Eclipse Child

Be careful-

The devil can hear your prayers too.

I go back to the pack house, holding my head up and not letting it be known just how much my chest hurt inside.

My feet wander to the back porch.

And there she is.

Mom sits on one of the chairs, content to paint the sky as she hums tunelessly away.

Dad sits next to her, his eyes watching her movements the whole time. Looking at them only makes my chest hurt more.

Dad is the first to notice me. He gives me a rare small smile before his eyes freeze at the mark on my shoulder.

Slowly his stands. I brace myself, waiting for whatever onslaught of emotion he would bring.

Silently he embraces me, giving me a short, brief hug before he walks inside the pack house.

Mom looks up curiously at dad’s retreating back. She is not as observant as him.

It takes her a second longer to catch sight of the new feature I display on my skin.

“Soraya...” she smiles as I sit next to her, taking dad’s chair, “congratulations.”

I don’t smile back. In this moment I didn’t feel like I had succeeded in anything.

She notices my mood, setting aside her paints and slowly wiping her hands on her already stained shirt.

“What is it?”

I remain silent, not knowing how to form my words. Instead, I turn to her and look at her clean shoulder.

I had never noticed it until today that it held no mark.

Guilt washes into me for having not noticed such an important thing. I knew why dad didn’t have one on his shoulder. That much was obvious. But I never questioned mom...

“Where is your mark?”

Mom blushes, the color so easy to stain her cheeks as she looks behind her to the pack house.

“What do you mean?”

I point to her empty shoulder, but she only smiles.

“No one said it had to be there.”

I frown, “but that’s...it’s always...”

“Soraya...everything doesn’t have to be black and white.”

To prove her point she waves her colorful, paint-stained hands.

Her smile only grows wider as she points to her wrists, “here.”

I stare at her skin, the sight obscured and covered by paint. I didn’t want to question the specifics of it with her, but even she could read the confusion on my face.

“Of course, I washed my hands...”

My eyes widen in surprise. I couldn’t remember a time mom didn’t have paint on her hands.

I want to question why there. I can tell she wants me to ask. The question and answer are hanging on both our lips. But instead, I ignore it, moving away from the topic as I lean back into the chair and close my eyes.

She sighs a soft sigh that has me sighing with her.

“Where is Orion?”

“Running in the woods.”

“Ah...” Mom turns back to grab her paints and paper, looking up at the sky to paint the scenery that was on display.

We stay there, sitting in silence. Like dad, I watch mom paint. I could see the fascination of it. Mom always had unsteady hands. The only time they were sure was when she was painting.

“Did you hear that Leo performed a surgery by himself?”

The pride in mom’s voice is sure and obvious.

“No, I didn’t hear that.”

“Daisy assisted him, but she told me he was able to do the majority of it on his own.”

“Schulman should just retire.”

Mom shakes her head, “he’ll stay where he is most comfortable.”

I frown but don’t argue with her, knowing how close Schulman was to the family.

After a while, I can’t watch any more of mom’s works. The beauty she can create on paper out of nothing leaves me breathless. It leaves me captivated. But it also leaves me to feel insignificant and small.

I think back to Leo. How much his hands could accomplish by saving a life.

I stand, pushing open the door and walking inside.

My hands open as I look down at the scarred surface. I couldn’t tell what each cut and scratch was for or from. Only that they were there.

I walk up the stairs, only to pause in the hallway when I see Orion standing there.

My body stiffens, the breath leaving my lungs as I cautiously step towards him.

He doesn’t turn to me. I face where he is staring, letting my eyes wander across the different photos that hung upon the hallway wall.

I smile, taking in the few that were my personal favorite.

One was of dad.

He looked young in the photo- almost my age maybe- but what I loved so much about it was the expression he wore.

It looked like whoever had taken the photo didn’t warn him- resulting in a startled off-guard appearance to show on dad’s face. A sunrise sat behind him, creating a halo effect on his dark hair as the light fell upon it.

Another photo that my eyes always fell on sat next to it. It was of me, Vincent and Leo. We were sitting on the back-porch steps. Mom took the photo when we were all laughing together.

I can’t remember what we were laughing about.

