15 | FAMILY

I find myself in a place I never thought I’d go near again. Surges of memory biting at my skin phantomly as I stand at the edge of the border between Port Greene and the Reinier’s territory. The salty sea air’s whipping my loose red curls into a frenzy around my face, the sound of crashing waves against the cliff to my right has my body almost relaxed. Almost. Just the sight of the familiar tree line I grew up near has my stomach twisting into knots. My body can’t seem to decide if I’m feeling excited about being back or terrified. Maybe a little of both?

“Well, well, well,” A Wolven calls over to me, sauntering towards me out of thin air. “Lookie who we’ve got here.” The man’s all lean muscle and false authority. If I were a human and not part Wolven, I might have shrunken back in fear at the sudden appearance of him. But I don’t, mostly because I remember his scent and voice so clearly. Even though I haven’t been anywhere near him in at least eight years.

“Fallon,” I address him with a little more respect in my voice than I normally would. Fallon is Ryker’s older brother, the resemblance clear in the sharp set of his jaw and angles of his brows. They have the same sky-blue eyes, though Fallon’s are slightly smaller than Ryker’s and slightly blood-shot at the moment. His hair’s different, and I can smell the attempted bleach it from here - the locks of strawberry-blonde should be a mix of pure golden silk and blood red. The same red my hair is, and the exact shade our grandmothers was. It had been a point of pride back in the day. Anything that made any of us grandchildren of the previous Alpha - our grandmother - look like her was a boasted and exploited thing. I think it’s why Paris and I were so cherished by the woman. We looked - and *look* - so much like the old woman back in her heyday. I can only imagine how the mere sight must leave mixed feeling in the current Pack climate. For me, it’s the reason why I don’t cut my hair.

“So you remember me,” Fallon sneers at me, narrowing his eyes almost accusingly. He points a finger at me as he advances, lips drawing back over his teeth. His agile movements would be menacing if they weren’t so uncoordinated.

“Paris invited me.” I state, feeling sorry for the man as his sneer twists into a grimace and he sobers a bit. It’s clear he’s not happy about Paris becoming Alpha, but there’s a definite respect as he straightens and gives me an accessing and hesitant look.

“Does the Alpha know you’re dropping by today?” He questions with a little more professionalism.

“She said I could ‘drop by whenever’.” I repeat what she’d told me during our last conversation - the verbatim use of the words seem to relax Fallon a bit.

“I’ll escort you.” He tells me, more than offering. “C’mon, Wisty.” The casual use of my Wolven name, Wisteria, sends a shock through me. Hearing it from an old Packmate hurts a bit, like a slap to the face. When Mom uses it, I know it’s out of love. An endearment. But hearing it from the lips of someone who cast me out all those years ago, who caused me physical pain and scarred me as a child, brings back all those terrifying memories.

Still, I follow him. I need to see Paris. Now that more shit’s going to - and has - hit the fan, I need support. Even if it’s just in the presence of my newest ally. Though it may be more accurate to say she’s one of my oldest allies as well as my newest. Family. The sister I never had. So many titles, I could use to describe my cousin, so many inadequate words that forever fail to describe our complicated bond.

Fallon leads me through the dense woods, the gorgeous rise of fall burning through the branches in the form of leaves. We keep up a fast pace, the salty sea air and combination of these familiar trees has memory after memory rearing their heads in the back of my mind. Good and bad, years of buried memories shimmer through my mind and keep me company - like a worn rock in my shoe. Not necessarily hurting me, but prominently *there*. I’m emotionally raw by the time we enter a clearing.

We’re suddenly standing in front of a village. *The* village. Clusters of homes with plenty of land in between - and yet they all look united in their styles of cabin-like-hominess and well-kept yards. So incredibly mundane to an untrained eye, but I note how there are no roads. Only worn paths where generations of Wolven have walked. No fences, and yet clear boundaries between the lands. Perfectly skinned furs and pelts hanging on rustic drying racks. And not a single human in sight - or any other creature for that matter. I don’t even hear any birds chirping.

I can’t help but wonder if that’s how it always was. It’s not something I noticed before - but after living near humans and the Azures this past year, its easier to note the differences.

“No dawdling,” Fallon scolds me over his shoulder, ahead of me my several yards now. I’d stopped at the edge of the clearing, right before the carpet of fallen leaves becomes trimmed grass. I swallow around the lump of mixed emotions in my body - all of them at odds with each other - as I bound after my cousin.

I catch a few Wolven peering out of their windows at us as we pass - though a majority of them remain in their homes. Snatches of vibrant red or ash-blond catch my eye before the faces disappear, and I can almost feel the presence of my ex-Packmates as they watch me. Names fill my mind, attaching to the homes as we go, and I’m left absently wondering if the people I once saw everyday are still alive. When Fallon and I reach the largest house - planted in the very center of the village - he stops just short of the steps.

