Connections Jan 2015 - Page 45

Because of this, it was not necessarily a cause for celebration, but the pack lives to party, and any excuse to do so is welcome. The land had originally been my families, therefore the packs, a hundred plus years ago, until a great uncle of mine lost most of it in a bet with a witch. From there, it was purposely lost to the banks by the spiteful old bitch, then auctioned off a small piece at a time. The spells the witch cast over it has kept our family and pack from being able to get it all back at once, until now. If it hadn’t been for Sam, one of the few witches actually friendly to the pack, we wouldn’t have managed it at all. Our magic isn’t anywhere near powerful enough to break the binding words of the bet. For over a hundred years, we have resigned ourselves to roaming the small bit of land that wasn’t lost because my father and his other brothers had owned it. The only consolation we have had is that we are shapeshifters, not weres. We aren’t confined to one form. This means we can wander around as wolves, coyotes, or any other animal that most humans will willingly stay away from due to basic survival instincts. This opens us up to being able to roam large parks or wooded areas without scaring the humans. Our favorite things to do are shift into deer and roam the Natchez Trace. The parkway is long, spanning three states, which gives us plenty of room to stretch our legs when we need to. Over the generations, we have bought back a few tiny pieces of our land, opening our roaming area up little by little, but until that night, the largest piece was still missing. To finally have it all was a great thing for the family and the pack. A night of drunken debauchery was our reward to ourselves for getting the land back. Starting the next day, the warding spells would have to go up and the battle with the werewolves that roamed the land would begin. That one night was all we allowed ourselves. Devan, the next to the oldest of my mother’s four boys since Daniel died, was supposed to be the responsible one that night. Every time any of us go out into the human world like that, we choose one person to be our DFWD, designated fertile woman detector, though the person isn’t limited to scouting women. This person is in charge of making sure none of us go home with a