Page 25 of Eclipsed Legacy

His words send a chill up my spine and leave a cold stone in the pit of my stomach. I’ve already had my suspicions, but this…this is a foreboding confirmation that is too much for me to ignore. This time, I manage to pull off an unchanging outward appearance and speak calmly. “I don’t need to question my pack’s loyalty because we really are a family, not just by loyalty but by blood. We don’t rule through fear because it doesn’t work,” I say before standing and grabbing the top of the chair. “Which is why you’re not really loyal to your own alpha. You’re just a frightened set of pecs. When you’re ready to break, let me know.”

He lifts his chin defiantly and responds stiffly, “That’ll never happen— because I am loyal.”

I give a closed-mouthed smile. “Okay,” I say, not hiding the amused doubt in my voice. Watching him from my peripheral vision, I push the chair over to his feet, slightly worried he may attack me with his legs, but my bet pays off, and he doesn’t. “For your legs, I’m sure they’re tired.” I walk toward the stairs as he places his feet on the chair. “Have a good day, Dante.” As frustrating as this meeting was, I won. On the surface, our chatter barely touched the surface, but I have him.

I’m almost to the top of the stairs, but I stop when he replies, “And you, Tala.” How the fuck does he know my name? “I hope your suspicions of your family don’t follow you too closely. Perhaps you can test their loyalty as your shadow of mistrust falls on them.”

I force myself to walk steadily and continue up the stairs. Once at the top, I close the door and lock it. He read me all too well. I thought I had the advantage, but he read me the whole time. He said nothing until I tried to end the conversation. He was playing with me, gathering information by watching me, before shooting back with what he had learned. And I still don’t know anything.

That’s not true, I tell myself. I know he’s just as close to breaking as I am.

Chapter 10

After leaving Uncle Carl’s, I go where the road takes me. Straight to Grandma’s. My heart seems to stop as I pull onto her road. I don’t know if I’m ready for this, but the pack needs a leader, not a terrified little girl who hides from the scary parts of war. The fact of the matter is there could be something there that could help me figure out why that pack has targeted us.

When I pull into her driveway, I’m shocked to see part of the house still stands. The brick supports hold up the second story of the house. The portions of the house that were added later, the “new” kitchen and den, which were built in the 90s, and jut out with no floor atop them, are nearly gone. The yellow vinyl siding that remains on that part of the house is bubbled, warped, but most of it is gone, as are the wooden walls that had encompassed the kitchen, leaving a gaping hole. Parts of the wooden posts are blackened like charcoal and lay horizontally, obscuring my view into the kitchen. From what I can see, it doesn’t look like the kitchen I grew up making enchiladas in. The roof is collapsed there. Part of it appears to have been drug out of the way. The first responders likely had to dig to—

I swallow. She had been buried in her home.

I sit in my car and breathe, bracing myself as if I am waiting for an oncoming blow to the face. This kind of hit isn’t physical, but it hurts all the same. I fling open my car door and get out before I can think myself out of this. Part of the house almost resembles what I remember. Except for the ash. Somehow the porch still remains. I take the steps two at a time and move the police tape out of the way, careful to not remove it. I reach out, my hand shaking, and open the front door, which seems so fragile now. A layer of black covers everything in sight. The stairs to the second floor have collapsed. Windows are busted. Little remains of the walls that had been stained with blood when I was last here, a small grace. But this house seems too familiar, yet so foreign.

I catch a number of scents, and there are clear footprints and pathways made in the chaos. Of course, I’m not the first person here. The firefighters and other responders had to be here…to collect her body. But there’s another scent among the others, it’s faint, so faint I can’t place it, but it’s familiar, which is enough for Dante’s taunting warning to replay in my head. Perhaps, I should be worried about a traitor, but since the pack is quite literally my family, I can’t imagine who would do this. Who would actually kill the matriarch, the corner stone, of our family and traditions?

I continue through the house, careful of each step I take. I don’t have a clue how stable the house is, and I don’t want it to collapse on top of me too. I jump, my heart in my throat, as my phone starts blaring an ABBA song. It’s Mel.

“Hello?” I say, somewhat confused about her calling me now.

“Tala! Hey, you’re not going to believe this!” she sounds excited, almost giddy. “Aaron called!”

“Yeah?” I say, only half listening as I step, nearly climbing, over a fallen beam, not really sure where I am going or what I am looking for at this point.

“It’s not what I thought at all,” she continues through the phone. “He had gotten a phone call; it was an emergency. His grandfather was really sick; they thought his cancer was back, so he flew out to Vermont that night, but with all the chaos, he didn’t think to tell me until after he got settled, but there was no reception. Apparently, the area was really remote? But it seems…”

I walk toward the kitchen, though, I don’t enter. The scene isn’t gruesome or bloody like it was before, but it’s little more than wreckage. Aside from the box that slightly resembles the stove, nothing is recognizable. There’s no breakfast table; I can’t see the fridge among the rubble.

“…I don’t know, though. Isn’t it all too convenient? I mean, couldn’t he have called me when he was outside the hospital? I want to believe him so badly, but am I being naïve? Is he just telling me what I want to hear?”

Shit. I completely zoned out on her. Great job, Tala. “I don’t know, Mel…have you spoken to him in person? You’ll probably have a better idea of if he’s bullshitting you that way.”

“Y-yeah, he’s coming over, remember?”

“Oh, I must’ve missed that. Sorry!”

Mel’s voice grows concerned, “Tala, what are you doing? It’s not like you to ignore me.”

“I’m sorry, Mel. I’m—I just have to look into something.”

She sighs. “That’s really specific, Tala. Let me know when you’re done. I heard what happened last night, and I want to make sure you’re all right. I’ve got to go, anyway. Aaron is here, and Ricky said he would be coming over as soon as he’s done at Uncle Carl’s. Love you— bye.”

I try to respond, “I love you, t—” but she’s already hung up. What stands out the most to me is Ricky. Once again, Ricky is being odd, or in this case, not telling the truth. If he told Mel he would be there after he was done at Uncle Carl’s, he should be there already. He left well before I did, and I’m already at Grandma’s.

I have no choice. I’ll have question Ricky later. There’re too many inconsistencies in what he’s done: knowing how Grandma was killed, snapping the neck of the brown wolf before he could give me information, and now he’s lying to Mel.

I realize that at this point, continuing to look around the house is probably moot. The place is so scorched I won’t find anything. Still, even with my other responsibilities, I can’t bring myself to leave, not quite yet. I finally step into the kitchen and attempt to go around and over some of the debris. I move slowly. With parts of the roof in the building, I don’t want to risk slashing my leg open. I don’t know why in the hell Grandma chose to add a metal roofing rather than shingles on top of the kitchen last year. Just the kitchen.

I step onto part of the roofing, but despite wearing boots, I slip. I manage to grab the edge, stopping my descent, but I cut my palm in the process. The layers of ash on the soles of my shoes must’ve fucked up my traction. I haul myself over to a clearer part of the room, finally close to my destination.

I’ve never been into all that spiritual magic stuff that Grandma swore on. The closest I’ve ever been to spiritual is my wolf form. Being one with nature, hearing the call of the souls from the past— nope. But as I enter my grandmother’s craft and herb room, I swear I smell honeysuckles and feel the sun on my skin. The smoke damage is as evident here as it is in the dining room. The craft room is no longer a reflection of its occupant, beauty among chaos. It looks like corrupted memories, just like the rest of the house, but it feels the same. I close my eyes to test it. Maybe it’s nostalgia or grief, but I could swear the room is exactly as it was before. I open my eyes again, and there’s the same disconnect between what I see and what I feel.