Her Lion Guard Page 7
As did Jonas and Sasha, judging by the stunned silence that had greeted her entrance in the den later that day. Cara had whooped behind her, quirking her eyebrows up and down suggestively when Mary-Lou turned to glare her into silence.
They had watched a movie after that, Mary-Lou squished between the end of the couch and Jonas’ large body, Cara leaning against her legs. Sasha was sprawled along the unoccupied length of the couch, toes just brushing against Jonas’ thighs. The two had become a bit more comfortable in each other’s presence, which eliminated quite a bit of the tension in the house.
Sasha and Cara, on the other hand…
Mary-Lou had noticed the hesitant glances, stuttered touches. Hell, it was hard not to notice, with Cara becoming a quiet, shy pod person every time Sasha shared her space. Yet, the one time Sasha had attempted to start a conversation with the younger woman, Cara had outright snapped at the man. With her teeth. Mary-Lou was most confused.
“Are you afraid of him?” she had asked Cara after the movie was over, after Sasha had left for his room and Jonas had briefly retreated to the kitchen and the leftovers therein.
“Yes,” Cara answered without asking whom, without playing dumb. Mary-Lou liked her more every day. “Yes, but not like that – I know he won’t hurt me. But he is powerful, Mary-Lou. He is the alpha of his pack, and I am not even a beta – I feel like, like he could consume me if I let him in too close.” She sighed, pushing her face against her knees.
“An instinct?” Mary-Lou wonders; Cara gives a small nod. “He is an alpha? What does that mean?”
Cara lifted her head long enough to give Mary-Lou an exasperated look. “Oh my God, they will eat you alive.” She pushed to her feet, slight form staggering slightly as her muscles unlocked, “first thing tomorrow, we are hitting the books,” Cara announced, leaving the room with a slight wave toward Jonas.
“What was that about?” Jonas had rumbled, offering Mary-Lou one of the two tubes of ice cream he had pressed against his chest. Mary-Lou took it along with the spoon that was thrust in her direction next, delighted to find it a chocolate Rocky Road.
“Cara is having some trouble with Sasha,” she told him. Jonas let out a quiet snarl and started to get up; realizing her mistake, Mary-Lou quickly amended, “No, nothing like that! She likes him! She is just confused, that’s all. Something about him being an alpha.” Jonas sat back down, somewhat reluctantly. He was obviously itching for a fight with the other man. Mary-Lou narrowed her eyes.
“What is all of this about?” she questioned. “Cara can take care of herself, you know.”
“She’s a kid,” Jonas grumbled. “A female, on top of that.” He shook his head at Mary-Lou’s stormy look, “No, you are not getting it. She is too young, especially for someone like Sasha. He could hurt her without even trying, without meaning to. And as a female, and an omega at that –” he did not finish.
“What?” Mary-Lou demanded. “What has her being a – an omega, and a woman, have to do with anything?”
“It’s a drive,” Jonas had answered; Mary-Lou realized he was blushing, a pink flush apparent in his golden skin even under the meager light. “A need. To reproduce, to survive – and with less and less female children being born, well,” he frowned, brows falling over stormy blue eyes, “Not all get a choice.”
“Sasha wouldn’t do that!” Mary-Lou gasped. Jonas shook his head, “He won’t,” he allowed, “But Cara is right to be careful. It is hard to resist, hard to pretend—” He shook his head again, turned away.
“Do you,” Mary-Lou halted, licked her lips, “Do you feel it, too? The drive?”
Jonas did not look at her. Very slowly, he nodded. “For Cara?” she chanced.
Jonas’ head snapped towards her, disbelief clear on his face. “Cara?” he barked out. “You think I feel like that for Cara?” Mary-Lou shook her head even as she said, “I don’t know, I—”
“You,” Jonas snarled, pushed closer to her until her back was pressed tightly against the couch arm, her front against his chest, “You ridiculous, blind—!”
Mary-Lou had kissed him. Had pushed her head up, pushed their lips together, and taken – as she had wanted, as she had tried not to want, for so long now. Jonas moaned against her, a tortured, brittle sound, and pressed closer, close enough to feel his heart beat against her skin.
“It was you,” he whispered between desperate, clinging kisses, pupils blown wide in seas of blue, “It was always you, will always be you,” and if Mary-Lou kissed him more, kissed him deeper to staunch the gentle words – well. She had never said she was not a coward.
Their lips soon strayed: To cheeks, to foreheads, to the hollows of sweat-damp skin. Jonas breathed against her throat and whined, purred deeply before biting – gentle at first, then rougher when Mary-Lou pushed a trembling hand in his golden mane and pressed him closer. His hands covered her body, mapped her arms and sides and hips, too-cautious and proper even in the midst of all-consuming heat. Mary-Lou felt her heart fill, felt it overflow and break with adoration for this big, gentle man. How was she to tell him that she loved him, too, that she wanted him as much as he so obviously desired her? Mary-Lou did not know, so she arched up instead, let her body show him what her words could not.
