Chapter 29

Katla

Hugging my knees, I remembered that just yesterday I had told my father that I needed him and that he would be by my side as I became Alpha. I screamed, throwing anything I could touch. “Fuck Viti! Fuck Viti! Fuck Viti!”

I sobbed again, gasping for air and feeling everything tightening around me. I could feel Aurelia growing restless, wanting blood, and I wanted to let her take over, sprint to the Southern border, and mangle Viti’s pathetic, tiny wolf beyond recognition. “Goddess, help me,” I begged.

In my heart, I felt a tug, like I was connected to a string. The sensation to follow it grew stronger, and curiosity took over. I needed to know what was on the other end. I stood, wiped my tears on the back of my sleeve, and followed the pull.

I silently walked along the white hall lined with paintings that showed an array of shapes and splatters and to the stairs. I supposed this must be human art. The art in the Iceclaw Packhouse was mostly portraits of past Alphas, the Moon Goddess, and our history in the South. It meant something and each had a story. Human art looked like a unicorn’s blood spatter. Weird.

I caught Damien’s scent coming from the floor below and wanted to run to him, hiding in his strong arms, but the string attached to my chest tugged again. I walked silently down each step, which wasn’t hard. The stairs in the Packhouse creaked under even a little weight, and I had learned where to step to hide my movements. Here everything was so easy; I thought back to the toothbrush that did the work for me.

The heart string pulled harder, and I walked past the living room that was flooded with light from the wall of South facing windows. It led me to the entryway table where I had so thoughtlessly sat my only belongings- my father’s charred will and letter, and my mother’s necklace. In the back of my mind, I heard a faint, airy whisper, “Katla.” I looked around, but didn’t see anything, but it came again. I felt like I my movements weren’t entirely my own, like I was a puppet on the string.

“Katla,” it whispered again, this time louder.

“Who’s there,” I asked aloud, but there was no response. Usually a disembodied voice is cause for concern or a sign that someone was losing their mind, but I found it oddly familiar and comforting, connecting with something deep in me.

I shook off the voice and feeling, and reached down for the letter. My name was scratched on the outside in my father’s tiny script, and seeing it made my breath catch for a moment. I turned it over in my hand, and gently lifted the wax seal embossed with the Iceclaw crest. I felt a lump form in my throat and tears began to well at the corners of my eyes once more.

I lifted the flap and caught the light scent of my father. A tear rolled down my cheek as the paper slid from the envelope. There was something hard and lumpy left in the envelope, and I tuned it upside down to remove the object. A platinum cuff clattered out on to the floor. I picked up the bracelet, and etched into the metal was the same ancient swirled design, just much smaller, as the diamond collar Damien had gifted me yesterday.

“How?” I breathed. It made no sense. In the center of the cuff lay a crescent-shaped purple diamond with three smaller round diamond on either side, and the ends that met on the underside of the wrist were two circular moonstones. It was delicate and old. Why did my father have this, and how did Damien have a necklace that matched it?

I opened the letter, hoping to have some answers about new questions that were quickly forming.