Awakening: Book 1 Read online

  I pull myself past the girl in front of me and come to her side to gaze at the familiar scene before us. Stomach churning up with the knowledge it’s happening. The ceremonial set up of flares and burning fires at points near the ledge, are already there and glowing bright, all the way around the curve of this large platform. Creating a red and amber glow that illuminates the space in what will soon be wall to wall darkness of this still night. The center of the clearing marked out with symbols in chalk and a large set of circles surround them, one for each of those who are to awaken. I shudder inside as reality hits home that this is really it and I have nowhere to hide. You can’t outrun it, there’s no way to stop it from happening.

  “Clothes off here and put these on” scratchy grey blankets are thrust into our arms by a tall muscular Santo, looking down at us with almost black eyes as he snarls his contempt. Probably annoyed that they even allow my kind to go through this like everyone else does. Walking past as he dishes them out and I am aware that many have gathered around the ledges, and above us on the edges of the cliffs above to watch this.

  All the packs are here already, and right in the middle stands Juan Santo and his immediates. His second in command, his third, and his son, Colton. The ceremonial Shaman in full dress is standing with his staff awaiting the start of his duties. Something he could do with his eyes closed I expect, as he has been here for so many years.

  I don’t wait to question the order, eyes down, nerves frayed but get to it. I know the drill. I throw it around my shoulders to conceal my body as best I can, the same as the others and we quickly strip down inside our coverings with haste. Discarding our things into neat piles we will return to later.

  Transforming rips your clothes to shreds, so being naked is the best way to deal with it. Afterwards we’ll be able to get dressed again, but for now, this itchy old blanket is all I have to cover my modesty. Not that anyone cares. Nudity among wolves is common and not something they actually stare at or find abnormal. So many turn at the blink of an eye and come walking back in human form with no covering at all. It’s another sign of weakness to be body shy and hide if you have to come home without your clothes.

  Obviously, the Alpha types walk around in the nude without any worries, being they are physically perfect. The only time it’s an issue, is if a mate is being ogled by someone who isn’t hers. Males are territorial, jealous, and aggressively unpredictable when mated up so it’s common for regular testosterone fights over looking at each other’s woman.

  It’s kind of basic and primal and another reason I won’t miss being part of a pack. We’re animals by nature and humans would be disturbed by what is normal among us. I mean aggression, physical hostility and even beating each other is not viewed in quite the same way that humans would between married people. Mates fight, sometimes in wolf form and bites and scratches are usually the best way to work out a dispute.

  I undress fast and leave my clothes and shoes in a neat pile between my ankles to stand up, pulling my blanket around me snugly to await the next orders and shield myself from the cool air. Visibly shaking with nerves, and I glance around me quickly to see equal fear, pale skin, and solemn faces of the others. I’m not the only one who is terrified. We’ve all seen how bad this gets and before the night is out, will have felt pain incomparable to anything we’ve been through in our lives.

  “Move!” Raymond shoves the male to my left to make him lead the way, and we dutifully follow. Silently, in a line to the open clearing and head towards the chalk circles awaiting us. I close my eyes for a second and try to swallow the clawing fear spreading through my veins like ice, my throat dry and itchy with the effort. Holding myself together, I quickly move to the first circle I see as the line in front of me dissipates. Hundreds of eyes on us as they watch and wait. Silence eery in the oncoming night and I look up to the sky to find some sort of eternal calm. Soon it will be dark and dotted with twinkling stars but for now, it’s daylight and we have to begin. The moon will be upon us soon enough.

  After everyone shuffles quickly into place and settles, the hush is broken with the booming voice of the Shaman as he gestures for us all to sit while he raises his staff. I do as I am told, slide down quickly, and sit cross legged within my blanket on the cold hard, gritty ground beneath me. Trying to get enough of the covering underneath me to make it less uncomfortable. I’m aware of the penetrating stares from all around and I try to blot them all out.

  “Drink” Something hard shunts me in my ribs from behind and I strangle a yelp, sitting upright sharply and spin my head around to see a wooden cup held out to me. Another Santo shoving it into my hand as I unravel it out to take it.

