01 | wanted poster
I was staring at a wanted poster — my wanted poster.
The Nightshade.
While coming face to face with the reality I was now a wanted woman, I could not help but smirk at the poster. In retaliation to not knowing any identifying features beyond my hooded, black cloak, they conjured up a name for my identity: Nightshade.
The name had a nice ring to it. Nightshade. I took a moment to delight in my growing persona — big enough to warrant a name; it meant my presence was being noticed, and I hoped it would bring awareness to my cause.
Under the guise of my protected identity, I would slip away, unnoticed, in the name of saving innocent rogues. Naturally, word slowly spread of my existence, and I was not welcomed with open arms. In fact, all over the United States, a campaign to outlaw the existence of rogues was taking the nation by force. As a result, many rogues were being captured and tortured in preparation for building a case against them; I was an inconvenience to this inhumane plan. However, in fighting this injustice, I did not anticipate only crossing paths with one Alpha, Alpha Ezra Withers. In doing so, it seemed Ezra finally saw me as more than just a pesky thorn in his side.
The $100,000 price on my head attested to that.
Run, a voice in my head taunted. Run while you still can.
I rubbed my temple, eyes closed, driving the voice out of my mind.
Ever since the fall of my old pack, Meridian, my wolf had — almost daily — been calling out for me to run. At first, the urge was purely something only my wolf wanted. But, over the years, the itch to run festered into an unquenchable, bone-shattering ache; an ache that could only be subdued through rigorous mental strength. Nevertheless, the thought of running to Canada plagued my mind constantly. Yet, no matter my desire, I would never be able to leave my older brother, Apollo, behind.
Apollo was a Natural Born Alpha. Despite not being born into an existing line of Alphas, he came into this world marked with the Alpha Gene. He was destined for greatness, and he needed me by his side, especially with his less-than-stellar track record.
From a rather young age, Apollo — like a moth to a flame — wound up in countless precarious situations. He would find himself injured more often than not — most of the time never really knowing how he got a bump on his elbow or how his back was left slashed open. Our parents were always there to lend a helping hand and disapproving glance at Apollo.
Until one day they weren’t.
When our old pack, Meridian, fell, it was also the day our parents died. Apollo and I were all we had in this world. As a result, I would never be able to run freely as I so desperately longed to do, especially with the effort to criminalize rogues underway.
It was selfish, really — me being Nightshade. While I did want to help rogues in a general sense, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was truly doing it for myself.
However, I was unable to linger on my guilty feelings for long. A familiar voice smoothly asked, “Lame name, right?”
Giving the wanted poster another once over, my eyes holding a constant gaze over the bounty, I responded. “You have something better in mind?”
“I’d say they shouldn’t have even given him a name in the first place.” At this, I swiveled to face my best friend, Link.
I’d wager I had known Link Mayfield longer than I’d known my brother. Back in the day, Link’s mom was best friends with my own mother. As a result, we were dragged along to more play dates than I could count — left to play together as our mothers gossiped furiously in hushed tones. We were made to be best friends whether we liked it or not. And, for a long time, I did not like it. He was a sticky, slobbery boy with wonky buck teeth. He wreaked of baby powder way after his diaper days, and his hair was always covering his eyes.
I blamed my brother for my instant dislike of Link. Apollo was just so... Apollo. He wasn’t slobbery or sticky. He didn’t smell like baby powder. I thought all guys were supposed to be like him, but when my parents died during the fall of the pack, Link’s parents did as well. Soon, Apollo was spending more time with Alpha Byron and I was left alone to handle Link. I guess once I got to know him better, I discovered he wasn’t half bad.
It did help that he wasn’t as much of an awkward boy anymore. He was now an awkward man. On the bright side, he no longer wreaked of baby powder. His braces fixed his buck teeth. He now knew how to maintain his ash-colored curls, and the only thing covering his emerald eyes were the glasses he wore for his computer work.
“I’d dare to say giving him a name gives him more power,” Link, arms crossed over his chest, craned his neck to peer over my shoulder at the poster. He puckered his lips, eyes squinting.
Nudging my elbow into his side, Link stumbled, a smile burning bright on his face. I arched my eyebrows, offering up: “that might not be a bad thing.”
Link, regaining his balance, walked in front of me. His figure was tall and looming, casting a long, narrow shadow over me. “He stands no chance. Ezra has been going easy on him.”
He spoke almost as if he knew Nightshade. And, I suppose, unknowingly, he did know her. He knew me, and, by proxy, he knew the Nightshade. His less than warm reception of my identity caused no irritation, though. I knew Link, and I knew him well: he harbored a great distaste for rogues, especially after the collapse of Meridian.
Extending my neck to look at Link, I questioned, “Do you know from experience? Are you the Nightshade?”
“No,” Link backed up into the brick wall behind him. His head barreled backward, narrowly missing the wall. “No. No, don’t be ridiculous. No.”
