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Laura cradled the cup in her hands. It was wooden, roughly hewn but smoothed through generations of handling, and filled to the brim with sludgy brown goop that honestly looked like mud. But the Jamison pack’s emissary insisted that it would do what she needed it to. So, with one more tentative glance at the ancient-looking druid seated across from her and nodding placidly, Laura took a deep breath and downed the whole cup in one go.
She didn’t notice any effect at first, besides the gagging and coughing because, wow, that stuff was twice as revolting as just drinking mud would’ve been. The emissary hadn’t told her anything about what to expect, but Laura had assumed that she would fall asleep or pass out or otherwise be aware of leaving her current plane of existence before she could step into another one.
If it didn’t work, she was going to get her money back, but the money wouldn’t make up for all the hours she had left Derek alone lately. She hated doing that. He seemed so fragile, silent and pale, practically a ghost. The irony of that, given their circumstances, was not lost on Laura. It was what had given her the idea to do this in the first place.
There was no physical sign or sensation, but when Laura’s coughing fit was done, she looked up to find herself no longer in the emissary’s cluttered study. The lumpy pillow was gone from under her crossed legs, the low table and piles of old books disappeared. All that was left was the roughly hewn cup in her hands.
In place of her reality, there was a tree stump. Vast and ancient-feeling, spreading out in every direction, with Laura seated directly in its center. The light was dim, like a cloudcast evening, and tinted a dull blue. The clack of wooden cup meeting wooden stump echoed over and over. Against what, Laura didn’t know, since she couldn’t see any walls around them or even any other trees. Just bluish mist as far as the eye could see.
The emptiness of it was unsettling. In the complete silence of this place, Laura’s pounding heart felt like a timpani in her ears. But she had come here for a reason and there was no way she would let a little fear get in her way. Derek was counting on her.
Laura stood, facing the void with her head held high, and said, as loudly as she dared, “Mom?”
Her voice echoed too, the waver in it carried back to her again and again. She could do better than that.
“Mom, I know you’re out there. Please. I need to talk to you.”
For a long time, there was nothing. Or it was just a few seconds, Laura couldn’t tell. There was no sense of time in here. Maybe there was no time at all, this dimension existing outside of that constraint, and she would wake up in the emissary’s office with no time having passed at all. It certainly felt that way.
A soft noise at Laura’s back caught her ear. She turned to see a wolf, black as midnight with eyes glowing red, alight on the far edge of the stump. As the wolf approached, its form shimmered and shifted. By the time it drew near, it was no longer a wolf, but a woman. Tall and regal in her bearing, with a familiar fur coat draped over her, Talia smiled.
Laura smiled too, cheeks already wet with tears. “Mom? Is that really you?”
“It’s me, sweetheart.”
Talia’s voice echoed too, but differently. Like it was coming from far away, called out across the worlds of space between them. But it sounded like her, like Laura’s mom, and it was the sweetest sound Laura had heard in over a year.
Laura fell into Talia’s arms before she could question if she would find anything solid to hold onto. Luck was on her side for once, or fate or magic or whatever was allowing her this moment. Her mother hugged her tightly and the only thing that wasn’t perfect about the embrace was that there was no scent.
Talia had always smelled of earth and peppermint. This, here, smelled like nothing at all.
The hug lasted for a second and an age. Then Talia was pulling away, hands coming up to cup Laura’s face instead. Her thumbs rubbed away the wetness she found there.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said. “But, Laura, why have you done this? This isn’t where you belong.”
Laura wrapped her fingers around her mother’s wrist. “I know, but I just— I had to see you. Talk to you.”
“About what?”
A lump rose in Laura’s throat, thick and unmoving. It was as familiar as her surroundings were alien; it had been months since she’d been able to breathe without feeling like she was choking, to speak without swallowed tears clogging the way. She couldn’t keep the tears back this time, not when it was her mom that she was facing and not the hollow, shell-shocked little brother that needed her to be strong.
She was so tired of being the strong one.
“I don’t know what to do.” The words scraped her throat on their way out, torn out of her by the desperation of months spent watching the light in Derek’s eyes fade away, no matter what she did to hold onto it. “I’m trying, mom, but nothing I do is good enough. I’m trying to do what you taught me to—to be what you taught me to be—but I’m no alpha. Not like you.”