  “What’s it for?” I ask innocently, always wondering when we watched from a distance and stupidly naïve to think I’ll get sense from one of them.

  “Drink it and find out” he smirks, walking away with no real answer. I sigh, internally irritated at his attitude, before staring down at the dark amber liquid contained within, it’s heavy scent of herbs and perfumes wafting up into my face. I spot the others drinking it down fast without question and I follow suit.

  It tastes like thick gloopy honey, laced with all sorts of chemicals that burn my throat as I take it down and almost choke on its thicker consistency. I gag but manage to claw myself into staying still and swallowing hard with multiple gulps. Closing my eyes as the taste turns bitter, spreading down my throat and into my stomach and immediately warms them both. I can feel it disperse into my veins and limbs, knocking the cold of the rocks away from anywhere my skin touches and almost immediately I start to get a little woozy. The ground around me moving and swaying softly, like the sea coming in on the tide.

  I shake my head but it’s completely pointless. Hunching forward so I don’t fall over, I now understand why every time I watched this, the newest to awaken would sit the whole ceremony slumped down and immobile until they turned. Seemingly oblivious to all of the ceremony and its stages as light faded to dark. They have drugged us for the pain, and I start to lose track of everything around me as a veil of surreal sweeps up like a warm fluffy warm fog and devours me whole.

  I don’t know how long we are this way, what’s happening as all I can hear is the chant of the Shaman as he dances around, shaking things, singing, and clapping. Vision blurry and coming in waves, my body heavy yet detached and I no longer feel like I am really here or even conscious. Time passes but I have no clue how fast or slow, and all I know is it gets dark so quickly around me and I can’t seem to stop myself drifting into space or losing track and fading away. Cocooning me into the little bubble of black space around me where the smell of fire and incense makes me giddy and sleepy. It’s peaceful yet somehow, it’s not, and there’s a stirring of awareness and fear almost out of reach.

  There’s warm hands on me, maybe, but I’m not sure, the sudden breeze although it does nothing to cool my eternal warmth. Lulling into a weird state of semi sleep and can no longer open my eyes or really understand what is going on around me. It’s almost pleasant.

  Cold liquid and wrinkled hands, as something is smeared across my forehead, making me flinch with a second of reality and I grasp to focus on the dancing form in front of me. Rattling, blowing smoke, chanting a song as it runs down the bridge of my nose and I pull from memory that the new turns are marked with a fresh blood kill in preparation for our own turn. My face will bear the mark of wolf with an animal our Alpha will have slaughtered.

  The roughness of something pulling across my skin startles me slightly, and then suddenly I’m levitating out flat or floating, or maybe just lying down. No clue anymore. I’m too wasted to have any sort of idea about what my body is doing, and the heavy, loud tones, of the wolf song echoes across the mountain as the packs sing to welcome our moon. I’ve never felt anything close to this, not even being drunk for the first time a few months ago, when we found some booze in the orphanage storage cupboard.

  Memory of witnessing this many times reminds me that they take
them and pull the blankets free for the turning; laying them down to be blessed by the full moon and logically a part of my brain is telling me this is what is happening. It’s almost like I’m no longer attached to my limbs and as a warm sensation trails firmly across my cheek, a raspy voice comes through the fog at me.

  “It’s going to hurt… I can’t wait to watch it, reject. Or maybe I might take advantage of you like this. Finally get my way.” I barely recognise the voice, but gut instinct tells me it’s Damon, a boy from the Conran pack who tried to kiss me a year ago. He cornered me in the school corridor, pushed me against the wall and tried to force me to kiss him while shoving his hand up my dress. I fought him off, left him with a nice scratch down his smarmy face and he has been gunning for me ever since. Not that I marked him badly, we heal fast, but I obviously left a dent on his pride and his ego.

