Addie looks like she wants to protest. You turn your back on her and walk away before you can say something you regret. You march through the den, pass the humans still arguing about protocols, and stride back out into the street.
Death. Everywhere you turn is death. Every breath you take is death.
You crouch down on the pavement. You want to vomit again. You need to vomit. But, when you open your mouth, it's not sick that comes out, it's a scream.
Hoarse, angry, and broken.
The humans look at you in shock, a few of your pack howl out in confusion... but no one approaches.
As the anger and pain fades into a hot, messy lump of pain, you think about what you said, and what those two words mean.
Not anymore.
It's true. Addie might not be ready to admit it, but the city, this part of it anyway, belongs to your pack. The police might cover it up. The wider world might never know. But the paranormal population will hear about what happened here. They'll hear about death, and carnage by the light of the full moon.
This place is yours now. Everything from the cracked concrete pathways to the cheap brick apartment buildings belongs to your pack. Every paranormal for miles around will know, when they walk these streets, they walk with wolves.
It makes you feel...
"Gideon Mercer." You look up. It's Marco. Covered in dirt, blood, and muck, but otherwise okay, and wearing a pair of tuxedo pants and a velvet blazer he almost certainly stole from the bridal store. With him is Vicky. Her arms are criss-crossed with silver burns. Her chin and fingertips are caked in dried blood.
"Ed?" you ask.
The pain in her face is all you need to know. He didn't make it.
There are others too.
Leo stands nearby, hugging his arms to his chest. Grace limps towards you, her expression listless and forlorn. Elma emerges from the back of one of the ambulances and hobbles stiffly towards you.
"How many?" you ask, as they all draw close. "How many are dead?"
For a long time it seems like no one is willing to answer. Then...
"Three," Grace says softly. "Three are dead."
You stare at her in shock. "Three?"
She nods.
"Who?"
She takes a slow, shaky breath before listing the names.
You listen in grim silence.
"I've seen bodies. Nikolas', and, um Terry's, and Ed's, a-and I haven't seen Sergi. I've been looking for him. But I haven't seen him. Or Addie."
"Addie's inside with Minjo and the cubs," you mutter. "I don't know where the Alpha is."
Sergi?Sergi?Sergi?Sergi?Sergi?Sergi? Vicky howls.
A shockingly distant howl responds.
Huh?
You get an image of wire, concrete, and the smell of dogs and disinfectant.
Where are you? you howl.
His response is too distant and confusing to understand.
"He's at the pound," Marco says. "I recognise the smell."
Everyone looks at him.
"You've been to the pound?" you ask.
Marco's cheeks start to turn pink. "Eh... yeah? Hasn't everyone?"
"We should break him out," Vicky says. "Before they microchip him." She turns towards the street and starts walking away, ignoring the police and the paramedics swarming on the streets.
You watch her leave, alone, and can't help but think about Ed.
Next
"What are we going to do now?" Leo asks, his voice high and uncertain.
"Wait for the Alpha," someone says.
"Yeah? What then? We need a new den."
"Food," you mutter, steadying yourself. "The first thing we need is food. And clothes." You take a slow, deep breath, the logistics of the day ahead battling back the dark storm of grief inside you. "Grace. You have the biggest apartment. Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
"Good... let's go there. Regroup. Order some pizza or something."
The pack nods.
packpackpackpackpackpack
You watch them move away as one. And still, all you can see is the gaps left behind by the dead.
Next
The next few weeks are a sickening blur.
You follow your routine, cooking, cleaning, and helping the others when they need it. Every couple of nights you go on patrol, never with the same person twice. It's good to have something to do. When there is nothing to do, you think about what you did... what you could have done...
So you work. You work and work and work and work and work.
When the new moon rises you have a funeral.
Next
You don't have any bodies.
You don't know what humans do with unidentified bodies. You don't want to know. It doesn't matter. Werewolves don't have any traditions concerning dead bodies. The way to respect the souls of lost packmates is to sing their stories, not bury them in the dirt like gnawed bones.
And so you do.
You make a massive fire on the stony shore of the river, sing, dance, howl, and tell each other stories. Grace tells everyone how she met Nikolas, her eyes running with tears.
Leo's hands shake as he tells everyone how Terry was his brother from another mother, and that there would never be another like him.
Vicky doesn't seem able to, so it falls on you to speak about Ed. You don't know how to do it. How can you sum up Ed? How can you make them all understand who he was with just your words? It's impossible.
You tell everyone about how kind and clever he was. How he always had an answer for everything. How he always saw the good in people, no matter what. It doesn't feel like enough. Not close. But it's the best you can do.
Everyone speaks about Alek too. The way he'd always boss around the other kids when he was a boy. The time he tracked a wounded deer for miles when everyone else wanted to call off the hunt. The day he became Alpha and told Minjo he had no idea what he was thinking.
Your birth pack rises, unbidden to your mind. You never had a funeral for them. You never sat around a fire and told their stories... You look into the dancing fire and bring up their faces one more time.
Goodbye you howl.
Next
The night deepens. The fire dims. No one leaves.
Roe's standing nearby, a small group of their pack standing around them in formation.
Jay is a little further away, seemingly unsure of which group he should be apart of.
Grace is alone on the riverbank. She looks very old, and very tired.
Elma and Addie are sitting on a log near the fire.
Leo has retreated further along the beach and is huffing on a cigarette.
Sergi is just as far in the opposite direction, sitting alone and gazing at the water.
Minjo is sitting near the fire, surrounded by her sons. JiAn, Nik, and Alek watch the dancing flames with wide, dark eyes.
The group that catches your eyes though is bigger and louder. Marco, Vicky, and Izzie are all crowded together on a threadbare picnic blanket that's sitting dangerously close to the fire. Marco's telling a story. The others are listening, occasionally interjecting with some comment of their own.