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“There are other little nuances,” he continued, oblivious to how her thoughts had wandered. “Interactions you wouldn’t understand outside of our culture. Like, for instance, that deer you found on the porch the other day.”
Loren stiffened. Apparently, the grisly carcass hadn’t been left by a hunter after all. “They put that there?”
“They did,” McGoven admitted. “But it’s more complicated than that. Keep in mind that we don’t kill for sport. Never. Only to feed. To leave a carcass like that is a warning. One of the most severe our kind know how to issue. Think of it as the equivalent of spitting in someone’s face and rubbing their nose in it.”
All in all, far more serious than he’d led her to believe.
“Why did you lie?” Her voice sounded calm enough but the anger she felt caught her off guard. He lied. He didn’t trust her.
“I didn’t want to worry you.” From his tone, she couldn’t discern any deception, but he was no longer looking her way. Instead, he once again inspected the horizon. “But it was wrong to lie to you. If I want you to trust me, then it must go both ways. I shouldn’t hide anything from you. Starting with the truth of the full extent of the danger you’re really in.”
Loren swallowed. If she weren’t mistaken, those words sounded like an invitation. One she’d be a fool to turn down.
“So, tell me the truth. What did those men really want?”
He sighed in defeat. “They asked about who your father might be. I don’t know what Lukka told them, but they seem to think I… That you’re here against your will. Finding your real father would go far in discovering how you grew up the way you did, though. Where you belong. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you present an aggravating puzzle. Nothing about you makes sense. Nothing.”
Loren marveled at the characterization. She was used to feeling like a burden. But a puzzle?
She flexed her bare toes against the tile floor and awkwardly fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. McGoven had retreated inside himself, dwelling on whatever mystery he thought she presented. Unlike last night, she couldn’t sense any emotion directly. Navigating this conversation felt very much like flying blind.
But getting the man to talk at all was such a rare occasion she didn’t dare waste it. Clearing her throat, she tried a neutral question. “So, what now? Will they come back?”
He nodded. “They will. Not that I plan on us sticking around to greet them.”
Because he still intended to fight for his freedom. Then what? He hadn’t been exactly clear on that part. For whatever reason, that was a question she wasn’t eager to ask.
Instead, she fixated on another aspect of what he’d revealed.
“You said you hunt. Do you mean you…”
“It’s not a violent act,” he said plainly. “Get the grisly images from horror movies out of your head. We are far more humane than human hunters with their guns. It is one of the most sacred acts a lycan partakes in. It might seem savage to you, but to us…”
He sighed again, wistfully this time.
“It’s beautiful. Natural. I can’t even describe what it feels like. But the hunt… Such a tradition is what has allowed our kind to survive for so long. Few wars. No famines to decimate our numbers. We could subsist during the harshest times, and everyone could feed in harmony.”
It certainly sounded more wholesome than the cruelty she’d been exposed to in her short life outside of the pack and their laws. Hearing him describe even that small fraction of their customs made it sink in just how little she knew. About lycans. About him.
“You said you don’t need the moon to change,” she began, seizing upon his rare willingness to speak openly. “So then how? You said the Alpha calls it forward—”
“When we are children, around the ages of four and five—it differs depending on the pack and their traditions—we are gathered before the Alpha under a full moon right before that month’s hunt. Around us, the others shift. For some, it might be the first time they ever see their mothers, brothers, fathers, and sisters in lycan form. Then, one by one, the Alpha approaches each child and presses his snout to their chest. That alone is enough to waken the instinct in most cases. Keep in mind that it’s a bit more ceremonial than I’m making it seem.”
He laughed, but not even a heartbeat later, his customary frown returned. “Afterward, the children are encouraged to submit. They join the fold and partake in their first hunt that very night.”
“But you didn’t,” Loren said softly. “You resisted.”
“For three years,” he said thickly. “I’m sure you can imagine that made me a bit of an outcast in those days. I was well past the age of most when I finally accepted my Alpha and undertook the change. So believe that I, more than anyone, understand your struggle. It’s easy to interpret the things that make you different as a sign of weakness. Don’t.”
A new emotion colored his voice, softening the rich baritone. Fondness? Pain? There were moments when he referred to the pack with such disdain. Then times like this where he recounted those memories almost reverently.
“But I am different,” Loren said softly. “I can’t shift…” Her voice broke. Only as she uttered the confession did she realize how much it actually stung. “Naomi can, but I can’t, and I’m supposed to have inherited this. What does that mean?”
“It means that you are not Naomi,” McGoven replied. There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his expression. “You will shift when you’re ready. Sometimes being different isn’t a bad thing. If you were in the pack, some would shun you. Others would support you.”
“Like Sonia?”
He laughed. “Like Sonia. Though the most important thing to remember is that, at the end of the day, you can’t always rely on anyone else. There comes a moment, when the only person you can rely on is yourself.”
