Freya's Founding: Book 2 of the Winging It Series Read online

  “Not really,” she answered.

  “Okay.” I poked the bag of barley. “I thought orzo was made with, well, orzo, not barley.”

  “You can substitute barley for orzo. We had pasta last night, so I thought a grain would be better today.”

  “Cool.” I sat for a while, watching her work.

  “Everyone thought it was weird that someone would transfer their senior year.”

  I didn’t reply but scooted off the counter and grabbed some basil, a knife, and a cutting board.

  “What did you say to them?” I said after I chopped a few leaves.

  “Basically that it was none of their business.”

  “That’s one way to answer, I guess…” I tried to keep my tone as steady and non-judgmental as I could.

  “Why do they care? It’s not like we are going to be best buddies by the end of the year.”

  “Why wouldn’t you make friends by the end of the year? You seem like an intelligent girl with cool interests.”

  She scoffed. “No, I’m a girl who gets kicked out of her family because she can’t get it right. Worse, my family was going to kill me. Actually kill me.”

  “That totally sucks, I agree.” I chopped a few more leaves. “But what does that have to do with making friends at SLO High School?”

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  “But, again, that doesn’t answer my question. Why can’t you make friends at school?” I said and grabbed another handful of basil.

  “Okay, fine. Here’s your answer: I don’t want friends here.”

  I nodded as if she had given a reasonable answer, but then added as if it were an afterthought, “That sounds lonely.”

  “Maybe, but at least I won’t have anyone turn around and literally try to stab me in the back.”

  Aaahh. There was the real answer. Poor kid. “Not everyone stabs family or friends in the back. There are people out there who will actually watch your back for you. And those are the people you can choose to hang around with now.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay,” I said and continued to chop the basil. After all of it was chopped and I couldn’t spot anything else I could do to help Gina with dinner, I brushed off my hands and washed them. Neither of us broke the silence. I turned to my reluctant houseguest.

  “I’m not going to pretend to understand all that you are going through, but I’m here if you want to talk about anything, either Colorado or what is going on now. Don’t forget that after dinner, we are going to meet the rest of the pack and have a pack initiation ceremony.”

  Gina gave the briefest of nods. I hardly had an in-depth understanding of our pack members, since I had only met them a handful of weeks ago. But going off what I did know of the others in the pack, Gina had a good chance of finding people to watch her back, even if she wasn’t planning on making friends at school. I hoped that would be enough to help her figure out her path in life.

  “So… David…” she said, interrupting my contemplations.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s up with you and him?” Grabbing the bag of barley, she ripped it open with too much force, exploding little pieces of grain everywhere. Sighing, she dropped the bag on the counter, which then tipped over, spilling even more. She ignored the mess, crossed her arms, and looked at me with a small scowl.

  “What do you mean?” I replied. “We’re the Alphas of the pack.”

  “Really, Freya? You’re going to pretend you don’t know what I mean?”

  Sighing, I grabbed the broom from my pantry and started to sweep the barley-strewn floor. “It’s complicated.”

  “No, it’s not. You two are the Alphas. And Alphas are always mates. But then you’re acting all skittish and hands-off around each other. Talk about mixed signals.”

  “As I’ve said before, we do things different around here. We’re co-Alphas, but we are not mates. I don’t know how other packs work; I just know how it happened to us.”

  “But he’s hot. Old, but hot.”

  “Thirty is not old,” I laughed. “And hotness had nothing to do with it. Besides, I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, let alone a mate, when I found myself being an Alpha in his pack.”

  “So you’re not with David.”

  “Nope.”

  “But I bet you wouldn’t mind a little special lovin’ from him, would you?”

  I couldn’t help it, an image of David popped into my head. From his closely-cropped, brown curly hair to his oh-so-broad shoulders, he was delicious. The rational part of my brain shattered the image before I could spend too much time enjoying it. The role of Alpha had been pretty much dumped into my lap by… whoever, whatever mystical Powers That Be decided these things. And if I put David into the Significant Other category, I would pretty much be signing up to be a non-werewolf Alpha forever. Plus, there was another problem…

  “Does that mean you’re seeing someone else?” Gina asked.

