After a moment, Patch held up his hands again. “We also have responsibilities,” he said, shifting his gaze back to the clan. “We are to hold this child. To protect it and keep it safe. It is our responsibility to keep the clan strong for little William, and give him a home to always return to.”
A few more shouts and agreement in the crowd.
Then Patch closed his eyes, held up his hands, and began to recite. “‘I will not be clapped in a hood / Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist.’”
Goose bumps lifted on my arms as the shifters around me, Connor included, began to join in the recitation. “‘Now I have learnt to be proud / Hovering over the wood / In the broken mist / Or tumbling cloud.’”
“Yeats?” I asked quietly, and felt Connor’s eyes on me.
“Yeah. You know it?”
“Educated guess,” I said, and thought of my mother, the vampire with the master’s degree in English literature. “My mother told me he was important to shifters.”
“Probably was a shifter,” Alexei said philosophically.
“We don’t have any certainty about that,” Connor said. “And we aren’t going to out a man who didn’t want to be outed.”
“The woods are our home,” Patch continued. “The mist our secrets. The clouds our ceiling. We are Pack, and we are proud.”
This time, the sound of approval was nearly deafening, as shifters clapped and yelled and stamped hands or feet or stone against stone. Magic rose and built until the water itself seemed to vibrate with it, the cascades tumbling in time to the rhythm of their applause, until it reached a crescendo of happiness and union—and then fell into stunned silence.
I moved to a defensive position almost automatically, until I realized there was no fear, no imminent attack. Just awe.
I followed the line of their gazes, looked up at the sky, and stared at the ribbons of green that swam and pulsed in the clearing above us.
“Aurora borealis,” Connor said. “Not usually seen this far south. But occasionally, when conditions are just right . . .”
The colors shifted, expanded, contracted, until they faded from view. And like the end of every fireworks show I’d attended as a child, people began to mill about awkwardly, not entirely sure if they’d seen the end or should wait around for more.
“I’m going to interrogate Georgia,” Alexei said, breaking the silence.
Connor lifted his brows. “About the attack on Beth?”
“No,” Alexei said, pulling a cord of red licorice from his pocket. “About the dinner. I want to discuss hot dish.” With that, he walked away.
“It’s an interesting journey, waiting to see what comes out of his mouth,” I said. And wished he’d left me some licorice.
“It always is. What did you think of the ceremony?”
I looked up at Connor, found his face somehow even more beautiful in the shifting glow of torches on water. “It was beautiful. Powerful. And I can tell it means a lot to the Pack.”
“I wanted you to see it.”
His tone was so serious. So grave. “What do you mean?”
“This. I knew you’d be interested in the event, because you’re curious. And I wanted to get your thoughts on the clan, because you’re smart. But I particularly wanted you to see it. It’s important to me, Lis. The union, the coming together of the Pack. The celebration of what is Pack. I wanted you to see it,” he said again. “And I wanted you to be here with me.”
My heart seemed to swell, emotion tightening my throat. “I’m glad I’m here,” I managed. “And not just because I’m curious.”
He smiled. “But you are.”
“Of course I am,” I said, and looked around. “I know this is a rare occasion, and rarer that a vampire gets to experience it. So thank you for that. For giving me the opportunity.”
“You’re welcome. And not to ruin the mood, but given this is the biggest group of clan members we’re likely to see at one time, and while we’re waiting for the crowd to thin”—he tipped his head toward the shifters who had clustered around the newest Pack member and his family—“any impressions?”
I’d been trying to be polite, to keep from studying or staring at anyone too closely at an event where my behavior—if not my presence—was being hotly debated. But if he was inviting me . . .
I pretended to survey the waterfalls and the high bluffs that surrounded them, but let my gaze drift across the shifters who stood or sat on the rocks, chatting or minding children whose hands and feet were in the small pockets of water in the rock, splashing joyfully. It looked entirely normal. Entirely typical. Just people socializing the way people did, supernaturally or otherwise. They looked happy. But there was something beneath it. A tension, not just in the magic, but on their faces.
If you looked at the group as a whole, the twenty-thousand-foot view, they looked relaxed. But if you looked carefully, more closely, they were on alert. Eyes scanning the edges of the waterfall. Never more than a step away from their children.
These shifters, predators in their own right, were acting more like prey. As if they feared something higher up the food chain.
“There’s more fear,” I said.
“Fear?”
“Apprehension,” I said after a moment, testing the word. “They know something’s off. I don’t think they know anything in particular, but they’ve got concerns.” I looked at him. “Do you feel anything like that?”
“I can sense the change in the magic, the tension of it. Like a string pulled too tightly. The energy is different. But you see more than I do. I honestly think you have a gift.”
I looked back at him. “Come on.”
“No, I’m serious.” He narrowed his gaze. “You aren’t psychic, are you?”
“No. I’m nosy, and I like to watch people, and I tend to notice the . . . discrepancies, I guess.”
Connor grinned. “Is that why you like rules? Because they prevent discrepancies?”
“It’s one of the reasons. I also like level playing fields and people who abide by the rules. Present company excluded.”
He snorted. “I interrupted your review. Keep going.”
I blew out a breath, took another look. Noticed the groups, the clusters, of shifters. That they were grouped together wasn’t necessarily unusual; that happened whenever people socialized.
Here, the young and old shifters seemed to stand apart. Again, not necessarily unusual. Maybe they wanted to talk to the people in the same generation, those who were facing the same issues. But there seemed to be tension. Not fear or apprehension this time, but suspicion in their glances at one another. Sneaky looks, side-eyes, and armbands.