Capítulo 4: Chapter Four
Lucas walks back through the woods as the rest of the pack community wakes.
The Ileana pack is settled deep in the woods of the state of North Dakota, settled on a private piece of land acres and acres and acres away from the nearest town, though the pack community is so large it could be a town in itself. The pack holds near nine hundred members, each with their own household established in row after row like a neighborhood right in the middle of the woods. Each house is different, some cream and yellow and peach, some tall and elegant, some small and cozy. Each has a variety of yards, some sparse and empty, others filled with flowering rose bushes and apple trees.
Some, pack members who have jobs in town, have already left, more to entertain themselves or contribute in some way to the pack's overall wellbeing. Others, mothers or those who have specific jobs at the pack, are slowly starting to emerge, sweeping porches or going in and out of the towering Pack House. It is still too early for most children to be out and about.
As Lucas passes (after shifting once more and dressing in jeans and a t-shirt stashed in a tree) pack members respectfully bow their heads, avoiding eye contact but smiling and waving when he acknowledges them with a nod. The pack is so large he knows only a few here and there by name or rank. Still, everyone knows the Alpha's son and Lucas moves with a sense of confidence and authority. He is always conscious of his facial expressions and body language, always mindful of how the other pack members see him. Even when he is exhausted and stressed, it is something no one beyond him can know.
"Luke!" Well, perhaps one person.
Lucas had made his way to the wrap-around porch of the Pack House, an elegant and intimating structure of southern architecture towering five stories tall with a sprawling porch decorated with rounded rocking-chairs, tall glass windows and crown molding along columns supporting the first floor. Towards the roof, balconies become frequent, black iron railings wrapped in green ivy and red rose blooms.
Waiting at the porch steps leans Jasper, grinning as he watches Lucas come closer. "Bad form, Luke" He says amused. Despite he early hour, his voice is chipper and filled with obnoxious energy. "To run from your responsibilities so."
Lucas scowls. No one calls him Luke except for Jasper, meant more to annoy him than to be an endearment of friendship. "I wasn't running from anything. I just...needed some exercise."
Jasper's grin grows into a smirk, making him look disturbingly like the Cheshire Cat- something wild and delightful but also completely unpredictable. "Oh yes, I know. Your days of laying around on a bed of clouds eating bon-bons has surely made you pudgy and lazy." He laughs at Lucas's glare. "Oh come now, I'm just teasing. I see your sense of laughter could also use a little exercise."
Lucas rolls his eyes and moves past his best friend. "Is there a reason you're being even more annoying than usual? I didn't come to listen to your audition for the king's fool."
"Pity- I could make that old geezer wet himself."
Lucas can't help but smile despite his mood. Jasper has been his best friend since childhood, a friendship that had been born mostly because of pack ranking. Jasper's father is Beta, the right-hand man to Lucas's father and a constant support system, providing both friendship and occasional advice in times of difficulty. They themselves have been friends since before Lucas's father had become Alpha so it was only fitting that Lucas and Jasper would become close as well.
But it isn't just pack ranking responsible for their friendship. Jasper is often the only one who can make Lucas smile in times of stress or doubt, always ready with a witty retort or clever joke that can pull Lucas from any bad mood. Even better, he never has to hide how he is feeling from Jasper.
Though it is difficult to say where exactly it was born from, the two share a brotherhood, a sense of loyalty to one another that has always bore an unspoken rule: neither one will ever have to hide from the other. Lucas has never had to wear his fake confidence around Jasper and Jasper has never had to hide his overall otherness that makes him so different from other pack members.
"You certainly have the look" Lucas responds biting back a grin.
He looks back to see Jasper scowl as they move into the house and laughs. Jasper is always impeccably dressed no matter the occasion, whether in Gucci or Prada or Calvin Klein, his mess of bronze hair slicked back from startling grey eyes and rounded high cheekbones. He strongly resembles male models on French magazines to a tee, all long limbs and a graceful yet sturdy build. He also has the slight remains of a British accent in his tone, more so when he is annoyed or upset- a product of his mother's original homeland before she came to America and met his father.
