0 | Family Matters
The air always felt heavy in the council room as the fire crackled; it never seemed to ease the tension as Marisol Koen sat at her place near the end of the table next to her father. The head of the house seat still left vacant; her heart pounded in time with the rhythmic chant of her tribe's ancestral prayers. Fifteen faces all around her, each reflection of a generation that had fought and bled for the survival of the Koen tribe against the one group they had allegiance with for six centuries.
They had been careful living in the shadows unlike most of their kin drinking in the stink of mortal pleasure and luxuries. Forgetting what they truly are, now the Koen are hunted by a history that refused to let them go.
“Resurrection is dangerous, especially for someone like her,” Marisol's father, a weary omega with silver-streaked hair spoke, his voice was smooth but heavy with a familiar caution she knew all too well. Marisol could remember the many faces her mother wore, those haunting icy gaze they both shared made that more difficult to really read the women who could fool anyone into doing just about anything with her lips of persuasion. The women even fooled her father, the man she watched go down in the hierarchy defending the monster that carried both Marisol and her brothers.
Marisol gripped the cool jagged spear head, with shaky hands she focused on weight of the family’s gaze, the burden of the legacy resting on her shoulders. The mention of her mother----a once-might alpha, now a mere echo of madness-sent chills down her spine. The idea of bringing her back from the abyss was both a promise of power and a dance with danger. But the whispers of the necromancer lingered in the back of her mind; Angel Rubio, the young man she once went to school with whose smile could light up a room. Always surrounded by people in a way that made her envious, yet his deep brown gaze held secrets. Secrets Marisol tried hard to unravel a few times when she got the chance to talk to the charming boy who often made her tonged tied. She could remember the sharp smell of his after-shave and cheap paints that often lingered in the air hours after he was gone. The nights she had caught him in the public library pouring over a tattered grimoire, the thick air of magic almost suffocating as he turned each page. His dark hair falling into his face, the sharp clinch of his jaw when he lingered on a foreign page for far too long. It had ignited something withing her---a spark that refused to be extinguished.
“Angel,” the name left her lips before she could process just what she had planned to do. ‘How selfish can you be? If you bring him into this--’
Marisol focused her mind, slamming the door cutting off words of reason. This was not the time for doubt but action. ‘I have no other choice...’
“The quarterback who always smelled like he bathed in art supplies?” Ria called out; a left eyebrow was raised.
“Yes,” Marisol added, steeling herself once more. “Angel might know more than we think,” her voce began rising over the murmers of self-doubt. “If he can truly weld magic that old, he could be out only chance.”
The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling heavily among them. As the shadows danced along the walls, Marisol felt the gravity of her choice pressing down like a storm cloud on the horizon. The battle for her family’s future was only just the beginning.
Ria ran a hand through her wild burning curls before throwing herself on the bed. Her dark emerald gaze focused on the packing Marisol was doing. She could tell by the look of Ria expression that her nosy cousin wanted to talk about what had just happened an hour ago.
“You know that Sara won’t let you come with me,”
Ria freckled face scrunched up in annoyance at the mention of her sister. Marisol could already see Sara struggling to get to the beetle with her swollen belly, a large wooden spoon in her grip as she yelled in the mother tounged. Both girls burst out laughing soaking up the humor of it all.
“I know,” Ria began. “Doesn’t mean I can’t at least try.” She crumbled up on of Marisol’s panties and tossed them in the little suitcase to her cousins’ annoyance. Grabbing a pile of socks, she sat up and got to work.
“It’s been a long time since you traveled outside the boundary besides school. Are you sure that you’re going to be safe in the city, will--”
Marisol rested her hand on Ria shoulder. She had forgotten just how much Ria reminded them both of James; instinctively Marisol rested a hand on the spear head once more. The death of her eldest brother was the catalyst that destroyed the whole tribe, she let out a shaky breath before grabbing another pair of jean shorts from the pile on her bed.
“I will be safe with him Ria. Just because he was a former football player doesn't mean he was like the others,” Marisol began. “He was---”
"Different---I just can’t explain it. This feels like more than a connection stronger than a mating pull!”
Marisol felt the warmth rush to her face, “I do not sound that bad,”
Ria laughed again, her round face beaming before tossing the neatly folded socks away.
“Just be careful.”
