Page 24 of Eclipsed Legacy

After the ambush in the woods, the pack brought Dante back to the house. Uncle Carl was still meeting with the turned members of the pack, as well as the teenage wolves, Michael, Juliet, and Ryan. He was serving them cocoa, cocoa of all things, when we entered, crashing their would-be comfort session with a kidnapped killer in tow. Despite everything the other pack has put us through, I couldn’t help but object to taking a prisoner in for “questioning,” especially with the kids present. . They still have their innocence.

“Ready to make that bastard pay?” Ricky asked. He seemed almost gleeful. I had to pause. “What?” he asked. “Don’t you want to know why they’re here? Why they killed our grandmother? Don’t tell me that you don’t have the stomach for this.”

I stared at Ricky for what seemed like an eternity, but I know it was only a few seconds. “How could you say that? You know I want to avenge her. God!” I rubbed my forehead. “I’ve felt ready to kill, Ricky. Everyone knows, I’ve come damn close to killing people before. But I’ve never actually killed someone. I’ve never knocked someone out, kidnapped them, and tied them up in a basement to torture them for information. There have been times, especially during the last few days, where I felt like I could rip someone’s throat out with my bare hands, but when it comes down to it, I have to question whether or not all of this is justified. Who are we? Really? Are we killers who murder and torture for revenge? Defending ourselves when another pack attacks us is one thing, but this—” I put my hands up, unable to continue.

Seeing his nephews drag a bloody man downstairs as he fought, kicking and biting, Uncle Carl quickly corralled the curious teens into another room. Meanwhile, Ricky sneered at me. “Seriously? Do ya’ think that because they die as wolves, that we aren’t killing them? They’re dead either way, sweetheart. The sooner ya’ realize that, the better. This is to protect our own. Ya’ can get on board, or ya’ can stay up here, but it’s happenin’ whether you want it to or not. I thought you of all people would be able to handle this. I’ll take as a mom’nt of weakness, but this is war, and war is dirty. We need a leader. The boys’ll handle this, while you figure yerself out.” Before I could reply, he turned on his heel and followed the others to the basement.

Now, it’s nearly 8:00 in the morning. Thursday morning. Had Grandma not died, I’d be clocking, or clucking, in at Mason’s tonight. “The boys” have been downstairs for about a half an hour. The teens are home— their parents, including my mom, took them home a few minutes ago. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in days. My grandmother is dead, murdered. The home that embodied love and safety and every positive childhood memory has been burned to the ground, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot distract myself from what’s in front of me. She’s dead. She’s dead. They killed her. They tried to kill us. They could’ve killed my fourteen-year-old brother, and I don’t have the stomach to get the information we need to protect the rest of the pack, the family. They could attack again next week, tomorrow, today.

I continue to pace back and forth in front of the door to the basement as screams carry throughout the house. My eyes find those of Aunt Angie, who gives me a pointed and worried glance before leaving the house with her briefcase. She clearly doesn’t approve. I hear Ricky yell something, then Dante cries out. This seems so drastic, wrong, but maybe Ricky is right. This is war.

It’s another half an hour before Ricky, Ashton, and Austin emerge from the basement. When Ricky comes out, his hands are clenched and spotted with blood. All three are sweaty. The twins’ long, straight hair sticks to their necks. Ashton and Austin nod to me before heading for the door.

Ricky tries to walk past, too, but I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. “Ricky?” I ask.

He bites the inside of his check before replying, “We beat ‘im. We beat ‘im good, too.” Ricky licks his lips and looks away from me. “But he wouldn’t tell us nothin’, just that he knows nothin’ and was followin’ orders to attack wolves in our area. Maybe you can jog his memory. I doubt a second knows nothin’. I need to get out of here, though.”

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I don’t think you are completely right either. We do need to protect our family, and we do need to stop them. We all are pissed and hurting, which is why if we don’t occasionally stop and question what we’re doing, we risk losing ourselves in all of the chaos, and death is becoming too normal. It shouldn’t be normal, Ricky.” I can’t help but think about the brown wolf. Maybe he really was just trying to protect me. My paranoia has been far more present recently.