"Fools only wear Valentino" He replies airily. He casts a glance at Lucas's worn-out jeans and white t-shirt. "And that" He adds happily. He reaches into his shirt pocket, revealing a small silver flask with a flourish. He already smells of whiskey, though one would never know looking at Jasper that he has been drinking.
He and Lucas move to make their way inside the Pack House. As they do, Lucas catches two female pack members their age watching from beneath a near by cherry tree, their eyes focused on Jasper as they whispered and giggled conspiratorially together. No doubt they are exchanging the latest gossip on the wild son of the Beta, who, if it wasn't for his widely known reputation as a flirt and a rake, would likely be one of the most sought after mates in the pack.
Lucas shoved the thought away, knowing the girls' intentions would only be a waste on Jasper.
The Pack House is the crown jewel of the pack community, made up of polished marble floors, gilded doorknobs, oak-wood doors and tables and crystal vases. The foyer is almost like the heart of the house, warm and open, decorated with rich, colorful oil paintings of the forest and former Alphas along the wall, broken apart by a large curving staircase to the left, leading up to the upper floors of master bedrooms, bathrooms, offices and lounging living rooms.
Lucas and Jasper make their way up the stairs to the fifth floor, where only the apartments of the Alpha's family and Beta's family are allowed to resign, though dozens of empty rooms line the walls. Lucas has a room in the center of all the activity, closest to his father's quarters in case he is needed for any reason, made up of a large sitting room (made up of beautiful leather couches, a large screen TV and oak-wood bar) for entertaining important guests, with his master bedroom stretching out behind a set of thick mahogany doors.
Jasper ignores the TV, instead tossing himself on one of the couches, as lean and graceful as a gazelle or perhaps a Jaguar. It is easy to imagine him as an elegant, deadly animal.
He watches patiently until Lucas settles into one of the couches himself, sighing with exhaustion. While the run through the woods has thoroughly tired his body, it has done nothing for his racing thoughts, which can not be pulled away from his father's news. "I hear someone" Jasper trills after a moment of quiet, "was invited to the royal ball. Any thoughts, Prince Charming?"
His tone is humorous but beneath it, Lucas hears an edge, something kin to worry or perhaps exhaustion. No doubt he is worried abut how Lucas would be handling this announcement of upcoming events. Jasper has always had an uncanny sense for feeling and understanding Lucas's facial expressions, body language, and emotions, detangling them and helping to look at them from a more logical and reasonable standpoint, two words that hardly ever apply to Jasper otherwise.
Since they were children, he has always taken it upon himself to act almost like a body guard for the future Alpha, as Jasper will no doubt one day become his Beta, his rand-hand man and biggest advisor. He is extremely protective of Lucas in many ways and often takes Lucas's worries atop his own. Lucas is the only thing Jasper has ever been completely serious about.
Examining his best friend closer, Lucas suddenly notices violet hollows beneath Jasper's eyes, the smell of alcohol on his breath stronger than usual. He looks as tired as Lucas feels, though Lucas doubts it is a result of Jasper's usual late-nights antics of scandalous art studios and exclusive night bars. He usually looks much more pleased with himself after those kind of adventures.
"No," Lucas says casually. He throws Jasper a look. "Though you look as if you have some thoughts on the subject."
Jasper gives a shrug, as if he can't be bothered to answer. "Only one." He reaches in the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a very elegant piece of folded parchment, tossing it on the table before Lucas.
Lucas stares at it for a moment before meeting his friend's eyes. "They sent you an invitation?"
"It seems Cinderella will be at the ball to join you" Jasper smiles but the action lackes its usual good humor and snarck.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
"I don't have any change."
"Jas, Seriously."
