The Mór-Ríoghain's Curse | Book 0.5 | Entry for the #AfterParty Contest

TWO

TWO

A SHARP, STARTLED LAUGH ESCAPED AITHNE.
              Coldly, she brushed a tousle of hair from her eyes. "What is there to attack? What is there for them to even want from us?"
              Slowly, but surely, when Bryden had taken hold of their clan, their territory had dwindled to a meager town and sprawl of forest. They were decidedly the smallest Clan across the United States, the weakest, and the least populous. What allies, and whatever good Aithne's father had brought to the clan was well and ruined now. 
              Aithne swallowed, a fierce, dark hatred swelling in her chest for their Alpha. A fully-fledged scowl flitted across her features.
              "They want to see us exterminated, Aithne." Roarke eyes held an uneasy light.
              Aithne's eye twitched. "They wouldn't," She breathed harshly. "Children are – are commodities. They would risk putting a dent in our population just to get hold of territory?" 
              "According to Bryden, yes." Roarke muttered, jaw clenching.
              Begrudgingly, Aithne fell silent. She could understand why Bryden refused to fight the Dubh Clan's threat. As their Clan was small, there were little to no members willing or able to fight.
She scowled at the thought, hands curling into fists within her pockets. Although she was plenty able and more than willing to fight, Bryden refused. It may have been for the fact that she was a woman and many Alphas held antiquated views of gender norms, believing women to only be good for cooking and inflating male egos and pride. But the other reason was that he refused to acknowledge her and her siblings. He refused to look at them, show them any scrap of what affection and heritage they were worth. It could have been guilt or it could have been hatred, whatever it was, Aithne could care less as to what his reasons were. She only cared that he was cowardly enough to refuse what they were entitled to.
"Come on," She snapped finally, teeth grating. "Whatever happens, it isn't as though you and I could protest. Or change it."
Unless, of course, she wanted to risk being tossed from the Clan, as well as her younger siblings.
Her blood curdled at the thought of leaving her father's legacy behind – further abandoning it than she already had. At the thought of her parents' senseless murders, and that of her older sister, Eimíle, pain gouged deep into her heart. Her wolf released a blood-curdling howl from the confines of her head, sending it rattling. Like three deep claw marks, the pain scraped the length of her heart. Over the past six years, the wounds had scabbed over, the pain had dulled, but had never been forgotten. But it was at times like these that they brutally resurfaced, forcing her through the grieving process all over again. It was an agony, Aithne had come to realize, that wasn't bestowed just on her, her wolf, and her family. No, it was an agony the entire pack felt, but they could do no more to heal and fix the pack than she could.
The twins continued their walk in silence, Aithne's mind spinning thoughts as if they were gold.
Her wolf gave a tortured growl, lips sheathing deadly canines. It was a growl that rumbled through her bones. Though her beast's anger was palpable – a force in and of itself – its awareness had never dimmed. Her wolf's ears were attuned to every crunch of twig and soft press of snow, every whistle of the wind, and every breath taken in her vicinity, even as Aithne's skin began to itch, and her teeth began to throb as her wolf begged for release. Again.
Aithne gritted her teeth against the sensation, willing her wolf into silence.         
She'd had her one and only chance to free her wolf for the week.
Despite their individual woolgathering, Roarke and Aithne's eyes snapped to attention in unison as the sounds of a hasty scramble through the forest reached their ears. A sweet giggle bled onto the cold, prickly wind, feet scampering over snow and branches. The sounds of tiny, harsh breathing soothed Aithne's rowdy beast, eliciting a grin from her lips.
Roarke shook his head wearily. "I thought I told them to stay inside," he muttered, leaning back against a thin, spindly tree.
Aithne slipped a single hand into her pocket, lips curling with fond amusement as she teased him. "As if they would ever listen to you, Roarke."     
              "Right, well, I don't see them listening to you either," Roarke feigned a glower. "Admit it, we're shit guardians."
              "Speak for yourself," Aithne snorted. "They're just like every other Mac Cionaoith girl. They're stubborn and refuse to bend to the whims of a fool man." She bared her teeth.
Except for you, of course, the thought cut Aithne like a precision incision made by a surgeon. Just enough to make her bleed. Aithne swallowed thickly, but didn't give herself a chance to brew over it. Instead, she swatted it away to the recesses of her mind.
"Aoife, stop running!" A vicious mutter followed the deliberate pattering of feet, and Aithne's lips swirled with amusement.
"No," A sweet giggle penetrated the silence. "I want Aithne!"
A rush of warmth ensconced Aithne's heart at Aoife's words. And with the infinite patience of only a mother, Aithne waited for the thicket of trees to burst open and reveal her youngest sister.
"Yeah, well, if you don't slow down, Aithne's gonna skin me alive for letting you out of the house!" Caoimhe spat.
Aoife gave a whine, and Aithne could only imagine Caoimhe hooking a finger into the hood of Aoife's jacket, drawing her to a begrudging halt.
"Did they just forget about me?" Roarke grumbled, looking near to pouting. "I can skin her alive, too."