He warded off my accusation with a wave. If I had not known better, I would have thought Link’s response was cause for alarm. The confidence carried earlier seemed to slip away when I pointed the finger at him. Only, I knew he had nothing to do with Nightshade.
“Maybe you’re lying,” I smirked, deviously. “I could turn you in. I’d be rich.”
“Alessia,” Link slumped, his voice whining.
“Link,” I mocked his tone. “You are so dramatic. I don’t really think you’re Nightshade.”
His body relaxed, and the tension wiped off his face. He straightened himself out, clearing his throat.
“I knew that,” he tried to play it off like he did not almost blow a gasket.
Link turned back towards the poster, taking out his phone to snap a quick picture of it when an alarm sounded over our pack link.
ALERT: EMERGENCY PACK MEETING. GATHER IN THE PACK HALL AT ONCE.
“Shit,” I rubbed my temple at the abrupt alert resounding through my mind. “What do you think happened this time?”
Alerts over the pack link were few and far between. It had been months since the last one, and my brain did not take well to the sudden interruption, an ache lingering after Beta Ichabod’s voice disappeared.
“You mean what has Apollo gotten up to this time?” Link soothed his own head as we started walking towards the Pack Hall.
Link was not wrong. While pack-wide alarms were not a common occurrence, they did hold a common element, my older brother. Somehow, my brother — despite having the Alpha Gene — would continuously find himself in need of a helping hand. The last time the alarm rang through, Apollo was missing for two days. Panic set in after the first twenty-four hours with no word from him. A day later he was found sleeping in one of the pack fields, tired from an intense workout, not a hair misplaced on his head.
Apollo, I reached out to my brother.
Les? Les, is that you? Apollo responded shortly after.
Surprised he answered so quickly, I asked, this you?
Not this time, his tone over the pack link was timid, but he followed up with a rushed, come quick.
Both Link and I quickened our pace. It was a fairly short walk from where we were. As we edged farther, it seemed like we were not the only ones walking at an elevated pace. Several other pack members walked intensely, all headed in the same direction — the Pack Hall.
The Pack Hall was a remnant of our fallen pack. Once a hub for social activities in Meridian now stood as a mere shell of its former self. The wooden planks holding up the structure were weathered with time, some caving in when too much pressure was applied. The white paint — once a brilliant, blinding reflector of the sun — chipped and frayed.
Despite the hazardous appearance, the Pack Hall was a hallowed place. Upon entering the large barn doors, the hall was bustling with members whispering to a fro. Several rows of pews were neatly aligned to face the front — no longer structurally sound enough to support a stage.
Link and I took a seat in the back, allowing room for older members of the pack to get a prime position up close. My eyes instinctively scanned the front of the room for Apollo. It did not take long for my eyes to spot his goofy grin. He waved vigorously at me from his position off to the side of Alpha Byron.
Alpha Byron was a sturdy man, bulky in nature. Despite having exited his prime, now nearing the age of fifty, his physique had not faltered. While many hard lines plagued his face, his form still rivaled his stature twenty years prior. His arms were loosely folded, eyes hardened as he waited for all the pack members to arrive.
We did not have to wait but five minutes longer as our numbers were nearing close to seventy; a far cry from the prior size of Meridian.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Byron’s voice boomed, mastering the art of projecting at just the right interval for both Link and me to hear him clearly in the back. Byron paused, licking his lips, his eyebrows furrowed.
In his struggle to find the right words, many pack members did not waste this time stepping in.
“What’s happening?” One member asked.
“Are we in danger?”
“What did Apollo do this time?” One of Apollo’s friends snickered.
“Is this a drill?”
Clearing his throat, Beta Ichabod stood straight, shushing the crowd. “Settle down. Settle down.”
“I apologize,” Byron spoke slowly. “In times like these, it is hard to find the right words. I am afraid we are not gathered here because of Apollo. This is also not a drill.”
Byron looked to someone in the front pew and motioned them forward. Just from the lopsided haircut, I could tell it was Cooper. Cooper was — like me — an Enforcer in the pack. We did not have many shifts together, but I gathered he liked to keep to himself. He was not known to stir trouble or seek attention. For that, I knew our meeting here today was more serious than originally anticipated.
Cooper stepped forward, nodding to the members of the pack. His hands fiddled with his jeans pockets, eyes cast downward.
Byron, placing a hand on Cooper’s shoulder, took a deep breath in and said, “While on duty, Enforcer Cooper came across a body.”
As he finished the sentence, a hushed whisper fell upon the pack. I turned to Link, but he seemed as confused as I was.
“You brought us here for a dead rogue?” A pack member retorted.
Before anything else could be said, Byron snapped back. “Not just any rogue. It was Feral.”
Without a moment’s delay, a scream erupted from one of the pack members. Another member started to sob while the rest of us remained in disbelief at Byron’s message.
“They’re back.”