The grey-eyed boy gives him an annoyed look but Lucas knows the annoyance is a façade. The two have been friends so long it is easy enough for Lucas to read Jasper's emotions, especially since Jasper is one of the few in the pack who is so open with his pack link. Jasper would never say one thing in his mind he wouldn't say out loud. He looks away from Lucas now, avoiding eye contact. In his mind flash images of what he imagines the ballroom would look like, filled with hundreds of stranger's. His thoughts show the image of Lucas, standing in a black tux with a faceless girl, though that one lasts only an instant. His father's face flashes repeatedly, changing between joyful, furious, and disappointed as Jasper remains alone.
Lucas frowns. "He still doesn't believe you, does he?"
Jasper shakes his head. Lucas can't help but notice two spots of pink have appeared on his friend's cheeks. "He thinks I'm just lonely and confused. He says when we arrive, I'll find my mate and all this "nonsense" as he so delicately puts it, will go away."
"He still thinks you will have a mate?"
Though it is extremely rare, there are a few selected chosen children of the Moon Goddess who aren't given a mate. They are known as Singles or the mate-less, happy in being alone. It is an almost-never occurring instance and there is no pattern to follow: someone meant to be mate-less could be gay or straight, man or woman, child or adult. The only way a pack member could truly know is a deeply instinctual feeling, something deeper than knowledge or emotion.
An instinctual feeling Jasper has had since they were children. It doesn't help matters that he prefers neither gender, content to be infatuated with both beautiful men and dazzling women for a time before moving on to another pretty face.
Jasper's father has never been pleased with either revelation. Though the mate-less are respected pack members in every pack (more so dedicated to their pack since they are not held captive by the bond mate) it is more disappointing when it occurs to higher-ranking pack members who are originally meant to carry on the next generation. Jasper's father has been determined that his son is only discouraged and will soon find a mate to wed and create grandchildren. As for his sexuality preferences, his father says nothing.
In regards to being gay, the united packs across the world are still behind in terms of equality in comparison to the rest of the mortal world. While there is no discrimination whatsoever (no Alpha would ever allow it) some more narrow-minded pack members feel it is a waste of having a mate, as two males or two females can not physically continue the next generation.
It seems Jasper's father is hoping his won would be wrong and find a mate at the ball. A female one.
Jasper only sighs, as if the idea of his father refusing his son's true personality had long ago lost it's importance. As if it is merely an annoyance now. "He would rather ignore the obvious than accept it. I assume after the ball he will have to."
"And your mother?"
He smiles. "She acts as a mother always does- she supports me in all my actions and decisions. Though she does worry about me being alone. She would keep me tied to her apron strings forever if she could."
Lucas scowls. Though he does not agree with Jasper's father in the least, he can not help but be worried as Jasper's mother is. It is hard to imagine his best friend to be alone for the rest of their lives. "I will say something to your father. Or have my father say something to him."
Lucas can not stand the idea of anyone looking down on Jasper because of who he is. Though he can be a bit wild and unpredictable at times (like the one time he walked into his room to find Jasper trying to help some poor handsome man sneak out the window) Jasper is kind and brave and loyal to his very last breath. He does not deserve such treatment.
But Jasper shakes his head, waving a hand airily. "Never you mind that, Luke." His smile stretches back into his Cheshire grin. "We have far more important things to focus on- like your attire for instance." He sighs and shakes his head in mock horror. "We will have to find you something far more grand for the occasion."
He stands and goes to Lucas's closet before Lucas can protest, sighing to himself. Jasper has always been a fixer, someone who fixes others when they can not fix themselves. And if it is one thing Jasper loves to help "fix", it is Lucas's clothing. He supposes he should let Jasper have his way. He does always end up getting it in the end, after all.
After a moment, he hears the closet doors open. Jasper's horrified voice comes a moment later. "We will have to go shopping." ~*~*
When Carter was young, her father once told her that when faced with adversity, true leaders did not hide. They did not turn their backs on those who needed them. They did not run away in times of danger and fear.