Aithne scoffed. "You're the nice one. I'm the mean parent."
Aithne swallowed jaggedly, throat closing tightly as she forced out the word 'parent.' In all sense of the word, that was exactly what she and Roarke had become. Parents to their younger sisters. Aoife had been a mere one-year old and Caoimhe an unsure eight-year old at the time of their family's deaths. Aithne and Roarke had been forced to grow up in the blink of an eye, and repress their grief, to raise Caoimhe and Aoife without help from their pack. Whether it had been out of shock or sorrow at their Alpha family's death, or out of fear under Bryden's rapidly constricting rule, no one had lifted a finger to help Aithne or Roarke. 
Bitterness tasted salty in the back of Aithne's mouth, but she didn't try to ignore it. It was true. She was bitter and angry at their pack, so much so, that she was considering leaving them to their fate at the hands of the Dubh clan. In fact, if she was feeling particularly cruel, she would have given the Mór-Ríoghain her blessing to let the Dubh Clan do their worst.
An Alpha is just and fair. Her father's stern warning resonated through her head, something she'd heard hum utter to Eimíle often as a child. Alphas rule with a sensible head, and not by a war-torn heart.
Aithne swallowed. Those were words she had never been supposed to hear. They had been for her older sister, Eimíle, to hear – to absorb, and to help her emulate their father once she became Alpha. But Eimíle's right to be Alpha had been stolen. And never would any of them have entertained the idea of her becoming Alpha.
Aithne withdrew from her thoughts with a snap as her eyes locked onto the thicket of trees, where Aoife burst free with an innocent child-like giggle.
Brown hair aflutter, creamy skin stung red, sweet blue-grey eyes twinkling with joy, and a blissful smile. Aithne cataloged all of Aoife's features in the blink of an eye before Aoife leapt across the snow and bound right into Aithne's left arm, twining her legs around Aithne's waist.
"Ach, Aithne, you're like ice!" Aoife shrieked, tiny fingers patting Aithne's cheeks.
At nearly six-years old, perhaps Aoife was too old for anyone to be carrying her, but Aithne refused to stop so long as Aoife let her.
"I've been outside, you silly goose." Aithne bit gently into Aoife's fingers, shaking her head wildly, eliciting another giggle from the five-year old.
"I'm not a goose!" Aoife proclaimed, tugging her hand free, knotting it around the zipper of Aithne's jacket and fidgeting with it. "I'm a wolf!"
For emphasis, Aoife bared her teeth – pristine, white, baby-teeth – and growled in the back of her throat, and Aithne's heart melted. "See! A goose cannot make that sound!" Aoife chirped.
Affectionately, Aithne rubbed her nose along Aoife's cold cheek, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "My, how frightening you are, little wolf." She smirked, nuzzling Aoife's cheek.
A dramatic huff caught Aithne's attention, and seconds later, Caoimhe stepped through the thicket that Aoife had trampled over.
A sheet of raven-colored hair swarmed her shoulders, sleek and straight as an arrow, and with gloved hand, she tucked a tousle behind her ear. Thickly-lashed blue eyes blinked once and then rolled at the sight of Aoife clinging to Aithne like a monkey – despite the former's claims of being a wolf, and her bee-stung lips curled into a pout, the cold having fleshed out their ruby color with the ivory of her skin and smattering of freckles.
"She ran before I could stop her," Caoimhe offered, scratching the bridge of her nose. "She just wanted to come and find you because you weren't there at dinner."
Aithne leveled a glance at Aoife who'd since fallen silent and tucked her head into the groove between Aithne' jaw and shoulder. "Aoife, listen to me," She intoned carefully. "You should not have run away from Caoimhe like that."
"But," Aoife's angelic voice began a protest, "I just wanted to see you, Aithne! I missed you!"
Before Aithne could reply, Roarke took over. He snatched Aoife from behind, yanking her from Aithne's grip, eliciting a laugh, and propped her on a hip. "But still, Aoife, you must be careful. Don't ever run into the forest without Aithne or I. There are bad things that can happen."
Aithne swallowed tightly, knowing he was referring to the encroaching presence of the Dubh clan.
She tugged Caoimhe to her side, fingering the length of her hair.  "Next time, you two should wait for Roarke and I, okay?"
Caoimhe rolled her eyes, but allowed Aithne to hug her to her side. "Well, if you want that, maybe you should put a leash on her."  She snapped, smacking a piece of gum rather noisily. "Anyway, how much am I getting for this round of babysitting?"
Aithne stifled a snort and rolled her eyes. "Roarke will pay you. We'll give you an extra five dollars for scampering through the forest."
Like any other thirteen-year old, Caoimhe's current concerns were makeup, boys, and clothes. A bit begrudgingly, she'd agreed to care for Aoife so long as they paid her. It was money that would probably only ever fund Caoimhe's ever-growing closet and collection of makeup.
"Awesome," Caoimhe snapped her gum again, smiling.
Running her hand through Caoimhe's hair, Aithne then tilted Caoimhe's chin upwards to peer into her eyes firmly. "Swear upon The Mór-Ríoghain that you won't ever do that again."
Caoimhe huffed sassily with a roll of her eyes. "Fine, fine."
"Swear it," Roarke demanded brusquely, narrowing a glare on Caoimhe and then Aoife.
"I swear on The Mór-Ríoghain that I won't go anywhere without you." Caoimhe snapped in irritation, whirling on a foot in impatience. "Can we go now?"    
"Alright, alright, lead the way." Aithne folded her hands in the pockets of her jacket and followed Caoimhe.