  I can’t react and as a hot invasive sensation moves down my shoulder I can only squirm, wanting so badly to get his hands off me. He’s not that dumb though and with all eyes on us, he leaves me alone to my fate as I try to fight to come back to a sense of now. Suddenly afraid that after this is done, he will be the one to tend to me like this. Responsible for ushering me back to my clothes and the concealed shadow of the cliff edge. Who knows what he will do? I don’t recall if the turning takes you out of the drug induced stupor when it’s done, or not.

  I can’t dwell on it any longer, as soon as I do, a burning light hits me hard over the entire surface of my body, almost like a blow torch was turned on and I spasm instinctively into an arched position on the floor. Every inch of my skin bubbling and blistering to searing levels of torture as though I have been set alight and I strain and claw the ground beneath me, gasping with effort. Breaking nails on rough terrain as I scramble for relief and yet can do nothing but scream.

  Crying out in pain, writhing in agony, as an intense sensation rips my skin from my bones and engulfs me entirely. My voice deepens, scraping and running hoarse like I’m swallowing splinters and cries become growls, my throat almost bursting into flames with the effort. For a second, it’s like I’m being strangled. I’m under attack, my body is being ravaged, twisted, snapped and slain, but this isn’t another wolf… this is the turning. It’s so much worse than I ever imagined it could be.

  Cracking, convulsing, and devastating agony, rip through me hellishly. Sending me rolling around in a bid to relive the pain as grime, rocks and dust scrape at my flesh and burn as I graze across them. I whimper and moan, but it alleviates nothing of the torture of my body crunching, shredding, itself apart. I cry out, beg for my mother to save me, wail for the fates to stop this, and claw at the rocks, breaking fingers with the sheer force of my fight and gouging what’s left of my skin on sharp edges underneath me.

  No one could prepare me for what this feels like and I’m being turned inside out while slow roasted over an open bed of hot coals. I can’t breathe, I can’t scream anymore and silently I writhe and jerk and twist and turn as I am consumed by hell.

  Our noises are drowned out by the stamping, chanting, and clapping of the packs, thundering through the ground and reverberating through my broken, smashed body… giving way to howls as the moon reaches its peak and they encourage us to make the final transition to become like them. Combining to howl, under strict orders that none other are to transform tonight and break the ceremony. Only the new shall change tonight, only our blood will spill as our human form is destroyed to build something better.

  I want to die.

  The pain is unbearable, driving me to the brink of insanity and it truly feels like my human self is being tortured to nonexistence. Every bone in my body snaps and reforms as though it’s being done manually, one at a time, my flesh tears free and pulls away from muscle. I’m wet, a hot pouring out as blood drains from the hellish self-inflicted wounds that seem to last forever, covering me in sticky warm heat, smothering me and leaving a vile metallic scent all around. I can’t tell what’s sweat, what is blood, what is maybe other kinds of fluid. Barely holding on, reaching a pinnacle where my mind is on the verge of collapse and the dregs of sanity teeter on a cliff edge. I howl and I strain with all my might, so I extend my face up into the air and gasp with relief as my lungs inhale and I finally take a breath.

  And then … everything is still.

  It all just stops. Like having a cold drink poured over scorched sunburn and instant soothing hits hard and intensely as my noise becomes silence, my burns become cool and my breaks become one.

  I stop fighting my own body. Aware of the immediate cease of all of it and the creepy quiet that surrounds me so suddenly. The unnatural silence. Hazy and blurry as my head spins and I grasp for some sense of real. Catching my breath, gulping in cool air, and calming ambience, as the fog starts to clear, and my vision returns only a little.

  I try to get up, to right myself, although it feels different and I stumble sideways with a disorientated sense of upright. I’m on my hands and knees, I think, even though I don’t know how I got this way. I can’t stand or push myself up as I would because it all feels strange and I blink and shake my head to clear my eyes enough to see which way up I’m facing. Confused, yet there is a calm taking over me, a sense of serene with heightened senses in every way. I blink, my eyes, watering as finally, dry is restored to moist and I see forms and shapes and shadows which then define to details and more.

