Silver Claws

13. Heavy is the head that wears the crown

My dreams are filled with the death rattle.

When I was thirteen, I went to see an elder wolf. Dad said it was the mate of his father's former beta. I didn't know her well, she was one of those old ladies that smelled like age and stale perfume. You let them hug you and pretend you liked it, they would tell you how tall you were and you would smile. You always forgot her name, and I still don't remember.

My father walked through the door of her cottage first, I was staring at his back when I heard it for the first time. Her cottage was the typical grandma home. The sound raked it's fingers over the baby pink walls, all of a sudden the faded family photos looked creepy. Dust mites floated through the air, they swirled as my father stepped aside.

She was laying in a twin bed that had been dragged into the front room. Brittle white hair was draped around an emaciated face. She was beneath a quilt, hiding a wrinkled, weak body. A skeleton clinging to life.

With her every breath the rattle rose and fell. Like an insect was trapped in her lungs, fluttering and bumping in empty space. The sound was so disturbing it made my body ache, I wanted to run and get away.

I heard that sound now, coming from Akela's chest.

She was smiling, blood dripping from unnaturally long teeth. She looked like a vampire in a horror movie. She stood over white skulls, the blood from her fangs dripping and splashing over them. She was in a solid red gown, the material matching the dark crimson trailing down her chin. I wanted to scream.

The dream shifted. The first thing I noticed was the golden dias, raised above a green field. My mate was still in front of me looking like she just drained a victim. In her bloody hands was an ivory crown, encrusted in glowing sapphires. She walked up, her hips swaying as a seductive pendulum. Not for the first time did I think she looked like a dancer. I couldn't move my hands from the thick armed chair, which looked suspiciously like a throne. My thundering heart dropped to my gut.

Her eyes seemed to glint as she slowly placed the crown on my head. The ocean smell washed over my face so strong I could taste the perfume in my mouth.

As soon as the weight of the crown balanced on my head my body began to burn. My skin erupted into flames, my throat so dry no sound came with my cry. The flames flowed down from my head, to my shoulders, my torso then legs. At last I croaked.

"Akela please." I don't think I've ever begged before.

I was answered with a blood stained smile.

I bolted upright, breathing heavily. I was in a creamy colored bedroom, my body no longer wrapped in flames. But I was insanely thirsty. I sat up and my forehead was stabbed with an instant head ache. A glass of water was on the bedside table next to me, I drained it in seconds. If possible it made the scorching worse, and I lumbered out of the room. Only a few doors away was an open bathroom.

I didn't even shut the door behind me, my sweaty palms knocked the faucet on. I drank directly from the tap, gulping water down until my stomach sloshed. I stood upright panting. In the mirror I saw an unfamiliar version of myself.

My skin was two shades too pale, black rings hung from bloodshot eyes and my hair stuck on one side like I was splashed with a bucket of water coming from the left. I looked like horse shit. I felt like horse shit.

The whole day was spent lounging and recovering from my hangover. Only for me to party again that night, and damn did the Aussies know how to party. The next three nights went the same, drinking as hard and fast as possible to ignore the bond that seemed to be screaming in my chest. I tried to drown it in liquor, drinking so much that Trevor would have to carry me back. I blacked out to forget the pain.