up for it?"

I expect hesitation, but the children rush to the front of the pack. An older girl pushes aside a young boy, muttering, "Me first! I'm bigger."

"I want Delilah to tattoo me."

"No, me!"

Laughing, I motion for them to order themselves up. "There's time for everyone, don't worry." Then I look over to my right, and urge someone far taller than the children to move up and into the line. "Bastian, you too. Or aren't you going to be a member of the pack now?"

His eyes widen as he meets my gaze. Shock ripples through him, obvious on his face as well as through my senses. Taking a tentative step forward, he glances over towards the pack. "Are you sure?"

"If I say I am, then of course I am." I look out at the faces near me and ask, "Glass Pack, will you accept a new member? One of my future mates? Not many of you have met him, but he's loyal, brave, strong, and caring. And he's going to be one of the leaders who helps us in the time to come."

Wally clears his throat. "I saw him fight. He's pretty strong. And if you say he belongs with us, then he does."

"Clearly the elders agree."

"Any new face is welcome to me."

"What the alpha—or alphas, I guess—want is what happens."

Barry adds, "Just as long as some of our new members in the future are female. Not sure I can take this frat house atmosphere much longer. Warriors aren't meant to be male-only."

"No," I agree, "they're not."

Bastian sidles up next to the kids, and I step up to face him, promising the little girl in front that she'll be next. Taking his wrist in my hand, I turn it over and reveal the smooth skin. My heart squeezes a little at the reminder he's never had a pack to call his own, and has lost his whole family. I don't kid myself that we can replace that, but maybe we can help ease the pain, at least a little.

"Are you ready?"

He swallows, then nods. "I want to be a part of something. I want to belong."

"Then welcome to the Glass Pack."

I tilt the ink bar down towards his skin and press it firmly against his wrist. He twitches just a little at the warm touch, but doesn't make a single noise. After a long count of three, I pull it away. A neat, double-crescent runic tattoo sits in black lines against his brown skin, fresh and dark as a night sky.

Meeting his eyes, I promise Bastian, "This is a new beginning. A fresh start."

"Thank you." He dips his head and softly kisses my forehead, the gentle, chaste touch sending shivers down my spine. "I won't waste it."

As I turn towards the kids to do the rest of the tattooing, a wind kicks up around me, and I hear a grinding motion again. The spirits fade with the breath of the wind, and the statues slowly move into position. This time no one screams or runs away. We just get on with business, ready to make new members of our pack.

I pray we're ready for what's to come.

* * *

As the afternoon wears on to evening, the traditions of the Summit roll together. Roarke stands in the middle of the Mating Circle and declares his intention to become the alpha, which has been a given many times over, but has to be formally declared just before sunset. Niall takes out his totem and places it at Roarke's feet. Kieran follows, doing a teasing dance step at the last moment to pretend like he might not place it down. Michael Sea adds the third totem, the final of the three that are handed down at random through previous alphas.

Other, smaller totems must be given to him as well. The second part of the nomination ceremony is a call-and response. Long-standing members of the pack will call out questions for the nominated alpha, and bless them with a totem if they like the answer.

I watch the crowd mill and wait, a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. After a few moments, I give up on waiting and move to the edges of the circle, stepping just outside and onto the grass. The food and drink has been setup by various shop owners and cooks around town. I recognize the human couple who run the old Italian restaurant, as well as the older woman who took over the pancake place. They smile warmly and motion towards the plates as we make small talk about the weather, their pack protection tattoos small and subtle on their wrists.

Grabbing a few quick finger foods, I pile them on my plate then move down to the punch. I'm about to say hello to the person on the other side when I meet her eyes and find myself chortling aloud instead.

"Of course you came."

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