He just nods.

I give his shoulder a squeeze. “Get some rest.”

Again, he nods before leaving the house.

Ricky may need to think to avoid losing himself, but I do need to adjust and realize these are not normal circumstances. I can’t allow a moment of doubt to turn into weakness. If I do, if I create a weak spot for them to attack, I risk losing someone else— everyone else— that I love.

I muster up all of the confidence and composure that I can and open the basement door. I expect the stairs to creak, but they don’t. This is Uncle Carl’s custom-built house, after all. The basement has four switches, all but one are off, so the room is poorly lit, except for the work lamp Uncle Carl uses for construction on his jobs, often for drying paint. One of those lights shines directly on Dante, who is strung up by his arms to metal poles on the ceiling by a combination of ropes and chains. His shirt is off, revealing a well-toned and tanned chest. He’s wearing an old pair of what I assume are Ray’s jeans. His head hangs loosely down. At first, I am uncertain if he is even conscious, but he lifts his face to look at me, revealing startling blue eyes that contrast with his darker skin, which is marred with dozens of tiny cuts. His five o’clock shadow does little to hide the bruises on his face. Luckily, I doubt he sees me or my shocked expression well with the light in his eyes and my being behind it.

“What are you, the good cop? Here to show sympathy and wash my wounds and tell me how much pain your pack has had?”

I snort before walking over and turning off the construction lamp. “Think again,” I say, pulling over a wooden chair from beside the stairs. I set it about eight feet in front of him and sit down. “I’m the alpha,” I say, only half lying. I just hope I can get something out of him. I’m not a monster, but I’m not some soft little butterfly or honey-do sweetheart that’ll nurse him back to health, even for information. I did think about that approach, but it’s not me. Clearly, Ricky’s strategy didn’t work. Beating the hell out of this guy and threatening him won’t do a damn thing. I have to be smart.

He flashes me a quick, amused smile. “My alpha would slap a woman for even speaking such blasphemy. Women can’t lead. Bitches are for breeding, he says.”

“You seem to be trying hard to make that distinction between what he says and what you…don’t?”

He narrows his bright eyes at me. “I follow all of my alpha’s creeds.”

“Do you? Did he tell to get captured by a woman’s pack, too? I doubt he expected that. He’s not a great planner, is he?”

The man stiffens and looks straight ahead without emotion. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Did I touch a nerve that quickly? This might be my chance, so I strike. I cross my legs and fold my hands together, placing them on my knees, before smiling politely with false modesty. “Well, please then, enlighten me? What was the grand plan here?” I allow the irony in my voice to drop to a darker tone. “Why did your alpha order you to slaughter my family?”

“Family?” he repeats loudly and doesn’t try to hide how entertained he is. “A pack is not a family; it’s an army.” That explains the short, military haircut. “You obey or you die, which is why we will win. You were the woman arguing earlier, weren’t you? It doesn’t sound like your pack respects you or fears the consequences of their disobedience.”

“That’s not how we do things here—” Before I can address his obvious deflection, he cuts me off.

“Which is why your old alpha is dead, and your pack is being led by an amateur.”

I feel my traitor face redden. He got me there, and from the gloating look on his face, he knows it. Damn my face! I try to sound amused when I respond. “I don’t need my pack to fear me. Respect and fear aren’t the same thing. Are you scared of your alpha, is that why you won’t talk? Scared to get an ass-whooping?”

“Of course; they’d kill me,” he says simply, almost prideful. “That’s how things are supposed to be,” he says, before adding a little quieter, “I’m probably dead already.”

“Why would they kill you if you don’t know enough to talk?”

He tenses, clenching his jaw, and stares daggers at me, and I know then that I’ve evened the score, but he also recovers quickly. “If you really want someone to talk, perhaps you should look into your pack! They have plenty to say!”