Based on Carter's actions she is positive she is no leader.
It is still early morning in the Pack House. Small golden rays of sunlight filter through fractured stained-glass windows, casting shadows across cream and ivory walls and thick antique rugs covering marble floors. Dust covers every inch of small polished oak-wood tables and expensive ceramic vases filed with flowers long past their prime. Almost all of them are dead, sprinkling wilted flower petals across the floor.
This wing of the Pack House is completely deserted, only occasionally visited by maids come to replace the flowers and dust. Carter is tucked in the far corner along the back of the room, sitting in the rounded-window seat cushioned with soft tasseled pillows, staring out the window.
It is just barely morning, most of the pack members still sleeping or off to work. A few, the rare and higher-ranking children of important pack members, are already gone, off to search for ballgowns and tuxedos, towering heels and flowered corsages. Carter had barely slept the night before, tossing and turning with vivid images of ballrooms, snide rich daughters of important Alphas and Betas glaring, handsome men with no faces turning away from her. Once, where she had been plagued by nothing but hazy dreams of a blue-eyed boy melting her heart into her stomach, she now only receives nightmares and sleepless hours of fidgeting.
She has not been able to decide which of the two she prefers.
A few days have passed since the invitation to the ball arrived and the news has traveled quickly, creating a wave of excitement, gossip and even more pointed scowls and smirks in Carter's direction. Whispers grow louder with each passing hour about the shamed Alpha's daughter, all eyes prying and sharp as they follow Carter, waiting for her to crack. Joey has grown more and more defensive as the days have passed, going as far as tearing his shirt in two in a near shifting-incident where Joey almost attacked Garrett on the way back to the Pack House after school.
"My mother just told me," Joey had said with a shrug when he first told her about being invited to the ball. He had smiled at Carter's expression. "She said she received the letter this morning. It seems your father-" He gave a half-hearted grin- "pulled some strings to allow me to go. I would assume so it's I can be there to keep and eye on you." He had chuckled as if it were a joke but in his expression Carter could see him watching her, waiting for her reaction.
Carter had only sat and stared, filled with conflicting emotions of relief, embarrassment and anger. Relief because, if nothing else, Joey would be there as he always was, there to support Carter when she inevitably faced the nightmares of trying to get ready and then ultimately being rejected. He would be there to help calm her, to help rein in her anger and misery. And when she was left standing alone with no one to love her, her Joey would be there to call her Sunshine and make it all better.
But there had also been anger and embarrassment. Why had her father pulled strings to make sure Joey would be there? He hadn't been apart of her life since she was a child. Aside from when she and Joey had first become close and caused a scandal, she was surprised her father even knew how close she was with Joey. He was a low-ranking pack member; his parents were not integrated in important pack member society. Why would her father have cared if Joey came to the ball?
Did he think her so weak that she would not be able to take care of herself? That she would somehow trip and die without Joey by her side? Her father avoided Carter at all costs and made it clear it was too painful to even look at her. Why had he bothered?
The thought has plagued Carter's thoughts and made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. When she had woken that morning, she had found Joey gone, off to go shopping for a tuxedo. She hadn't been bothered; Joey knew how she despised shopping. She needed the alone time anyway. Even Joey's presence had become stifling in the silent crushingness of waiting. Waiting for the ball. Waiting for rejection. Waiting for it all to be over.
Waiting. It had to be the worst thing imaginable when faced with your crumpling future.
Carter sighs and looks away from the window, eyes slowly and carefully rising to the large and exquisite oil paintings lining the walls, each framed in gold and amber. To the left side of the room are all paintings of men, tall, proud and handsome with steely eyes of determination and strength. Each is somewhat different in appearance but holds similar features to Carter's own: round eyes, red-brown hair, the same cheekbones. Each is a relative from Carter's family line, a great Alpha who had once led the pack in his own special way.
