Moonlight Soul_A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance by K. R. Alexander

Author:K. R. Alexander [Alexander, K. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Six Wolves Press
Published: 2019-10-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 52

We do not merely carry the magic; we are the magic. We are a collective of remaining humans and magical beings and we must be our own allies, our own family, or this community will continue to fade.

Crying into fur, so failed, so broken, so lost, there could be no end to the falling.

Moon sighed and dew formed on the grass. Moon wept and frost formed on the grass. But Moon laughed and those drops born of sorrow fell to earth to grow the grass strong for spring.

Warm fur along every curve, a pack curled in close as bark on a tree, bunched in on each other, wrapped around legs, arms, head, body—through the longest night.

For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.

One wolf away, one in the mountains; a song echoing through blackness, endless eulogy for a father, a mother, a lost pack, now a brother. One who left the pack to keep singing in case of being heard and hunted, and walked alone through the black fog until it turned to stars and a silver moon just shy of full in a clear night, then sang and sobbed still while the mountains slept.

Moonlight reaches all. So for all time this knowing would be passed down among her kin, who to this day keep Moon’s light and find silvers who walk all paths, not only straight ahead.

Bring them balance, bring them love, bring them understanding, and we, the pack, would do what we must to succeed. How, then, could we have our enemies’ blood on our paws, end the day on a higher score, and still so spectacularly lose?

Stone circle, London on fire, ancient truce, Dieter underground, Abraham’s body, you, Cass, Yorkshire, the manor house, a city that I didn’t know, but now I’m sure it was Portland, a house on a street that I think was your sister’s house, then a lot of green … fells, fields, windswept or forested.

The red-eyed tree frog watched me from her leaf, waiting. Ask for help, know the right questions, fight back. I opened my mouth to speak, and only sobbed harder. Even knowing the right question was too much anymore. Who would be next? How far could the fall go? How long was it worth each next step? Only questions like these came so I wept and did not ask.

You crazy kid. History is repeating itself.

Nana whisked a batch of flax pancakes for Saturday brunch while sunlight blazed like fire through the red adobe window into her kitchen. I saw the cutting board, a whole fresh pineapple and knife, lying ready, asking me to do my part. I almost ran into the kitchen, so relieved for the clear, useful task, I could have hugged her.

‘How you go is up to you.’ So I asked how we would know the way to go, and they said, ‘Turn around.’ And they circled and circled.

We sat down to eat with her pancakes and hot spinach salad with pine nuts, and my fruit salad with pineapple and shredded coconut and pecans.

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