Only the fact that that was probably the only time we were all happy and together. Before we learned how hard life could be. Before we found out that in the end, you only had yourself to count upon.

And you only had yourself to blame.

“Why are you injured?”

“What?” Orion’s question cuts short my thoughts- pulling me off guard from how off topic it was as I looked down at my body in confusion.

“What injuries?”

He points to a family photo.

We were all lined up.

And I had a black eye.

“Oh...”

He points to another photo, this time just a picture of my small eight-year-old self eagerly showing to the camera the large stitch cut that was on my forehead.

“Well, not all-,”

Orion points to the picture of my brothers and me sitting on the back porch. The photo that I loved so much. The photo that showed me with a bandaged hand.

“I fought with Vincent a lot.”

Orion’s expression goes from neutral to anger in seconds as he leans closer to inspect the printed image of Vincent.

“You’re injured in all of them.”

I look away from the wall. I had never noticed what Orion was pointing out. It seemed natural to have that within the photos. To see some part of me broken.

He turns to me then, taking a steady breath as his finger rise to trace the edge of my face.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay. No pups. If that’s what you say then okay.”

I stare at him blankly, his words taking time to process within my mind before I pull back.

“You’re not upset?”

“No.” His eyes tell a different story.

Those grey orbs clash against his own words, steel stabbing into his skin as he inflicts pain on his soul for speaking his lie.

I swallow, pushing down the bile that was rising in my throat.

“Let me ex-,”

“You don’t need to.”

He steps forward, kissing my forehead gently, “you’re more important. I choose you.”

I look up at this wild male, fighting against the tears that collect behind my eyes as he smiles down at me. His hair frames his face, the wild curls adding into his rough appearance.

His head turns, just at the moment that I hear Sandra shout from downstairs that dinner is ready.

Without another word, he pulls me away from the wall of photos, away from the past memories of pain.

The pack members who lived in the pack house rush down. Some were still on patrol, others doing late training. Sandra made it known that dinner always started at the same time. No changing it for anyone.

I feel eyes on my skin as they take in the fresh new mark.

Leo sits across from me, exhaustion clear in his whole body as he barely is able to keep his eyes open.

Uncle Mark smiles as he occasionally shakes him awake. Mom stares at Leo in concern but holds back her question of if he wants his dinner in his room or not.

Lilah, of course, is the first to say anything.

“Faster than your parents, that’s for sure wolfers,” she points to the mate mark, making the majority of the table uncomfortably look down at their plates.

Dad growls, “Lilah.”

“You know it’s in my nature Atlas.”

“It’s Alpha.”

Lilah just laughs, but the conversation itself is one I’ve heard many times from the two.

The dinner is like any other. The usual chaos is there, with Lilah and Aunt Quinn pestering Uncle Mark about something, trying to get neutral mom to take a side.

Dad watches, his face blank and only interfering if someone goes too far in their joking.

The majority of the pack is used to Orion now. They hold conversations with him, asking him questions about the pups that he cares for.

Everything is normal.

I’m the only one who notices dad answer his phone.

“Alpha Atlas,” he listens, his face growing harder and harder with each word. Mom turns to him then, something about his expression silently telling her that everything is not okay.

“What.”

His one word leaves the table quiet. All whispers die away as dad’s chair scrapes back suddenly.

Lilah stands with him, but the horror that dad is trying to hide is obvious to see as he stares only at me.

“When?”

His face whips towards the door, his eyes widening. That’s when I stand. Because outside I hear it.

I hear what dad hears.

I hear the unmistakable growl of a wolf.

I know this growl. Goddess did I know this growl. I heard it whispered in my ear as the creature slammed me into the trunk of a tree, breaking my back. I heard this growl each time I listened in on the training grounds when I was young.

I heard this growl in my nightmares. Every time I closed my eyes.

Scattered warriors stand as dad slowly puts his phone down and walks to the door.

We follow him out.

And there he is.

I feel Orion press against me, but I’m barely able to register that he is there.

The only thing that consumes my thoughts is the sight of the brown wolf who stands in front of the pack house.

His eyes resting only on dad as he issues out his challenge to fight.