On the right side of the room, are the Lunas, the powerful women and mates on the Alphas who once led. They, too, look beautiful and strong, though their appearances are almost all completely different but equally beautiful. Each is painted wearing a gown of their choosing, something to show who they might have been, some delicate and softly-colored, others bold and baring skin. Each has long flowing hair, beautiful skin and glowing smiles that make Carter glare in resentment. She has long ago stopped trying to convince herself that these men and women were only painted to look so strong and beautiful: they had been and probably more so than even the most detailed painting could ever present.
Carter wonders if they look down on her from the After with shame for what their genes have created. She wonders if they blame her for her mother's death and her own failings as an Alpha's daughter.
Steeling herself, she slowly rises and holds her breath, ever so slowly making her way past the rows of portraits of Lunas. It is difficult to think of them as great grandmothers, grandmothers and aunts. To Carter, they are merely women of legend. Every Luna And Alpha is revered in such a way after they are gone that it is almost like telling the story of a fairytale. Under each portrait is a golden plaque engraved with the name of the Alpha or Luna, along with a nickname they were gifted by the pack members for what they were most known for.
As Carter passes, she sees Luna Anastasia ( The Wise) engraved under the portrait of a serene young woman with raven hair and sharp emerald eyes. Carter has heard of her a few times in her youth, the young Luna who had helped to fend off a brutal rogue attack with her wisdom and battle strategy. Beside her, is Luna Aurora (The Moon Child) who had been blessed with her nickname after her undying love and praise for the Moon Goddess, along with her ghostly ivory hair that some said was meant to be a blessing from the Moon Goddess herself. Each portrait holds the story of a beautiful strong woman, a daughter of the Moon Goddess who was destined to be mated to an Andorra Alpha and change the fate of their pack. Carter still hears mothers and fathers tell these stories to young children as if they are fairytales come true.
They have only served to highlight Carter's weakness as time goes on. She does not have the towering strength of her great grandmother Luna Sophia, who had been the strongest Luna wolf ever known in the pack, or the beauty of her great great grandmother Luna Rosamunde. She has nothing to offer her pack and she is sure her mother looks down on her with shame from the After.
Her mother. Oh the pain that flares through Carter's heart when she thinks of her beloved mother. How badly she misses her.
Counting silently as she moves, Carter's eyes find the floor as she arrives at portrait number twenty three. The portrait of her mother. Carter has not looked at it since the funeral that was held in honor of her mother (since no body was ever found) and had refused to even come close to this room in the years since. It has ben too painful, too shaming. Carter knows if she gazed at the smiling face of the woman who was dead because of her, she knows she would fall apart and never be able to put herself back together. She and her father are the same in that respect: her father had never once come into this room since his wife and mate had died.
Taking a deep breath and promising herself she won't look, Carter raises her head. And looks.
Her mother is even more beautiful than Carter could have ever imagined. She has not seen her mother's face since she was younger than five, not even in photographs. The only good memory she has of her mother is hazy and clouded, just of her mother holding her and whispering tales of the Moon Goddess right before sleep. She can not see her mother's face in that one memory.
In her portrait, Cordelia Dawson is dressed in a gown of midnight blue, hugging hour-glass curves and exposing slight shoulders and slight cleavage. Her mane of amber hair is down and wild in fiery waves, framing a heart-shaped face of stunning topaz eyes protected by ink-black lashes, button nose and full red lips as soft as a flower petal. A large smile is spread across her face in a look that seemed to say she had a secret and no one would dare guess it. There is such a warmth in that smile, such kindness in her eyes- Carter's eyes- that Carter feels pieces of her heart crack as she gazes into the face of her dead mother. Beneath her portrait is a golden plaque engraved with the words Luna Cordelia (The Mourned) and a small oak-wood table holding dried flowers, burnt-out candles, necklaces and rings and sealed letters of sympathy and loss. After she had died, pack members had left tokens for the dead Luna out of both respect and grieving. Carter's mother had been perhaps the most beloved Luna in the pack's history and all had felt her loss as a personal loss of love and heartbreak. Had things gone differently, Carter knows her mother's nickname would have been The Beloved.
