Midnight Wolves

Chapter Seven: Family

Trying to shake off the memory of her dream – or otherwise – Callie reached the Nettlecomb packlands by noon the following day. A large, grey industrial fence lined the perimeter and Callie quickly made her way to a small brown, metal hut where she found a wolf sat in a chair, feet resting on a small table and eyes closed, soft snores leaking out of him on every other breath.

Callie cleared her throat once, twice and then slammed her hand against the small table. The wolf jumped awake, losing the hat he'd pulled down over his eyes in the process. Callie, the picture of innocence, gave him a sweet smile.

"Hi, I'd like to speak to your alpha, Fitzgerald?"

The wolf, rubbing sleep from his eyes, scowled at her, wrinkling his nose in distrust. He leaned out of the small hatch in the wall and looked her up and down with a dismissive stare. "Who's askin'?" he barked, voice rough with sleep.

Callie's wolf bristled. This wolf was weaker than her and was daring to be so rude. Anger simmered through her skin and Callie quietly counted to ten in an effort to maintain her control. Her wolf was unsettled today.

Callie plastered a smile on her face at the look the wolf was giving her – whatever he'd just seen in Callie's expression had been enough to make him lean backwards and straighten his posture.

"My name is Callie, Callie Magnum. I-I think Fitz-"

"By the Goddess. I should have seen it before." The wolf slammed down his hand in surprise, running a hand across his face, disbelief colouring his skin.

"You were in the Magnum pack too?" she enquired gently.

He only nodded, seemingly unable to form words.

Without saying anything to her, he picked up a phone and held it to his ear. Callie's wolf ears could hear the line ringing before a gruff voice answered with a short 'what?'

The wolf before her blinked slowly a few times and she heard the person on the end of the line sigh irritably.

"What is it Denver?" the gruff voice asked with a snarl.

"It's your niece, alpha. She's here. Callie's here."

*

Callie was, by this point in her life, quite used to being stared at. She'd gone from wild-wolf to a pack that watched her warily and kept her hidden away, to Black Oath and Rootbridge, where, once news of her moonmate's murder got around, she became the top of the gossip chain. Then, when her wolf started making the entire pack submit every week – well, the staring hadn't exactly stopped.

Despite that though, as she followed 'Denver' as he'd introduced himself, through the small and derelict packlands towards a large tent, Callie couldn't help but shiver. Eyes watched her from all sides. They crawled across her skin, insistent and curious, greedy.

Callie's wolf watched them all right back, on high alert, she'd been growling since they'd begun their walk through the make-shift village of tents and towards the large fire pit which sat in front of the biggest tent; the alpha's tent.

The tent flaps parted as they reached them and a tall man stepped out with a smile, that Callie wished had made her feel better, spread across his face. They looked similar, she thought. Not identical, but his nose was small like Callie's, his skin the same ashen white. His face was all sharp angles, his skin pulled taunt across it. All of the wolves, she realised, were skinny. Malnourished even.

This pack was in stark contrast to the Magnum pack. It looked like they were barely hanging on.

"Callie!" the man greeted as though they were long lost friends, a hint of desperation in his tone. The rest of his pack shuffled closer until they flanked her in a semi-circle. Callie tried to focus her wolf, to calm her down, but she was convinced that there was danger here.