Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Lily

It was, by far, the worst birthday Lily had ever endured.

She tore through the gardens, sprinting on wobbly legs, desperate to put as much distance between herself and her heartbreak as possible. She had loved and loathed Atticus, but she had never thought him capable of such cruelty.

The bond was gone. In its wake lay only ruin.

She rounded the edge of the gardens, and it was a straight run to the training fields. Her chest ached with budding sobs, but her lungs were too busy pushing air to her pounding muscles to allow any to break free. As long as she kept moving, she was safe. But she didn’t know where to go.

Atticus would surely allow her to leave after his rejection. It could not be clearer that he did not want her, that he did not want her soiling his beloved pack. She thought the words with venom, and spat viscously at the ground.

She slowed, her chest sawing up and down so fast that her breath hardly touched her lungs before being expelled. She did not wish to leave her dad, but…

But the shame of her rejection would stain them both. The Alpha had marked her as unwanted, and such a statement would reflect poorly on her father just as much as it would her. As Lily reached the edge of the training fields she came to an unsteady halt, her legs trembling beneath her.

Her heart had been ripped from her chest. The bloodied tatters of her ribs and organs lay bared for all to see, for all to mock. She was useless not only as a warrior, but as a woman. He – he had rejected her. Her throat closed around a raw sob, and she fell to her knees. They scraped through the dirt and the stones, but she did not feel the graze. All she could feel was the empty hole where her heart had once been.

Laughter thundered across the training field. Lily sniffed hard and wiped her eyes before daring to glance up.

The whole pack – or at least it looked like it – were stalking across the grounds, some shoving each other playfully, others walking in smart, neat lines with determination etched into every line of their faces. Lily stood, the echo of her heartbeat ringing in her ears. In her pain she had forgotten the time.

The Blood Moon pack met every morning to train. Though Lily did not join them at their monthly battles, she was unable to avoid training as a Warrior Wolf. She would be expected to participate this morning, too – unless she ran.

She could not face the sneers and snide remarks. She could not face Atticus, muscles flexing and golden skin gleaming with sweat. Something swelled in that hole where her heart had once rested, the ghost of the bond remembering what could have been.

Lily decided that she hated that feeling. She sniffed once more, brushed the dirt from her knees, and nodded to herself. The garnet on her finger glittered in the morning sun.

She knew what she had to do.

* * *

The first part of her plan relied heavily on Rose. Specifically, it relied on Rose not being in the mood to get up for training this morning. Lily thought her odds were pretty good.

The Warrior Wolves all lived in cabins, which ran along the border of the pack’s territory. They were the first line of defence should the borders be breached, surrounding the pack house, medic’s cabin, council rooms, and pack school, which all sat at the centre of the grounds. Lily had always thought this did little more than serve to remind them just how expendable they were, while the Alpha, Beta, and Gamma resided in the safest part of the pack lands.

Though she could still hear Atticus’s words, could still feel the acute pain of her heart being torn from her chest, she managed to shove the cavernous, gaping hole to the back of her mind. She would not allow his rejection to overcome her – not until she was far, far away from the Blood Moon pack, and all of Atticus’s loyal wolves. Wolves who would tear her apart for merely daring to be his mate, no matter the fact that she had no choice in it.

By edging along the ornate gardens, Lily made her way alongside the training fields, remaining under the cover of trees and shade, until the gardens tapered off into lawns and shrubbery. She swore under her breath as the sun touched her cheeks, and she stepped back, hovering in the safety of the covered ground.

Rose’s cabin lay at the far end of the training fields. Lily stared across the expanse: to the left were most of the wolves, warming up with press ups, crunches, and stretches; slightly closer lay a series of hurdles, ladders, climbing walls, and weapons, which would partially block her from view as she ran; straight ahead was the curved edge of the running track, which encircled everything else. She could not see Atticus or her father amongst the other wolves, but both would undoubtedly be there soon if they were not already.

This was good, she thought. If she could keep busy, the pain would not overwhelm her. She kept her eyes to the left, making sure that everyone was occupied. And then she ran.

She sprinted until her lungs ached and her muscles throbbed. The sunlight burned her eyes, and she squinted against the tears streaming down her cheeks. She told herself that they were a mere consequence of the bright daylight, but in that gaping wound in her chest she knew it was something more.

The sight of Rose’s familiar cabin almost choked her with relief. She launched herself over the low wooden fence before collapsing into the soil, landing atop freshly planted runner beans and artichoke.

