Page 33 of Fated Protector

I close my eyes, searching my brain for any remnants, any clues from that horrible nightmare. "Yes," I say, and as I say the syllables aloud, I know I'm right. This terrible thing, whatever it is, is happening tonight.

Jack leaps out of bed, pulling on his pants in a single movement. I dress just as quickly, and without a word, we lock the apartment and head to his family home.

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I wishI could say that the warm orange and red lights above the trees are just a typical sunrise over the Bayou, the sun peeking its head over the trees and swampland. But I can't. The glow flickers and changes, and smoke cuts through the colors, muting their brilliance. We’re too late.

I know when Jack sees the light of the fires because unfettered panic travels through our newly-formed bond. Asphalt becomes dirt as we ride, and the ground becomes too soft for his bike to handle. He parks it in a hideaway between trees, one that looks like it has been used many times before. He takes off running, and I follow him on shaky legs.

Within a quarter of a mile, I see it all, familiar though I’ve never been here. I see the old bridge with its creaky planks. I see the swampy water with its ever-watching alligators. And in the distance, I see what remains of the Rougarou village.

Utter despair slashes through the mate bond as Jack dashes toward his home, stumbling and tripping but always moving toward the chaos. Several groups of people sit outside the range of the fire, holding each other, crying, or simply watching in blank shock. Jack runs into the inferno, and I dash to the nearest person.

"What happened?" I shout over the roar of the flames.

"They tricked us," says the man, an older gentleman of around sixty. "The vampires. They came early, and they came with creatures. Golems, I think." He shakes his head. "They torched everything and attacked anyone they could find. It was all planned." His voice trails away, and he keeps shaking his head in shock.

I take off in the direction where Jack is disappeared, but the older man holds me back. "You're human," he says. "There’s nothing you can do to help him. You’ll only make it worse.”

He’s right. I don’t have the Rougarou healing. But I can help the people who have already escaped. I start checking over each person, one by one, beginning with the older man and organizing them into groups so they can quickly be reunited with their families. Only a few have extensive burns, while others have cuts and wounds that heal as I inspect them. They are lucky but aren’t the only ones in this village.

And then, I hear it, the anguished howl from my dream. It is a pained, sickening sound, the kind of sound I always imagined a banshee would make. It is more scream than shout, more wail than growl. It is the sound of a heart breaking.

Jack fights his way through the flames, and in his arm is a limp form. His body is twisted under the weight, but he continues moving forward, cradling whoever it is in his arms. As he nears, the others begin to murmur until someone lets out a mighty howl. Instantly, they all shift, legs elongating, teeth sharpening, claws growing. And one by one, they join the howl on the same discordant note.

And then I recognize what has happened; the man in Jack's arms is his father. I am witnessing the death of an Alpha. I am witnessing the death of a generation, a leader, and a way of life. Jack lays his father's body tenderly on the ground, straightening his limp legs, and folding his hands on his chest. He checks to make sure the eyes are closed, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

The crowd of Rougarous begin to whimper amongst themselves, and out of the fire comes another form carrying a smaller body. This time, it’s Will that emerges, and he's carrying their mother. However, she's alive. Her mate has not survived, but she is alive to bear witness, to bear the pain.

Will places his mother next to her mate's body. If I thought the wolves cry was heartbreaking, her consequent wail of grief is soul-rending. I take a step towards Jack, but as I do, his spine stiffens. His eyes begin to glow, not the gold that I've become accustomed to, but a deep red. Not the red of the Cauchemar, but a beautiful, powerful ruby color. He throws his head back and howls, shifting into his animal form as he does. He paces around what is left of his pack, encouraging them to howl out their pain.

When all the voices join in sorrow, he goes to his father and mother and rests his head next to the late Alpha’s. His unshifted mother has curled up next to her husband, prone with grief. Will completes the circle, curling up on the other side of his family. The Mate bond is fraught with agony, but then, one singular word flows through.Come.

And I do. I slowly walk towards my new family to share their grief and sorrow. As I walk, the other Rougarous bow their heads to me. I kneel, stroking Will on his bowed head. I go to Jack and run my hand down his long neck, sending love down the Mate bond.

But my place tonight is not with him. I kiss Oscar on the forehead, murmur goodbye, and take my place next to the heartbroken Hilda, taking her hand in mine. One generation’s queen comforting the other.

CHAPTER19

JACK

I am so tired of funerals.

Will and I spent the night gathering wood for the funeral pyres. Many members of my pack offered to help, but we told them to go to their families. This is the responsibility of their new Alpha and his second-in-command.

Most of the pack survived, but some did not, and those lives need to be mourned. I build a pyre for my father and others I didn't know as well. His own second-in-command, Charles, a hardy man the same age as Pa with a laugh that could shake the rafters, did not survive either. It feels fitting to say goodbye to them together since they were leaders together in life.

My mother is with a group of women from the pack in one of the cabins that wasn't completely destroyed in the fires. I hope she will survive the loss, but I've seen pack members wither away to nothing after their Mate dies.

I know I would.

Anna has taken her place with the survivors, offering comfort and aid where she can. Without her, I would already be planning how to rebuild, nursing our wounds hidden away in the Bayou. But I need to ensure the future is safe for the generations to come–thefamiliesto come, including my own.

And that means revenge. That means putting this all to rest once and for all.

No one says anything as we light the fires. We said our goodbyes in our own way. Now, we begin the mourning process. Some of us sit near the fire in our Rougarou form. Others remain unshifted. Everyone grieves differently. We hold vigil throughout the night, my mother, brother, and Mate standing with me at the head of my father's pyre, watching the fire burn to ashes. Then we all walk hand-in-hand toward the cabins, where we will rest before the next day’s bloodshed begins.

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