At least I know that the same fact is true for all of the packs gathered.
I greet the leaders I’ve developed friendships with over the years, as well as the ones who rub me the wrong way. No good can come of playing favorites. Just because this meeting is meant to be conflict-free doesn’t mean that we’re all best friends.
Still, we can be assured that there will be no physical fights during the meeting.
The magic over this location makes it impossible for us to change into wolf form. One step taken against fights breaking out. Alistar is in charge of circumventing all types of violence. And he is being paid handsomely for the duty.
Glancing around the room, I perform a head count. Fifteen packs have grown to twenty-one. I count forty wolves. With an alpha and a beta from each pack, we’re only waiting on one more pair.
Isolde Smith walks in.
I know of the woman, but today is the first time I’m seeing her in person. The new leader of the Denver pack. She has the largest number of wolves under her protection.
And when she steps into the room, I’m not surprised in the slightest.
Isolde exudes power. Her red hair is a shade darker than my Juliet’s, and the pack leader has it braided in a circlet around the top of her head. The style might make a gentler woman look like a milkmaid.
Isolde looks like a queen with a crown.
When the old Denver pack leader died, most everyone expected the mantle to pass on to one of the man’s six sons. Pack leadership is not a monarchy, but for some reason, the magic tends to keep things in the family.
But then Isolde stepped forward, imbued with the power to lead the Denver wolves. A relatively obscure woman who, until that time, had existed on the perimeter of the pack.
Not the only female pack leader, with seven others at this gathering.
But arguably the most powerful in our group based on sheer numbers.
With the last wolves accounted for, we all settle in. Leaders take seats; seconds stand behind their chairs.
I never liked making my mom stand for hours on end while I took a load off, but when I brought it up, she told me to stop making a fuss or other packs might think she needed a chair to sit in and that it would be an indication of our pack’s weakening strength.
Courtney’s response was, “Standing gives me a better view to judge people. Don’t take that from me!”
So, I let the tradition stand without comment.
Responsibility of directing the meeting rotates each year, alphabetically by the city or town the pack is based in. I directed last year, which means this year is being lead by the leader of the pack from Rosebud, New Mexico.
He calls the meeting to order, lays out the series of events that’ll take place as a reminder to the veterans and to educate the new pack leaders. In addition to Isolde, there’s one other pack that’s under new governance.
The first order of business is sharing important happenings within each pack. This starts to the Rosebud leader’s left, then continues around the table. Everything is going smoothly until it’s Denver’s turn.
Isolde relates the death of their past pack leader, five matings, and other general news about the wolves in Denver. Her voice is steady, and if anything, her presence seems to grow as she talks.
“That summarizes it all. The transfer of power, while unexpected, has gone smoothly. No major areas of contention to report.” She finishes and gestures for the next pack to go.
Up until this point, there hasn’t been any commentary after a leader’s report. But one of the Utah leaders stands from his chair and plants his fists on the table.
“Sure your pack doesn’t have any issues? Because I’ve heard you’ve fielded multiple Challenges.” His words are a taunt, as if he expects her to bristle and defend herself.
Instead of appearing intimidated or embarrassed, Isolde stares at the man expressionless, letting his words fade to uncomfortable silence. Then she speaks.
“Weaker wolves have Challenged me and lost. I left them with their lives and a new understanding of my power.” She blinks slowly. “Are you in need of a lesson?”
“Now, now,” Alistar chides, stepping from the shadows, where he was lurking. “While I do love watching a bloody showdown, you know the rules. No violence on the premises. Please sheathe your claws.” Even as the warlock circles the table with a placating smile, his eyes are hard and swirl with some mixture of color that is almost hypnotic.
Then, between one step and the next, he vanishes.
Alistar is an illusion warlock, first and foremost, so my guess is, he’s still in the room.