She scrambled to her knees and bowed her head, her middle broken by sobs. She scrabbled with claw-like hands at her top, pulling the fabric taut before pounding clenched fists into the loose dirt. Rose’s cabin meant safety – which in turn meant a release of everything Lily had been holding in.

“You know,” teased a gentle, feminine voice, “you’ll uproot the runners if you keep scrabbling about like that.”

Lily looked up through bleary, unseeing eyes. Rose was smiling softly down at her, her brown skin glowing in the dappled, buttery sunlight, her dark eyes worried. Her textured hair was caught by the sun, and glowed around her head like a halo. She was backed by proud oak and hawthorn trees, which arched above her family’s small cabin, casting it into shadow.

The cabin itself was bordered by a small, well-kept flower patch, dotted with bright yellows and whites, and softer hues of purple and blue. Ivy climbed up the wooden walls, and the windows were framed with heavy baskets of flowers, too. Rose had been named for her mother’s favourite flower, of which there were many to the front of the small house. Her name had been the match that lit their friendship – such similar, floral names they shared – though they had little in common other than that.

Lily pulled her sleeve down over her muddy hand and wiped her face with it. Rose wrinkled her nose, but patted Lily’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Good birthday so far, then?” Rose asked, not unkindly.

“Brilliant,” Lily snorted, pulling herself to her feet and brushing the crumbling dirt from her clothes. She opened her mouth to say more, but the words she needed evaded her. She had no idea where to start, or how to ask for what she so dearly needed from her friend.

Rose slung an arm around her waist, though she cringed away from the filth and sweat coating Lily’s body. As she towed her towards the cabin, she asked, “So – are you going to tell me why you’ve taken a sudden, keen interest in our vegetable patch?”

Lily snorted again, with more humour this time. “I – I found my mate. This morning.” The words soured her, and her shoulders sagged.

Rose elbowed open the back door before turning to appraise her with one sleek eyebrow raised. “You aren’t happy about that?”

“I was,” she admitted quietly, ashamed of the love she had felt when she had seen Atticus sat in the garden, eyes closed, golden skin limned with joy and – and equal love for her. The image blurred before she could stop it, becoming his expression when he opened his eyes and saw whom his mate truly was.

“But you aren’t now?” Rose gestured for Lily to follow her inside, and then busied herself by the stove, filling a small kettle with water and balancing it carefully on the hob.

Lily sat at the kitchen table, resting her head in her cupped hands. “I can hardly say it,” she whispered, eyes fixed on the single white rose kept in a thin, ornate vase in the very centre of the table. It had been given as a gift to Rose’s mother after her birth by an old pack witch, one who Lily had never known. She had offered her the flower as a blessing, along with the promise that it would never wilt. Nobody had believed her to begin with, Rose had told Lily many times, but the flower still bloomed today as it had almost eighteen years ago.

Rose slid a chipped mug of steaming tea towards her. Lily wrapped her hands around it, the heat stinging her palms. She did not look up, though she murmured her thanks before taking a great, gulping sip.

It soothed the ache in her chest, and at last she felt she had the strength to look up. Rose, to her credit, had sat quietly beside her, and was content to nurse her own tea until Lily was ready to talk.

“You’ll never guess who it was,” Lily said eventually, trying to inject some light and laughter into her tone. It came out flat even to her own ears, but it was better than the hoarse croak of her sobs.

Rose nudged her. “Tell me, then.”

Lily sighed, building her courage. “Alpha Atticus.”

“Stop,” Rose hissed, knocking her mug as she reached for Lily. She hardly noticed the spillage in her excitement. “No it was not.”

Lily sighed again. “It was.”

“Was?” Rose cocked her head.

“He…” Lily trailed off, unable to say it, unable to speak such a horrific, ugly truth.

Rose’s dark skin paled. “He didn’t – did he?”

It was all Lily could do to nod. Tears clustered in her eyes, and spilled freely down her sweaty, red-splotched cheeks. “He did,” she managed to rasp. “He rejected me.”

The hole in her chest opened wider, sucking her into the darkness it now held. She was yanked, screaming and struggling, into the abyss; Rose held her while she sobbed, mumbling a train of soothing nonsense into her ear. She re-lived the moment her heart had shattered, her brain pulling forth a play-by-play of every horrible moment.

A wolf was only afforded one mate. One perfect pairing, and, should the wolf be rejected, that was one’s chance at a happy match gone forever.

Lily’s heart was gone, and in its place remained only a chasm of eternal agony. She had felt love’s keen grip for only a moment, and now, she knew, she would never dare love again.