Jonas stilled against her, hard and panting with her soft body so close to his own. When she did not back down, did not push him away he rumbled and guided her to lay against the couch, one large hand curling about the flesh of her thigh. Mary-Lou wrapped her leg around his waist on her own, moved and let him move against her as he wished – slow and powerful and rolling, like a wave, like an earthquake. She swallowed his moans, his loving whispers of her name – swallowed his cry right along her own when it finally became too much.
Jonas did not let her go for a long time. He kissed her lips and neck, nuzzled against the palms of each hand – so obviously, incredibly content. Mary-Lou felt the tension in her dissipate with his happiness, felt a similar bliss warm her body and fill her heart.
Something, something good had happened that night, even if she did not know quite what.
In the present, Mary-Lou followed Cara’s slighter form down into the basement, mind whirling with questions and half-remembered touches. There was so much she did not know, so much she needed to understand if she was to live among her kin.
Her kin. Mary-Lou trembled at the thought.
“Took you long enough!” Nicholas boomed when he caught sight of them. The older man sat beside a long, sturdy table, half-hidden behind stacks of large books and piles of thin, cracked papers. Irma and Jonathon sat to the right and left of him, noses buried in thick, dusty tomes whose writing resembled squiggles. On the opposite side of the table, Jonas and Sasha argued quietly over a map that appeared too old and stained to be of any current relevance.
The library was by far Mary-Lou’s favorite room in the Cabin: Warmly-lit and heavy with the smell of ink and wood, the spacious basement housed a museum of books – a gallery of letters her eyes itched to read, her fingers wanted to trace. The thick, granite walls were lined with shelves and shelves of them – volumes upon volumes in different languages, of varying ages and genres. Most had to do with Shifter history, but Mary-Lou swore she saw a couple of comic books tucked in between aged medical and law journals. Mary-Lou suspected Jonathon, although Irma played Wonder Woman well enough to make one wonder at the source of her inspiration.
“Well, take a seat!” Nicholas demanded gruffly. Cara plopped down right where she stood, uncaring for the dusty floor or her white skirt. Mary-Lou noticed Sasha’s eyes flicker in the younger girl’s direction and stifled a smile. Fools. She took the remaining empty chair between Sasha and Jonas, effectively ending whatever little dispute the two young Shifters were having.
“Now that everyone is here,” Nicholas harrumphed, “We can begin. Irma, want to do the honors?”
Irma leaned back in her chair with a sigh. Mary-Lou noticed the tightness about her eyes, the tremble in her fingers as they
tapped a nervous dance against the table top; the older woman was exhausted. Yet, the grin Irma offered the room at large was triumphant, powerful – Mary-Lou felt her doubts and fears melt away in the face of her mother’s confidence.
“We found a record of the prophecy,” Irma began, “your prophecy, Mary-Lou. In a book long thought lost and only just returned to our kind. We have Cara’s mother to thank for its recovery – Natalia’s selflessness, her willingness to sacrifice a year of her life for a family that is not her own, will be long remembered by me and mine.” Cara blushed in pride, bowing her head in silent acceptance of the older woman’s gratitude.
“The book is in Latin,” Irma continued, “and badly damaged from decades of careless handling. Most of its writing does not pertain to us; in fact, a great many of its pages are dedicated to gardening, of which its author appears to have been very fond. The prophecy, if you can believe it, was an afterthought – a scribbled passage in the margins of a marmalade recipe of some sort.” Irma grinned, “Decoding it was a right pain.”
“Why would Daphne be so careless?” Mary-Lou wondered, “And what is the use of reading her prophecy in Latin, if you have already heard it first-hand?”
Irma shook her head. “Daphne did not write this book,” she said. “Do you truly believe that she was the only seer in existence, or that the fate of the Shifter Tribes is so negligible of an issue that no other with that gift would predict your coming? The book – a journal, actually – belonged to an Old One who lived in Rome, hundreds of years ago. He was extremely gifted, a man in service of several Emperors.” Irma smiled, bemused, “He lived through the fall of an empire, and all he thought worthy of record was a seed planting schedule, a couple of dozen recipes, and a single prophecy.”
“It took several nights of increasingly painful internet research and a couple of asthma-inducing dictionaries,” Jonathon explained, “but we were able to translate the full passage with a great deal of accuracy.”
“Tell us what it says!” Cara enthused, bouncing slightly on her bent legs.
“I was about to,” Jonathon smiled at the younger woman, charmed by her cheerfulness. He then cleared his throat and bent his head over a simple notebook, voice growing serious and even as he read:
“A hundred and seventy five summers from today, a child will be born on the night Winter becomes Spring. She will be frail in body but strong in heart. Within human flesh, she will hold a power greater than any our kind can claim. Follow her, and reap the happiness and health sown by her steps. Deny her, and watch chaos and despair rain upon the heads of our children.
To her who reads my hand, so many summers from now: Beware. There is much evil in this world, but there is more good. Do not lose your way in the cruelness of others. Stand strong and right, surround yourself with kin of sound mind and heart. Build a family and lead with virtue in a time of drought. These words are my gift and farewell to you.”