  Yeah, and there was the other problem. I didn’t reply at once, but took my time sweeping as far as I could reach under the oven. Gina leaned back against the counter, watching me like a hawk. It occurred to me that she hadn’t made a single motion to help clean up the mess she herself had made. Straightening up, I handed her the broom. She took it, but didn’t move.

  “So you’re seeing someone else?” she insisted.

  “I’m currently not involved with anyone,” I paused. “But there is another guy who has expressed interest in starting something. I haven’t told him yes either.”

  “Let me guess: He’s Alva? Some hot Swedish dude.”

  “Well, yes to the Alva and Swedish part.” And the hot part. “His name is Alrik. I’ve known him since I was a little kid.”

  “Are Alva like werewolves, kid-wise? Meaning two of the same supernatural species can’t have kids together?”

  “Yup. As far as I know, all supernaturals are like that. My guess is that it is a way to prevent inbreeding for smaller tribes. In fact, if you look at it… Hey, do you smell smoke?”

  “Crap.” She interrupted me, pushing away from the counter and ran to the oven, tossing me the broom as she passed. “I forgot. The tomatoes.”

  Grabbing a dish towel, she wrapped it around her hand like an oven mitt and opened the oven door. Three things happened nearly simultaneously; smoke billowed out of the oven, Gina choked on the fumes, and the end of the dish towel, which dangled from her hand, brushed against the heating elements and caught fire. Dropping both the pan and the dish towel, she lurched backward, coughing. As the kitchen filled with smoke, I lunged blindly toward the stove, waving my hands in front of me. The dish towel was now almost completely on fire. Trying not to touch the sides of the oven, I reached down to a corner of the towel that wasn’t burning yet, pinched it carefully, and backed away from the oven. The flames licked so close to my hand that I could feel the hairs on my arm start to scorch. I pivoted, then dropped the now-blazing towel in the sink and hit the faucet on. The water put the fire out, but the acrid stench of wet, burnt fabric joined the cloud of smoke. Gina was still hacking in the corner, so I grabbed a proper pot holder, retrieved the pan of now-carbonized tomatoes, and dumped it into the sink as well. And then the screech of the smoke detector joined the chaos. I snatched a cookie tray from the drying rack and handed it to Gina.

  “Fan out the kitchen. I’ll stop the alarm,” I shouted over the blare.

  It took me a few minutes to drag a chair over to the alarm, find some thick books to stack on it (I love being short), climb up, and disconnect the battery. The silence was glorious. I hopped off the chair and returned to the kitchen. There, I was surprised by the remaining thick cloud of smoke and no Gina. Shaking my head, I propped open the door and started fanning out the room myself.

  After the smoke cleared, the charred roasting pan was clean, and the barley was all swept up, Gina reappeared. Although I was annoyed at her for leaving me with the mess, I tried to keep my voice steady. “Where did you go? I co
uld have used some help cleaning up.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I was planning on cleaning it up later. It’s just that your cell phone rang and I saw it was your sister and I thought maybe it was something about the initiation ceremony since, you know, it’s at her ranch and all, so I answered it. But she just wanted to tell you something. Then she and I got talking. Sorry,” she finished with a shrug.

  My irritation faded and I nodded. “So what did Elin want to tell me?”

  Gina paused, scratched her forehead, shifting from foot to foot. “Um… I forgot?”

  Laughing at her utter teen-ness, I said, “That’s okay, I’ll see her tonight. Let’s finish this dinner.”

  The rest of the time preparing and eating dinner went smoothly. Gina’s defensive walls appeared to be cracking and I was able to get a better feel for her personality, which seemed pleasant enough. But a small part of me started to wonder if Gina had told me the full story earlier. She came across as intelligent and clever and I wouldn’t have guessed that she would be so forgetful about what my sister had just said. And the timing of her returning right as I was done cleaning bothered me. But then again, she had just come from a very traumatic experience involving everything she had ever known. What harm would there be in giving her the benefit of the doubt?

