Wolf Teeth || Book I : Summer {M/M} ❄

Chapter #29

That night, Oryen dreamt a dark cloud drifted over Kolraga and dumped a lake of rain into the canyon. As it flooded with water to waist height, Beau stood over him with a knife, berating him, telling him it would be his fault if they all drowned. Oryen had nothing but a bucket, which he filled and climbed the walls of the canyon to dump on the other side. At the end of the dream, he shouted, "This isn't working! It's pointless!" Beau glared at him and pointed at the bucket. "Of course it isn't working, look." Oryen stared into his bucket to find that there were holes in the bottom. Then Beau took the knife to his own chest, carved out his heart and offered it to Oryen.

"Here. Will this help?"

Oryen's snarl of frustration and fear woke him so suddenly that he nearly toppled from his hammock. His skin itched and burned. His bones felt bruised. When he looked down, his hands had turned blackish grey with fur, his fingers tipped with long claws. As he looked, and his breathing evened, the hair and claws receded.

The dream receded too, a tide come in with the moon and withdrawing at sunrise. In its place, the memory of the assassination attempt set his heart hammering again. It had kept him up. A choking fear of a future narrowly averted. One in which Oryen had been reunited with his brother only to see him immediately murdered.

He wanted to speak to Lazro, but he had Kappa training that morning. The other werewolves already rustled out of their hammocks. As Oryen swung out of his, something white caught his eye. Crushed petals. The flower Aryeta had put in his hair had fallen out in his sleep.

The day didn't improve. The capricious weather deemed summer's sunshine had overstayed their welcome, and the deluge of rain that followed turned the training arena into a mudslide. Oryen could keep up with, if not outpace, many of the other Kappas, now—not that Serove rewarded his increase in strength and skill with anything save a grudging, 'That wasn't shit.' If this was considered Serove's good books, Oryen only got a footnote, and it would likely get scribbled out soon because a Sigma appeared midway through sparring to announce Oryen had been requested in the dining hall.

Requested by Lazro.

All the Alphas, save for Reyz, were eating lunch when Oryen arrived, sopping wet and covered in mud. Everyone went quiet except Oryen's brother, who rose from his chair.

"Ah, hell, the rain. Could someone get him a towel?"

He put a hand on Oryen's shoulder. It sounded like he'd slapped a puddle. Apart from the bandage on his arm and the deep crack between his brows, Lazro looked no worse for wear, but it was still good to confirm as much with Oryen's own eyes.

"I'm glad you're here," Lazro said. "We're just waiting on Reyz. He'll be here soon."

"Yes, it would behoove us to have the closest witness to the assassination here to give an account," said Tavell. "In particular since he helped avert that disaster."

A Sigma came in with a towel. Oryen wrapped it around his shoulders, though it was a fruitless effort that only mitigated how much he leaked on the chair as he sat down in the empty one to Lazro's right.

He did not sense the static in the air. He smelled it. Like the coppery oxidation of fresh blood, the werewolves in the room eyed his position next to his brother with a hint of suspicion.

So they wanted Oryen's account of what he'd seen during the party, but they didn't like where it positioned him—at Lazro's right hand.

The only one who seemed non-fussed about Oryen's presence was Kalysto, who twirled her fork and stabbed her pasta salad with uncalled for violence. It looked like she'd taken a faylan stick to the face at practice. A red weal across her cheek, one eye swollen shut and purple as a plum.