I nearly crash into him - mostly because I’m not paying attention - and partly because of how abruptly he stopped. I peer around my slightly-taller-than-me cousin and feel the blood drain from my face.

There’s a man waiting for us on the porch - planted squarely before of the front door. His sandy-blond hair tied into a messy man-bun on his head, thick scars plaguing his face the way acne does human teenagers, cerulean eyes trained right on us. For a second, I think I’m about to faint, coming face to face with my insane cousin, Craven. But then I really look at him.

His flannel shirt is wrinkled and stained, so are his mismatched pants. The colors clashing from the red in the shirt to the funky lime of his pants. And though his legs are tucked under his body, I can see he’s not wearing shoes - which isn’t unusual for Wolven, considering shoes don’t usually make the shift - but it shows off how deteriorated his leg muscles are. I note the slight flab to his crossed arms and gaunt shadows under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. And a set of messy, slashing scars that are a fresh and angry pink all along his throat.

A thick aura seems to radiate from him, different from the terror-inducing power he used to ooze, this one is strong but…also weak. Anxiety. An inner turmoil perhaps or something as equally dark has taken hold of the man before us.

Gone is the terrifying and rather horrifying wolfish-features of my cousin’s body. He looks so strangely normal that, for a second, I feel like I’ve stepped into a parallel universe.

“Do you have an appointment?” Craven rasps at us, looking between me and Fallon. Fallon gives me a cool look, then gestures for me to go ahead of him before he slumps off towards the woods once again.

“Paris asked me-”

“No one sees the Alpha without an appointment-” Craven snaps, but his words carry no real bite - and neither does anything else about him. I frown at the shell of the man before me and feel my temper flare.

“I have an open invitation from your Alpha!” I snarl, planting my hands on my hips and glaring at the man who used to terrorize me as a child. He doesn’t even flinch. It’s like he’s not even alive. “Either you let me see her or I’ll kick your ass off the cliff.” I warn him, lowering my voice and nodding at the far edge of the village where the land drops off steeply.

“Still so fiery.” Craven almost smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching as he looks at me. “Fine. It’s getting cold out here anyway.” My cousin mutters, so quietly I don’t think he even meant to say it aloud. “Come in, little cousin.” He adds, getting to his feet a lot less gracefully than your typical three-legged dog would and limps into the Alpha’s house.

I’m still reeling from the encounter with him as I stumble after my cousin. Though he’s clearly not the same ‘Mad-dog’ Craven I used to know, I don’t feel like testing him, and keep up with the surprisingly fast-yet-broken man as he leads me through the maze of halls. I know I could navigate the place without a guide - and blindfolded - but I stay close to Craven anyway as more memories try to take hold of my senses.

I ignore the rising emotions in me when we reach an opened doorway into a large study.

“Wisteria came to visit.” Craven croaks out, stepping towards a worn chair in the corner of the room and allowing me to see the entirety of the space. Poised over an overflowing desk is the spitting image of myself. Save for the straight hair and shade of her cerulean eyes, we could be twins. Her face is a mask of concentration and careful nothingness as she looks up. Then she blinks - her eyes clearing as she seems to hear Craven’s words.

“Wisty, hey.” Paris’ whole expression warps the second she sees me. Relief smoothing the creases and lines of her face, like she needed this too. And then we’re running to each other. Her arms are strong as they wrap around me, squeezing my frame as tightly as Yuri or Misha normally would. Paris gives a little wiggle as she continues to apply pressure, nuzzling my cheek with hers as if we’re Packmates again and there hasn’t been so much shit between us. “I’m so glad you decided to come by!” She finally says, releasing me and holding me at arms-length as her cerulean eyes scan over me. Her eyes linger over my neck where Blue marked me. She was the first to really notice it, the first Wolven at least.

“Hey, Parri.” I greet her using her nickname, my smile so big and genuine I feel my facial muscles begin to twitch under the surface. I don’t think I’ve smiled to largely in…months. My strangely intuitive look-alike squeezes my shoulders, a bit of concern deepening the blue in her eyes.

“What’s up, Wisty?” Paris asks directly, and though she’s not my Alpha, I can feel her power wrap around me. That tiny reassurance in her eyes that she’s really here for me, worried about me and whatever I’m going through sets free any reservations I may have had before about telling her. And I spew word-vomit all over my cousin. Telling her everything that’s happened and everything I found out in Colton. Everything the Ancient told me, and all about the weirdness with Blue. I tell her everything.