  I gaze down and I see paws that startle me at first. Gasping at the closeness and realize they are mine, where my hands should be, flat on the ground. Large, clawed but strong paws, larger than I thought they would be. I lift one and shake it, almost as if I need to convince myself that I can use and control this limb, it’s truly connected to my body. My legs are solid, with thick silver-grey fur and all the way up my muscular chest, I have a streak of purest snow white that travels as far as I can see. I stare at it, lean back and pull my chin in tight to follow it until I can’t strain any further to see.

  I have very little memory of my mother in her true form, but I know this is from her. She was a white and my father a silver yet it’s rare to combine both in such a way. Most wolves are brown or grey … white is a mutation that’s almost unheard of and my mother used to try and hide herself because it brought only stares.

  I shake my head, the unfamiliar weight of a different form pulling me from side to side, not fully in control of my limbs or movements just yet but aware it’s so much bigger than my human skull. Staggering on strange legs and fall down flat, splaying out and bumping my undercarriage as I collide with stone. Aware suddenly to the scene around me, coming back into focus and realizing we are still being watched. Sobering fast as my new metabolism pushes the last of the drugs out of my system and cleanses my blood.

  The atmosphere is charged, and I’m surrounded by newly changed wolves of all shades of grey and brown, although I’m the only one with white in my coat. Turning as the Shaman’s chants draw my eyes back to him and trip over my own uncoordinated self as I try to right myself and get up. It’s hard to use my hands as front legs and I instinctively rear backwards too far onto my haunches, losing my balance and reeling forward again to correct it, before tumbling face forward to the ground once more and meeting the dust with a lower jaw clunk.

  “It gets easier. Try to stay on your feet. All four of them.” The voice above me pulls my head to tilt towards it and I recoil as I realise Colton Santo is standing right by me, watching as I make a spectacle of myself, in falling flat out on new legs. I don’t know if I’m shocked that he spoke to me, or wary that he did.

  I’ve never trusted anything about him, or any of his motives, and wonder when he got over here, so close. Avoiding looking directly at him, keeping me eyes averted from his and attempt to get to grips with this weird body and focus on learning to use it. All I can do is whimper back, realizing I have no ability to form words this way and go into my own head link instinctively.

  Wolves in the same pack have a connection mentally, so they can communicate witho
ut talking, which admittedly is impossible as a wolf. We don’ have the vocal cords for human talking. It’s also possible when close enough to talk to one not from your own pack. If they are willing to hear you.

  It feels strange. I attempt to link with him, weirded out by this new, almost natural ability I didn’t have before. Overwhelmed by all of this and not sure if I am still heavily drugged when in this form, or if this surreal new way to experience everything is wolf sense. Things affect us differently as humans, and this disorientation might just be something I have to adjust to.

  Yeah well, walk it off. Learn fast. He links me back, a husky familiarity to his voice inside my head that does strange things to my stomach. It’s hardly a polite response and the tone tells me he doesn’t really want to have any sort of communication with me, especially not in a head link.

  I’m not one of his pack and I’m not even on the same level as him. It’s disrespectful to try. As if to further demonstrate the point, he walks off towards his father and I flop down to get to grips with everything that I just got hit with. I’m heavy, not sure how to navigate my dog body when I’ve spent my life walking on two legs. I must weigh four times my usual weight for sure, although the size of my paws, suggest maybe even more.

  “The turning will not last ... only moments fleeting for your first time. When you come out, you will be awoken, and your path will lead you to your destiny. Pay attention, be alert. You are now on the other side.” The Shaman states it loudly and it echoes around the mountain like a sort of prophetic song. One I have heard so many times but yet this time, it finally means something to me.

  I get up on unsure legs once more, slowly, like Bambi on new-born limbs and lift my head as I know I’m meant to. In unison with all around me, we stretch our necks out, lift our noses to the heavens and howl at the moon for the first time in our lives, as one united pack. No matter who we are, where we are from, whatever our bloodline or our past. Long, soulful with meaning. A sound that echoes around us, through us and is joined by the hundreds who watch until we fill the night sky with a somber eerily hum that will reverberate around the mountains and put the fear of god into the wildlife. United in one song that finalises our transformation.