Page 100 of All Saints Day
Not to mention, there was the matter of our pack and its future; of any children that Louise might bear. Would they potentially carry on her omicron lineage?
Any others who might eventually come by the designation after treatment for the Windmill strain of the Zeitnot virus would be similarly afflicted.
Though it had been keenly avoided in polite conversations between us, the Attorney General, and the new head of theDepartment of Reproduction; Neither Louise nor I were so naïve as to think that the military would simply overlook the possibility of a unit of all omicron soldiers.
While Louise had been definitive in her refusal to become a weapon wielded by the United States government—and the current administration along with the rest of the federal institution respected her wishes for the time being—there was no guarantee that these terms would not change with the passing of time and politicians.
After so much unbelievable change in the past year, it was hard to believe that once we stepped through airport security and into the business class airline lounge—we were truly on our way to a mostly private life out of the public eye.
One where we did not have to live on the run.
In secret, we had begun to explore the extent and the nature of Louise's powers.
Though none of us wanted to skew toward paranoia, the consensus was that we would find somewhere remote to put down our roots—to figure out what life as a pack looks like for us, and to keep discovering each next step from there.
Looking at her now, curled against my body in the narrow double seat on the airplane, it's hard to believe she's the same as that glowing, effulgent creature that tore apart the Alaska facility, leaving bodies and wreckage in her wake at the flick of a wrist.
With her gentle snores, and the little diamond birthmark like a tear high on her right cheekbone—as if she could bejustLouise still.
Even if I know better.
I can feel the humming excitement on the other end of the mating bond as Caz and the others anticipate our arrival, and where our journey will ultimately take us now that we are no longer captive to the whims of the criminal underworld, the Feds, or the Zeitnot virus.
I feel Frank, still tentative, still laced with shame and guilt as he carries the deeds of Rook—of Frank Stone alongwith him.
Even though he's been bitten into our pack, he'll likely always carry the weight of his sins with him.
Reaching along the bond, I find him—my very being reaching out to hold that piece of Francis Castle close to my metaphorical heart and feel his tension ease slightly.
Ourflight destination may be Liberty City, but our reservation at the Liberty Club suite at the Plaza Hotel only carries another few days until the end of the week. After that, we’ll be free to go anywhere.
Freedom. What does that even mean? Even now, I'd like to sit and keep watch over her for the rest of the flight. Alas, the sounds of her gentle breathing and the feel of her heartbeat against my own chest, call me into the land of slumber along with her.
In the dream I stumble down the paths of desire to a beautiful craftsman house in the woods, with Frank in the garden out back working the ground with his calloused hands; coaxing tomatoes, cucumbers, peas, and fluffy heads of lacinato kale from the dirt as if it were magic.
Inside, Sébastien makes dinner in copper pots adorned with brass handles shaped like acorns, and the whole kitchen smells of rosemary and peppermint beneath the sweet woody notes of oud and spicy ginger.
I cross the hand-painted tiles Caz laboured over—bright paisley patterns to catch the light of the sun in the summer, to remind us of warmth through the snowy winters—on ground stained feet to feed her strawberries from Frank’s garden before all of us collapse onto the sofa with Caz and his sketchbook to watch the cat and the dog sleep on the hearth.
Louise’s crimson hair smells lovely, like all our scents combined into one as it hangs over my sweaty face as we move together in the dark—her hips rolling like the ocean, holding fast to one another in the sea of cotton sheets.
The craftsman becomes a chateau in the south of France, then a farmhouse in a cornfield, a splendid old Victorian,a classic colonial, an Oceanside estate, before settling back on the craftsman cottage. Though the surroundings may change—one thing always remains the same.
My pack is what makes each one safe.
Our love is what makes each house a home.
I know before I wake—that wherever we end up, wherever we roam—together is where we are meant to be.
Chapter 38
Frank
I’m on the ocean—the air crisp, the water glittering in the evening sunset, the sound of the surf and seabirds all around me.
I’m not just anywhere; I’m at the Penny’s summer cottage, sitting out on the large crag of rock that juts into the glimmering, dark water.
Without looking, I know that he’s beside me—knees tucked up toward his chest, arms folded over the top, his chin balanced on his forearm—as he gazes out over the waves.
