Blood & Wine

33 | Iris

Dasher kept his face on mine, his expression settled despite the fact seventy werewolves had descended upon us. He held my face between my hands. "I need to remain a witch for this," he told me, kissing my forehead. He paused then leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. "You know what to do."

I nodded, wishing I could just lose myself to his touch, the warmth and sweetness of his kiss. Of course, we had already fucked each other senseless, and now that that itched was scratched for the time being, I had enjoy his more tender, romantic actions—the soft touches, the sweet kisses, the way he rubbed his nose against the back of my ear gently. "Be safe," I told him, even though none of the werewolves could breach this area unless we invited them in.

La Estrella Coven had come in clutch, putting up protection spells over our stuff. It wasn't that we needed the protection, but it was good not to be caught unaware.

He winked at me.

I stepped away from him, calling for the younger werewolves, including the baby werewolf yet Changed. I found Irene, my baby sister, already huddled with then, her chin jutting into the air. She had been a werewolf for a year now. Her shoulder-length hair was sharp, and she clutched the hand of her girlfriend, another werewolf named Hailey, who was trembling. Hailey was a year older than her, but they were in the same class at school. Or they were until they both Changed last year.

They shuffled over to me, looking over their shoulders as snarls filled the air.

"It's okay," I said, my voice urgent but comforting. I motioned them forward with my hand. "I need everyone in the middle of the field."

Their nervous, scared energy was infectious.

The pack was already starting to shift, under the command of the full moon energy and the desire to fight. I wanted to be right there with them, but we each had our jobs—mine was to keep the babies safe. They were the future of the pack, and they had parents who loved them and wanted them to remain safe and alive.

Also, they could fight, but they weren't strong enough. No one started training as werewolves until they were seventeen. Fynley wanted to keep them as innocent as possible, keep them having as much fun as they could until they no longer couldn't. Before that, everything was about learning to control their temperaments and deal with puberty and the Change.

"Come on," I urged, and they broke into a jog until they were by my side—all nine of them, including the Changeling.

When they were near me, I herded them towards the dead center of the field. The women of the pack had already positioned themselves around them as defenders of the kids. Irene looked at me. "You aren't going out there, are you?" she asked.

I nodded. "They need me." It was severely outmatched—and the witches had their own battle to deal with.

She shook her head, eyes going wide with fright. "But, Iris—"

"I'll be fine, Irene," I promised, pulling her to me for a hug anyway. Our parents didn't care much about her. She had no bold prophecy to contend with—just that she would be the person she wanted to be and die a legend. I didn't want her to die a legend today. "Please stay here. I'm leaving you in charge of everyone's safety."

Her eyes narrowed in concentration then—having that job was no small feat. She would be the one to make sure they all got to safety if something happened. And with all those werewolves out there, if they broke the magical barrier, it wouldn't be impossible. "Fine," she said, giving everyone in the group a head count. "I'll make you proud."