Page 196 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 4

Acry caught in Ivy’s throat, but she stopped it before it could come out.

There was something wet on her face. She lifted her hand and brushed it away—a tear. Many tears.

She’d been crying? Why had she been crying? And what was the feeling deep inside her, like something was missing?

‘Hey, Poison Ivy. Stop standing there like a toad on a log and dance. It’s a celebration. Come on.’

Stellan grabbed her and jerked her forward into the Dance circle, spinning her around and around. Laughing faces whirled by her as her brother danced her around the circle and back, their clapping and cheering rising in the air with the music and the snap and crackle of the bonfire at the centre of the circle.

What?

How had she got here?

Why were they dancing?

What was being celebrated?

A louder cheer rose and Stellan whipped her around, taking her off her feet before planting her back down again. Only his arms around her kept her from stumbling.

‘You okay?’

‘Y… yes.’

‘Sorry. I’ll be more careful.’ He looked contrite. Her brother contrite? And considerate? What the hell was going on? She looked down and saw she was wearing her favourite spring-green summer dress with the spaghetti straps, tight bodice and buttons up the front of the long, flowing skirt. It was the dress she usually wore to pack celebrations.

He turned her around and she saw the two pack mates in the centre of the circle, their arms wrapped around each other, kissing.

A mating ceremony. She was at a mating ceremony? Whose?

The couple pulled back from their kiss, laughing into each other’s faces.

Siobhan.

Her best friend’s hair was extra-big and freshly tipped, earrings that could have played the role of chandelier hanging from her ears. She had on a tight black dress ruched at the sides, her favourite yellow leather jacket with fringing and six-inch black ankle boots that made her long legs look even longer. When had she bought those? And why had she gone shopping without her bestie?

As Siobhan turned towards her, Ivy saw she had her going out make-up on—green eyeshadow, black lashes, cheeks highlighted by slashes of rose blush and lips vibrantly pink. Under all the make-up and fancy clothes, she vibrated happiness, such happiness it was almost hard to watch.

Ivy rubbed at the ache in her chest. An ache that had edges to it, a horrible thought sliding into her mind—I will never have that.

She pushed the thought away. She wasn’t jealous of her friend. She would never be jealous of another person’s happiness—but why did that happiness make her feel so horribly sad?

Siobhan’s new mate turned and howled into the night sky, revealing who it was.

Chloe. The apprentice to their Pack Librarian, she was six years their senior. The last Ivy had heard, Chloe was travelling through Europe and the British Isles talking to other packs and covens to gather data and see if they’d experienced the same slowing of births and increase in deaths that Pack McVale had been for the last thirty years.

Now she was apparently back here, wearing a beautiful white cheongsam with blossom print—a legacy of her mother’s heritage—her black hair cut into a straight bob and looking as blissfully happy as Siobhan.

They were mated? Why the hell couldn’t she remember Siobhan meeting the older female Were and mating to her? Surely that would have been something she would have had a front row ticket to?

She rubbed at her throbbing head. What had happened? Maybe she’d drunk too much of her father’s delicious 1975 Cab Sav? Although, this didn’t quite feel like that kind of headache.

Siobhan saw her and waved her forward. ‘Ivy. Come make your speech.’

Ivy froze. Speech? What speech?

‘Time for your best-friend speech, Poison Ivy,’ Stellan said, pushing her forward.

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