Kyran

Cresting the hill at the end of the paved road, I slow my truck to enter my pack land’s drive. To anyone not aware, the road dead-ends into a small turn around. The path seems overgrown and rough, but only remains that way for a mile as a deterrent to keep humans away from our homelands. There are several other areas across my entire territory that we use for temporary living and some of my pack freely choose to live scattered in these places in return for acting as security and defense for our territory, which spans approximately one and half million square miles throughout the Rocky Mountains region. This place has always been—and is what I’ll always call—my home.

After around five minutes of threading my truck through low hanging branches and around bushy shrubs, the glow of my headlights broadens out into the lush expanse opening to one thousand acres worth of rolling valleys, soaring forests, flowing rivers, and small clusters of family homesteads, all nestled deep into the far northwest corner of Montana. Toward the back region of my homelands are the mountains where my father chose to plant the roots of our pack in the foothills about three hundred years ago. He relocated the pack from the southern part of our territory when human colonizers began moving westward, his intention was to keep the werewolves guarded. The steep border acts as a protective barrier which he chose to utilize wisely and expanded the villages in a crescent shape outward from the main pack lodge at the apex.

Departing the mouth of the passage, I am mindlinked, Alpha, as I am greeted by my head warrior from the tree line.

Good evening, Sigurd, I mindlink back with a nod of my head. Shifting my truck, I pick up speed, cruising through the valleys until the edges of our community appear. Slowing to a safer pace, I smile as I pass through the villages and return the greetings I am given.

Hello, Alpha, chirps a young girl’s bright voice.

Good evening, Alpha, an elder voice calls out.

I’m looking forward to the Convocation, Alpha, insinuates an old, familiar voice.

I felt that one and with a chuckle I shake my head at Miss Stjarna winking at me with a grin from the doorway of her gem shop. That unfortunate woman has spent her entire life of seven hundred twenty-five years searching for her mate. Mindlinking her back directly, I jest, only in my wildest dreams, Stjarna, with a wink of my own. As I pass her by, she dramatically swoons into the door frame with her thin arm draping over her long, silver plaited hair. My chuckle turns into a full belly laugh as I pull into my driveway.

Even though I’ve lived my entire life here, the sight of my home never grows old. The main pack lodge is an enormous, luxurious, three-story log cabin that was hand built as a gift for my mother to raise her six children in. The first floor is an open concept with a bright and spacious modern kitchen fit for a professional chef, an adjacent dining room with an antique eight-person farm table, and a grand, sweeping staircase that divides the front two rooms as the centerpiece to the home facing the foyer at the front door.

Toward the back of the house is the extensive library on the left and my office is on the right, across the hall leading up to the roomy bathroom and out into the open kitchen. The entire backside of the house on all three floors is a wall of large, single-pane windows with sliding doors on the first floor that lead out into artfully landscaped, well-kept gardens with pathways into the forest. My father poured his heart into this home, every detail from the position of the windows to the nature inspired filigree throughout the home was done with my mother’s preferences in mind. Her soul is carved into the very bones of this home. Every time I gaze long enough, I can still see her beaming smile opening the front door to call us in for supper. She was my sun, shining radiant warmth over my life, and everything I am is because of her.

Swallowing my sudden sorrow, I let the memories fade as I park Bertha in the garage and unload the large coolers from the truck bed. Opening the door into the kitchen, I slide each cooler inside and close the door behind me with my foot as I drag them over to the expansive pantry room. Unlatching the coolers, I lift the lid to the closest of four large chest freezers and upend both bins into it and slap the top shut. Upon turning around, I find Trey in the doorway gawking at me, completely appalled.

“Kyran, seriously dude? Can you not read ‘beef’, ‘poultry’ ‘pork’ and ‘fish’?” he chastises me, leaving his mouth agape.

“Nah, I just see ‘fr-ee-z-er’,” I grin, pointing to each of the four chests and turn my shoulder as he halfheartedly throws a punch.

Leaning back against the door jamb, I observe Treyvar as he begins sorting out the meat haul, once more thinking of our mother as I will forever see her in him and my sister. Trey is the youngest of my family and he, as well as Kyrre, inherited all of our mother’s traits. Straight golden hair, gentle jade green eyes and a warm, charming smile with the personality to match. The only differences being his height at six feet, whereas mother was petite and lean. Trey is lean as well with a strength that nearly matches mine. Being my brother and most trusted friend, I chose to elect him as my second in command. I need him to take my place on occasions and having him as close to my equal as possible, the better. Speaking of which, I consider, recalling the enticing woman from the store and clear my throat before asking, “Hey, you up for some training in a bit? I need to let some energy out,” I add, once he finishes organizing the freezers.