  Chapter 5

  Much to my delight, during the whole forty-five-minute drive to the ceremony site, Gina had enthused exuberantly about my 1986 Eagle station wagon. The two-toned ancestor of a cross-over vehicle required a certain kind of person to appreciate its charm, and Gina seemed to be the right type. I was much encouraged about our chances of getting along. By the time we reached our destination, I had actually agreed to allow her to drive my precious possession at some point in the future.

  The destination for the ceremony took place out on my sister’s ranch land, out by a small natural spring about a mile from her house. When I would visit the spring, seeking a place to relax and contemplate life, I often scared away deer, although in the last month, the invasive and destructive feral pigs had been hogging the water all to themselves.

  Today it was David, Pedro, and Philip who greeted us at the head of the creek. It was our first official ceremony as a pack and I was looking forward to participating. Although it wasn’t necessary, David explained that it was customary to have a rite which established the new pack. Since his former Santa Fe pack had been established long ago, he had never been part of one, but he asked some of his other werewolf contacts for background. Ancient packs in Spain and Northern Africa would found their packs on the idea of sacrifice. To be in a pack meant some sacrifice of individual freedom, but it also meant each individual would gain power from the communal ties. The talents each individual brought to the pack became available, to a certain extent, to all others. We shared strengths much like we shared emotions.

  Our San Luis Obispo pack had been created under duress and, while I supposed the extra support of the pack was still there, we hadn’t had time to formally acknowledge our ties to each other and appreciate the perks that came with our shared strength. This ceremony was long overdue.

  I looked at Pedro and Philip, who had saved David’s life a few months ago, but had then been kicked out of the Santa Fe pack for helping David escape. Pedro leaned back against David’s SUV, arms crossed, looking off into the distance. I was struck again by his profile, dominated by the regal high cheekbones of Native Americans, yet his skin color was darker than most other Native Americans I had met. Perhaps Pedro had a mixture of ancestries in his background, like David did. David’s family tree included ancestors from Brazil, Spain, and Ireland, to name a few. He had once told me that when a werewolf was trying to overcome prejudices and convince a person to be his or her mate, little biases like nationalities and skin color faded in contrast.

  Philip, compared to David and Pedro, was as pasty as Elmer’s Glue. His brown buzz cut yet again needed a trim and most of his hair appeared to have staged a sit-down protest, as it was drooping sadly. His face, unlike Pedro’s neutral expression, was lit up in a cheek-splitting smile. As he hugged me, I was struck by our similarity in stature. But what he lacked in height, he more than made up in positive attitude.

  “Freya! My fearless Alva Alpha! I’ve been looking forward to this event all week.” After a quick peck on the cheek, he released me and turned to Gina, who had retreated back into sulky, disinterested teenage defense mode. “And Gina—welcome to our pack of misfits. And though misfits we are, I can firmly attest we are the prettiest pack you will ever find. Or at least I am. I don’t know about these others.” He hitched a thumb at David. I smiled at his kidding. Philip was many lovely things, but pretty wasn’t one of them. Gina, too, seemed to appreciate his light, self-deprecating humor, and her shoulders relaxed slightly.

  “While I cannot ever hope to compete with the prettiness of our dear Philip,” David’s eyes glinted in amusement, “I can welcome everyone to the first official ceremony of the San Luis Obispo werewolf pack.”

  I stepped next to him and stood tall. Although modern life seldom allowed for ceremonies or rites, when we were planning the event, I felt a connection to deep human history. For thousands of years, people have relied on traditions to define who they were and what they stood for. Recent times have seen a massive decrease in these formal rituals, and although we gained the freedom to break the repressing shackles of custom, we also gave up the unifying power which comes with tradition. Today, however, we would celebrate that unifying power. Grabbing David’s hand, I started the ritual.

