16 | ALL THE BROKEN PIECES

“You can’t do this on your own, Wisty.” Paris says to me, crossing her arms over her chest and giving me one of her Alpha-stares. It’s an intimidating power pose, this thing she’s adopted. Her Alpha scent surges around her, the power of it pungent but utterly controlled. I feel a little weak in the knees so close to her and just a bit exhilarated. The Wolven in me wants to play, this is just the way Paris was when we were little. Calm and demanding, her demeanor almost infectious.

“I know.” I admit, letting my wolf senses flutter to the surface to mingle with hers. I almost feel our auras connect - as if we’ve released the wolves from within and they’re doing the whole sniff-and-greet thing. Paris’ stance relaxes a after a moment and she offers me a truly warm smile.

“It’s a bit sooner than I expected, but I’m with you if you need me.” Though she doesn’t explicitly say she’s willing to help, I know that’s what she means.

“No, Parri-” I begin, regretting telling her almost immediately. Of course, my cousin would feel obligated to help me. I didn’t mean to make her feel like she need to help, I just wanted to share the burden by talking to her.

“Wisty, c’mon,” Paris’ smile grows into a more natural expression. “We’re on good footing again and I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least *offer* some help.” She insists good naturedly, nudging me with her shoulder. “Let me help.” I grumble at her some rather poor excuse that she laughs at. After a second I give in and let out a snorting-laugh, rolling my eyes as my whole body seems to grow a few pounds lighter.

“Fine, but, Paris,” I turn to Paris and looks her right in her cerulean eyes. “You can’t *be* the liaison. You need to lead your Pack.” She frowns at me, and I feel the expression go beyond annoyance at me telling her how to run her Pack, but she doesn’t contradict me. “You’re literally needed *here*.” I remind her.

“I’ll help.” Craven rasps from the corner of the room. I almost jump out of my skin as he speaks. He’s been silent almost the entire time I’ve been here, and his still healing throat and vocal chords add an eerie quality to his presence. I looks over to him, sizing him up warily. He’s so different from the ‘Mad-dog’ I used to know. His sandy-blonde hair has lost a lot of it’s previous oily luster atop this head. The millions of scars on his face and rest of his visible skin, from countless fights with Pack members, make him look like something attacked by a cat and put back together with safety pins and glue. His normally menacing frame is crumpled in on itself, like gravity is trying to turn him into a ball or coal. But when he looks at me, his cerulean eyes are clear and vacant. Gone is their previous insanity, and all that’s left is…I shiver.

“I’m sure Paris needs you here-” I begin in a rush, worried Craven’s still a little too unstable to be a liaison or do anything aside from lay in a ball on the floor.

“No, Craven can help if he wants.” Paris interrupts me. And when I glance at her, she’s giving me a firm look that makes the refusal at the tip of my tongue die. She wants our cousin to do something, it seems. I purse my lips and let out a little sigh of defeat.

“Fine. You can be on standby for now. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to visit the Coven, though.” I warn both Craven and Paris with my eyes. They both nod to this, clearly seeing how troublesome having Craven anywhere around the Azure territory would be. Even if he was actively being driven insane when he attacked the Azures last year, I’m sure none of them have forgiven him just yet. Especially after how close he came to killing Caly at the Halloween dance.

“I can do it.” From the door, Ryker speaks. His Tracker tattoo clearly visible, fanning from the collar of his shirt to his jaw in thick, tribal ink. Strawberry-blonde hair neatly cropped against his head and a light five ‘o clock shadow dusting the edges of his jaw. His sky-blue eyes calm as ever. I look him over carefully, from his neatly pressed pants to the slightly opened button-down he’s sporting. He definitely looks the part of a negotiator and semi-professional at that. “Whatever the Pack needs, I’ll do it.”

And that simple sentence makes something bitter flood my mouth.

“Ry, this is volunteer work. I won’t force you-” Paris begins, picking up on the stiff emptiness in our cousin’s voice. Ryker frowns, tilting his head as he pushes off from the doorframe and crosses over to the desk we stand by. He looks calmly from me to Paris and back.

“Whatever it is, I can handle it.” He tells us, completely missing the point we’re trying to make.

“Ry, this isn’t some suicide mission or something we’re forcing on Pack members. It’s an offer.” I spell it all out for him. His expression doesn’t change.

“I can do it, Wisty.” Ryker insists, but there’s no passion or desire in his voice. My heart breaks a little to see him like this. At least before, when he was being controlled by grandmother, I could see a little fire in him. His fighting spirit’s clearly been extinguished.

“Ry,” I face him, reaching over to gently take his hands into mine. I miss the Pack bond, I’m not gonna lie. Miss the slight connection that would help me see a little more into my cousin’s minds and help me understand how to talk to them clearly. But this will have to do. The physical connection seems to relax Ryker a bit, like he was just thinking the same thing. His sky-blue eyes soften a bit, the color warming a few degrees. “What do *you* want to do?” I ask carefully, slowly saying each word.

“What do I want to do?” His forehead wrinkles as he repeats the question, his gaze turning a little introspective as he mutters the question again. His rough hands squeeze mine, as if he wants nothing more than to cling to them. I apply the same slight pressure to reassure him, but there’s a warring darkness in his eyes while he thinks.

“You don’t have to give me an answer today,” I offer, moving just a little closer so his unfocused eyes return to mine. He blink once and gives me a small, tight smile.

Though I want nothing more than to hug my cousin, I only squeeze his hands in response before releasing them. Despite his calm demeanor, I can almost taste his anxiety in the air, just like the stuff hanging around Craven. It leaves no doubt in my mind to their true condition. The fragile order of the Pack seems to be hanging on by a spiders web. It makes me wonder how Paris has managed to get anything done these last seven months.