Mary-Lou barely breathed as Jonathon spoke – barely moved or thought at all, her focus on her father’s voice too complete to allow for distractions. There was power in his words, a certain rightness she could not describe but felt, deep and true. In that moment, with the words of a dead man echoing in her ears, Mary-Lou finally grasped the enormity of what lay before her.
“Are you alright?” Jonas rumbled in her ear, concerned blue eyes sweeping over her face.
Mary-Lou was terrified.
“I am fine,” she forced out, then stronger, “I am.”
“Did you hear?” Cara jumped to her feet, bounced closer until she stood beside Mary-Lou’s chair. “You need to build a pack! That’s the key, the secret – and you already have us! We are so going to kick those bastards’ asses!”
“I don’t understand,” Mary-Lou muttered, dazed by both Cara’s exuberance and the jumble of unknown terms, “We are a – a pack? What does that mean?”
“A pack is not unlike a family,” Jonathon explained. “It is a self-contained, self-sustaining group of people who live by a shared set of values and beliefs. A pack can be as small as a single family, or large enough to populate an entire town. Usually, packs are built around familial ties or a common form – Wolves in particular tend to group with kin Shifters – but nowadays, ragtag collectives of friends are not uncommon.”
“How does a pack work?” Mary-Lou asked. Her mind was buzzing with the new information, fitting bits and pieces of things she had noticed over her few days into the Cabin into the brand new framework the knowledge provided. “Can one person belong in two packs?”
“Observant,” Sasha praised. “Some packs have rigid hierarchies: An alpha pair at the top, followed by however many betas and a few omegas. Others are more lenient, allowing alphas to coexist within a single pack or lacking a leader altogether. Such packs are less stable, more given to change or disintegration – but that is not always a bad thing.” Something flashed in Sasha’s eyes, a spark of anger that spoke of an untold story. “As laid back as a pack may be, however,” the man continued, “you can only belong to one pack at a time.”
“It’s the bond,” Cara explained, “The connection that forms between pack mates as they share each other’s space and worries. It links our souls, makes us more attuned to pack-mates in need – basic survival.”
“How can you be my pack, then,” Mary-Lou questioned, “When you have your own?”
“Pack bonds are not unbreakable,” Cara shrugged. “The size of a pack and the happiness of its members within it determine the strength of their connection to each other. My pack is all of two people, and my mother travels much too often,” the girl sighed, a bit sadly, “I will always be connected to her, but the bond itself was not difficult to break.” She smiled tentatively at Mary-Lou, then wider when Mary-Lou smiled back.
“I am alone,” Jonas offered next. Mary-Lou laced their fingers together, asking no
other questions.
“And I,” Sasha said calmly in the resulting silence, “Am sick and tired of dealing with pale, whiny bastards all day long. They can well find another alpha.”
Jonas barked out a surprised laugh, stretching a muscular arm behind Mary-Lou to lightly punch the other man’s shoulder. “The old farts are in, too!” Nicholas crowed, unapologetic in the face of Irma and Jonathon’s scandalized grins.
Like that, the tension broke and smiles lighted the table. Mary-Lou leaned against Jonas as she listened to Cara’s excited chatter, her parents’ more pragmatic discussion of their future as a single pack. She felt giddy, heavy with content.
“I need to talk to you.”
Mary-Lou tipped her head up to look at Jonas, finding his expression serious and focused. She nodded, a bit of apprehension tightening her chest.
“Excuse us,” Jonas muttered as he guided Mary-Lou up and around the table. Irma threw a knowing glance their way, eyes catching on the book Jonas held under one large arm. Nicholas waved them off and continued to chatter at Sasha, the latter a bit distracted now that Cara had taken Mary-Lou’s seat beside him. Mary-Lou smiled.
They walked up the stairs side by side, silent. Mary-Lou moved toward the living room but Jonas stayed her gait, shaking his head. Bemused, Mary-Lou followed the blond up a second staircase and to her room – and when had her room been dubbed pack meeting place?
“What’s up?” she asked as soon as the door was closed, plopping down on her still unmade bed.
Jonas hesitated, eyes on the floor. He fiddled with the book in his hands – Mary-Lou cocked her head, not quite able to see the title.
“Is something wrong?” she prompted. When Jonas continued to analyze the dust-bunnies cowering beneath her bed, Mary-Lou sighed and made to get up.
“Wait!” Jonas exploded into motion, startling Mary-Lou into letting out a yelp of surprise. She fell back onto the bed, narrowing her eyes as she regarded Jonas’ flushed form. “Wait,” he repeated more levelly. He was blushing, Mary-Lou noted; her eyes widened in horror as she realized what he was likely there to discuss.
Mary-Lou stared up at Jonas, bemused. The large man sighed and thrust out the book he held between sweaty palms. “Here.”
Mary-Lou accepted the leather-bound volume – then almost dropped it when she got a good look at its title. “MATING PRACTICES” the cover proclaimed in bold, gold-tinted script.
“What,” was all Mary-Lou could say.
“Um,” answered Jonas. “Just – here, let me—” he bent over her and parted the book open to where a long, black leather strap served as a bookmark. “Let me read you this.”
Mary-Lou made a go-ahead motion, not quite trusting herself to speak.