The spark sat heavy in her chest, burning hot like an ember, and Laura hated it. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t supposed to be hers for years and years, not until she was grown and her mother chose to pass it on to her, once all of her training was complete. It wasn’t supposed to have roared to life one random autumn evening when she’d barely even begun to understand what an alpha was meant to be. She’d only just been allowed to stand witness to an alpha conclave, for god’s sake, and that was just for observation.
None of this was supposed to have happened. But the eyes that met Laura’s were brown and cool instead of flaming red and there was no beat of a heart in Talia’s chest. Her mother wasn’t the alpha any longer and it was all on Laura now. The pack—the pitiful, tattered remnants of it—was her responsibility and she was failing.
Laura’s knees buckled. Talia followed her down with all the grace she’d ever shown in life and Laura buried her face in the soft fur of her mother’s shoulder. “I’m not ready to do this on my own,” she said. “I’m losing him, mom, and I don’t know how to help him. I can barely even help myself.”
Talia shushed her. “My girl, you’re doing everything you can. That’s all anyone can ask of you.”
Warm, gentle hands carded through Laura’s hair and she leaned into the touch. She’d missed it more than she had realized. Or just more than she’d been willing to admit to herself when she knew there was no chance of ever having it back.
“Tell me, Laura,” Talia said. “What must an alpha be?”
The question was achingly familiar. Hours and hours spent in the woods behind their house, in the tunnels underneath it, in the living room curled up by the fireplace while her siblings were out playing, listening to her mother’s teachings and trying to take them to heart.
“An alpha must be firm,” Laura recited. “And an alpha must bend. An alpha must care for her pack above all else, and she must guide them with the wisdom of her ancestor.”
Wisdom that she should’ve had years more to learn. Wisdom that was all but lost to her now, burned to ash and blown away like everything else. Even if Laura could have brought herself to ask for more lessons right now, to beg her mother to spill out every scrap of knowledge she had ever gotten from her own mother, the vision would only last for so long. The druid hadn’t been able to tell her how long, only that it would end. Only that it could not be repeated.
This was all the time she had and it wasn’t enough.
Her mother just pet her hair again, unconcerned. “That’s right.”
Laura squeezed her eyes shut against the throb in her chest; that warm, approving tone sank into the hollowness in her bones until she felt she might burst with it. All she’d ever wanted was to make her mother proud, but answering a question correctly wasn’t enough. She didn’t deserve her mother’s pride now and it hurt.
Talia shushed her. “Sweetheart, do you care for your pack?”
“Of course I do,” Laura told her. “More than anything.”
“Have you led your pack as best you know how?”
Laura sobbed. “I’ve tried, but I—”
“Have you kept your pack safe?”
They didn’t feel safe. Nowhere had felt safe from the moment they felt the pack bonds ripped away from them, no matter how far they ran or how well they hid. But it had been a year and they were still here, Laura and Derek, Peter under the care of people who actually knew what to do with him. Peter was a burned out husk of the man he had been, and Derek was hardly any better, but they were still alive. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
“You’ve done well, Laura,” Talia told her. “As well as anyone could expect. But there’s one teaching you’ve forgotten.”
Laura pulled back to look up at her.
Talia placed a warm hand on her cheek. “My girl, there is only so far you can bend before you break.” She smiled. “And sometimes you have to.”
“No,” Laura said at once. “No, I can’t fall apart. Derek needs me. I have to be strong for him. I’m all he has left.”
“Sweetheart, you can only be strong for so long,” Talia went on, undeterred. “But a broken bone heals stronger.”
Frowning, Laura shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
Talia pressed a kiss to Laura’s forehead, like she’d always done when any of her kids were upset, and pulled her close again. Laura collapsed into her without protest. She should ask more questions, she thought, if this was going to be the last she would ever see of her alpha, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t think she’d get any more answers anyway; she was too familiar with her mother’s silences.
Time passed or it didn’t. Laura soaked up the warmth of the embrace, letting her memories fill in the gaps where scent and heartbeat should’ve been, and tried not to hate herself for how much she didn’t want to leave. She had a brother to get back to, and all she wanted was to stay here where there were no responsibilities, no one depending on her, no empty legacy to uphold.
Out there, everything hurt. It built up and built up until she feared the bursting dam would wash away all that was left of her and take her baby brother with it. In here, with her mother’s arms around her, it felt different. Like maybe, if she exploded, the shards wouldn’t slice open anyone but herself.
She cried until she ran out of tears, and for once she didn’t have to worry if Derek would see or hear or smell them. They soaked the fur of Talia’s coat and left salt on Laura’s lips.
But it almost felt good. Like maybe, when she left, things might hurt a little less.