But things had not gone differently. And her mother is still dead.
Carter closes her eyes, vivid memories flashing before her eyes-
A beautiful meadow in the middle of the forest- her mother standing tall and stunning in her golden wolf form, playing tag with Carter as she tried to run on chubby toddler legs- that same meadow soaked in blood- her mother screaming for Carter to run as beastly wolves with red eyes drug her mother's body into the darkness of the trees-
"Run, Cordelia!" Her mother had screamed. "Run!"
Carter's eyes snap open and she forces herself back, spinning away from the portrait. She suddenly realizes she is crying, tears streaming down her cheeks in waves. Her body feels as if a thousand knives are ripping through flesh and bone. Unbearable guilt and sadness rack her whole being. She is shaking as if she will never stop.
Staring up at her mother's portrait smiling back at her, Carter suddenly feels a tidal wave of anger engulf her. She stares into those dazzling eyes.
Where were you? Carter thinks angrily. Where were you? I needed you. I was four years old. And you left me. You left me with these people to atone for your weakness. How could you do this to me?
Her mother's portrait doesn't respond.
She clenches her fists and stares down the beautiful visage of her mother's ghost, caught between a bone-crushing sadness and a fiery rage the likes of which no rogue could ever match. Rage at her horrible life. Rage at her coward father for abandoning her. Rage at her pack for turning on her. Rage at her mother, for leaving her behind with no one to love or care for her. Leaving her behind with a curse.
It has ben thirteen years but the memories are never far from her mind: the fresh smell of metallic blood, the deep claw marks torn through the earth, the piercing sounds of her mother's screams to run, run and never look back but no matter how far Carter ran she would never ever be able to escape-
There could be no pain greater than this. Than suffering the loss of someone you love more than you ever thought possible by your own hand. There could be no greater agony than missing someone, knowing you would never be able to see them again, because of something you did and will never be able to forget. It is worse than any pointed glare or hatred-filled gaze of loathing from any of her fellow pack members, who feel she had ripped something precious and rare away from them. Had it not been for her father, who campaigned that his daughter had only been a child and there had been nothing she could have done, Carter is certain she would have been stripped of her rank and tossed from her pack, forever forced to be a wanderer of the land, alone. An ironic punishment her fellow pack members called it: turning her into a rogue like the ones who killed her mother.
Carter turns away from her mother's portrait with a furious scowl, tears dripping from her cheeks. The only thing worse than the guilt is the anger. The sense of betrayal. Because no matter how much she has blamed herself throughout the years, no matter how much she knows she is responsible for the death of her mother, she is also angry: her mother is the one who died. Her mother is the one who abandoned her. And, while carrying the burden of that death, Carter also carries the burden of never have forgiven her mother for leaving her.
Carter wraps her trembling arms around herself. She had not thought this is how she would fall apart. She had thought perhaps it would be years from now, when her father would be forced to step down and they are reduced to nothing. Or perhaps in regards to the ridiculous ball and the cruelty she would face at it's hands. She had thought there would be huge, racking sobs and gasps for breath. Attacking her father, hurting him in all the way he had hurt her. Silent screams at the unresponsive face of her mother smiling back at her, demanding answers. Not tiny tears, still silent in their agony.
Cordelia. Once upon a time, that had been Carter's name. Named after her mother by her father as a loving testament to his mate. After her mother had died, Carter's father had been unable to utter his mate's name or that of his child. The first time he spoke to Carter after the incident (nearly three months later) he had simply said "It's okay, Carter. It will be okay one day." And then he had left.
Even at the age of five, Carter had known what it meant. She had been given two gifts that day: her father speaking to her for the first time in months, and a new name. It was the only birthday she could remember after her mother was gone.
Status de energia semanal
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Poder 
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Poder