Page 50 of The Sacred Wolf

Ayla waved at one of the remaining leather chairs. “Shall we all have a seat, then?”

Max nodded and everyone sat, even Kiana, although hers was more of a jiggling, impatient perch on the arm of the couch.

“The important thing to understand about the prophecy was not that those with the powers of Chann and Marrak would return, but that they would do so when they were needed, when a threat to our kind would arise that would require new strength.” Ayla began. “Leto focused on uniting the two of you, over giving you all the details. At least, where I can assume anything about the motives of the great Goddess.” She tucked her chin.

“But I’m still not clear on what I have to do with any of this,” Kiana said, her bottom lip pushing out.

“The powers are twinned, their purpose at odds. Both will be needed, to honor the Gods. The great foe is coming, with powers to fight. The descendants will perish unless we unite.” Monty intoned in a singsong, his body swaying.

“Say what?” Evan smirked, shaking his head. “Are we rapping now? Because I just kind of assumed that was off limits with every other fun thing—”

“Hush, you!” Ayla snapped. “You know nothing, pup, for all that you are a portent.”

Evan’s face fell and reddened. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Ayla, I hardly think—” Mateo began.

“That’s enough!” she retorted, and I jumped, sitting up straight. I’d never heard her raise her voice above a damned whisper and now she was nearly shouting. “Have you all forgotten your history?”

Her question practically echoed against the silence of our collective reply. Even Max looked abashed, his eyes wide, but his mouth clamped shut.

Ayla shook her head, pressing her palms to her thighs with a sigh. “Well then, let me remind you all. Prophecy states that a great foe, flanked by greed and hunger, will rise against the descendants of Chann and Marrak. In case you haven’t been paying attention, this includes all of us. And only through the balance of creation and destruction can we hope to defeat him and spare shifters and humans alike from his wrath.”

“From his wrath,” Jaspar parroted quietly, shivering, his eyes shut.

My skin crawled.

“Right,” Kiana broke in with a roll of her eyes. “As in Damien. We’re aware. And we nearly had him earlier today, if the so-called Promised One…” her eyes shifted to me, “…hadn’t interfered.”

An icy shudder washed over me, and it wasn’t because my sister had attempted, once again, to blame me for all the world’s ills. For the first time since Charlie had taught me the phrase, I understood what humans meant by “someone walking over my grave.” I wished I didn’t.

“Oh no, young one,” Ayla said, her voice returning to its usual softness. “The one you call Damien, though powerful from all you say, would barely be a servant to the coming foe.”

The silence deepened, the ticking of the old-fashioned grandfather clock in the corner resounding like the slamming of my heartbeat in my ears. Even Kiana shrank into herself, pensive and subdued.

“That’s why Leto implored you two to put aside your differences.” Ayla added, reaching for Kiana’s hand, and then mine, placing our hands together.

The memory of the last time Kiana and I had held hands filled my mind and I fought the prick of tears. It had been our tenth birthday, when our father had included a ceremony to honor our mother. He’d never done that before or since, claiming we shouldn’t have the “Joy of our birth overshadowed by loss,” but he’d wanted us to say goodbye once we were old enough to understand. The day had been a blur of formality and pomp that had meant little to me, except…

“Do you remember?” I murmured to my sister, staring at our hands before realizing that the words were forming.

“How could I forget?” she replied quietly.

Standing at our mother’s grave with wreaths of moonflower woven with tiny violet lupine blossoms, the wind whipped our blond braids from our shoulders.

The iridescent glisten of tears on our father’s cheeks… the only I’d ever seen him set free.

The thin frame of a male with sandy hair and a whisper of a smile standing close, hovering like a penumbra beneath our pain.

Hatred stirred beneath my skin like my wolf.

“If this threat is greater than Damien, sister,” I said firmly, “Then we must unite.” I squeezed her hand.

She said nothing, her jaw working as she digested the news. But she squeezed back.

It would have to do.

Chapter Twenty-Four

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