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“Yeah, sure. Gym or field?” Trey asks so he knows which training to set up for.

“Gym. I need a good workout to clear my head.”

Picking up both coolers, Trey nods his head and says over his shoulder, “Sounds good. I’ll meet you down there in about ten minutes?” as he rounds the corner.

“Alright. Grab the gloves,” I call back while I turn into the kitchen.

“Oof, that bad, huh?” I hear him taunt from the garage.

Shaking my head, I make my way through the spacious kitchen and head up the stairs two at a time to the lounge. The second floor holds an open common area with a pool table, wet bar, poker table and a couple sets of sofas along the southern, glass-paneled wall at the front of the stairs. Around back, there is an extensive lounge room with an oversized leather wrap around sectional and matching recliners, an eighty-five-inch TV with various game consoles and surround sound, a large guest bathroom, laundry room, and six bedrooms for the unmated highest ranking pack members down two hallways on either side of the staircases. We have a few guest rooms left open for whenever we host company as well, the few rooms are tucked back on the other side of the lounge area where it would be mostly quiet on this floor.

Hearing the TV, I round the stairs and spot Kyrre, my younger sister, sprawled across the large sectional. Her left leg is slung across the top cushion, right arm dangling over the side as she clicks the remote rapidly, flipping through channels. Hearing my pause, she rolls over, pulls herself up and plops onto the armrest, flashing me a bright, toothy smile.

“Hey, Ky, how was the new store?” she asks, tilting her head slightly to the right, causing her sleek, long hair to cascade like a golden waterfall over her shoulder.

Kyrre, being Treyvar’s twin, is playful, carefree and humorous, though where Trey tends to get stuck in the clouds, Kyrre remains levelheaded and keeps the two of us grounded. She is our glue and both of us know we couldn’t manage this home—let alone our pack—without her in it. Briefly returning her smile, I just shrug and head up the stairs to my private quarters. Knowing better than to pry, I hear Kyrre flop back down and recommence her channel surfing unperturbed.

Entering my suite, I shut the door with a sigh and lean my head back, closing my eyes in the quiet. These rooms are my sanctuary, and no one is allowed inside, ever, including Treyvar and Kyrre. Most of the third floor is mine, save for a small loft at the top of the stairs open to the floor below. This area is used for anyone wishing to meet with me while I am inside my rooms. Upon entering from the loft, the bright, luscious atrium is inviting at the north section, to the right in the northeast is an unused private library, to the left in the northwest is my luxurious bathroom, the western and southern sections are combined as my expansive bedroom, and along the eastern section, with the corner of the south wall of glass for natural lighting, is the untouched private art studio. Each room has open archways connecting the entire floor in a circle and makes for an easy flow, except for the art studio. I boarded up that room long ago. My father built this set of rooms to give my mother her own personal safe haven with the two of them sharing this floor together, excluding the studio. That room was hers and hers alone.

Stepping forward, I breathe in the tropical aroma of the atrium. In the century that I have resided in these rooms, I have kept this garden alive, perhaps even thriving. Various plants hang from the metalwork separating the panes of glass on the ceiling, crawl across the shelving surrounding the windowed walls, and rise from several diverse pots scattered across the floor. Blooms of all colors and scents create a spectacular kaleidoscope, the earthy soul of the room soothing my restless thoughts.

Gliding my fingers over a soft, white star, I lean in and lightly inhale the sweet—and now alluring—jasmine fragrance as I close my eyes and am struck again by that mysterious woman from the market. Who is she? Where could she have come from? I wonder since I have lived in this territory my entire life for just over three hundred years, and never have I encountered someone like her.

You must go back; I want to see her again. There is something about her, she is different, Valdr’s rough voice curls through my mind.

Straightening, I make my way through to the bathroom, absentmindedly rubbing a hand on my chest. My wolf is restless, he has been since looking into her eyes. Valdr, I respond, the chances of us running into her again are slim. It’s a large town. What if she is from the city? I lean over the sink and place my hands on the countertop, staring at myself in the mirror. Even if we happen to see her again, what could she possibly want me for? I wonder, feeling a bit despondent.

Seeing our amber eyes flash brightly, I feel Valdr’s growl with his growing agitation. We are the Alpha of the Rocky Mountains Pack and a fucking powerful one at that. Get downstairs. I need an outlet for this energy, whatever this feeling is. I don’t want to listen to your unwarranted self-depreciation, he huffs indignantly.

Suppressing a smirk, I cross through my bedroom to the closet, changing into athletic shorts and running shoes, and make my way to the basement gym to meet Trey for a boxing match.