  “My fellow pack members. We gather today at this life-giving water just as many other souls have throughout time. For hundreds of years, this small spring sustained tribes of Salinan Native Americans who gathered to drink, clean, and cool themselves by the water. Within the last century, groups of homesteaders replaced those Native Americans and used the water to try to raise up farms and fields from the dry land. In the last few decades, the spring has returned to being a watering hole for wildlife and a scene of great natural beauty in these semi-arid grasslands.

  “Now, however, we have gained the right to use it in another way. One, I am guessing, that is both familiar and unique to this location. We come to the stream, like so many others, to refresh and clean ourselves. But it is also to prepare for acknowledging and cementing the bonds of our pack. So let us wash before we move to the hill, where we will lay the symbolic foundation of our pack.”

  David and I led the pack to the banks of the spring and splashed water over our hands, face, and feet. The icy water carved rivers down my arms and neck. After I finished, Pedro followed, then Philip, and lastly Gina. This was order of dominance in the pack, although it didn’t mean as much in our pack as in normal ones. Other packs would use their command chain to intimidate and control those lower in the pecking order, but neither David nor I believed in such abuse of power. Even though I had informed Gina that the order was largely symbolic in our pack, I watched her bristle with indignation at her last place.

  After we all had washed, David continued the ceremony, talking about how the Central Coast of California was our territory now and how we were to establish a symbolic location to be our sacred ground. We had chosen, with the blessing of Elin and Drew, the highest hill in the area, which was about a half mile from the spring. Now came the part of the ceremony that undoubtedly was a first in the history of werewolves—we would change into our alternate forms, which meant one of the Alphas didn’t have four paws, but instead had two wings. When planning with David, I thought I would feel awkward at this point, an intruder in a foreign pack. But I didn’t. I felt joy at being together with these people. Philip was right—we were misfits, but we were misfits together. The sense of otherness bloomed large in my chest, but now it didn’t feel alien. It felt like a connection, a sixth sense in which I could read the emotions of my packmates. I closed my eyes and explored each connection. David was feeling proud, but solemn with the weight of Alpha responsibilities. Pedro was feeling re
lieved to be part of a formalized pack again—he had been concerned about the previous informal nature of our pack. Philip was just plain happy. And Gina was feeling a whole conglomeration of feelings—she fluxed from sadness caused by leaving her pack, relief that she had found a new one, anger at being thrown out of her home, and optimism about her current situation. Understandable.

  I opened my eyes to see the others of my pack looking at me in curiosity. Perhaps this feeling of connection was old hat to them, but not to me. Smiling at them, I took off in flight, hoping that I could beat them to the hill, but the pack below gave me a run for my money. David was a larger-than-average werewolf with a beautiful black coat and a spot of white on his chest, unusual markings for a wolf, according to my research. Pedro and Philip were both larger than the largest dog, but still average for a werewolf. Their coats were the more typical mix of grays found with wolves. Gina’s werewolf form, however, was a surprise. She was bigger than I expected and was covered with dark red fur—almost a blood red. I had never seen a werewolf or wolf with such coloring. That girl was certainly full of surprises.

  David and I reached the hill at nearly the same time. A roll of change washed over his body, turning him from lupine to human. It was strangely elegant, but it also left him as naked as the day he was born. I blushed and (somewhat regretfully) looked away. The view had been pretty nice. The rest of the pack joined us, changed, and dressed in the clothes that we had left on the hill in preparation.

  “Since the beginning of our existence,” David said, restarting the ceremony, “those of us who turn into werewolves realized that we, like the animals we resemble, need the bonds of a pack. We are stronger, wiser, and more fulfilled when banded together. But in ancient tales, people have recognized that forming a pack also requires sacrifice of individuality. Packs must work together and sometimes, the needs of the group outweigh the needs of the individual. We have long recognized this truth, and the traditions of initiating a pack have always included some symbolic sacrifice of self. Today we are going to found our pack on three sacrifices. One sacrifice will be of our history, one will be of our money, and one will be of our body.”