Three months later

The time for the October changes had come.

Meara had no idea what to expect from it. Bran explained the ceremony to her; people who were approved for the change were ravaged by either someone who loved them dearly or Bran, and if the magic took hold then they became werewolves. Most didn't make it.

It wasn't quite what she expected, when he explained. Those who wanted to take the Change had to go through a long process that started a long while before October even began. They had to do all sorts of seemingly menial tasks; fill out questionnaires and submit essays, get testimonies from people - werewolves - who knew them. The actual change itself was always occurred this time of the year, always in Aspen Creek. There were several ceremonies that they had to complete, to weed out those who were weak willed and the bad seeds who slipped through the cracks. All packs went through Bran's method - because it was currently the best method at making wolves that survived the change, and after.

That didn't mean there were hundreds of people from all across the country lined up to become werewolves. There were a little over twenty people this time, Bran said. And they were still dropping out every minute.

"This isn't always a life we want for others." Bran told her one night, while explaining the ceremony. She was snuggled against him on the couch, his fingers combing her hair in thought; he did that a lot, now. She figured he either like how soft her hair was or he just liked touching her. "Some try very hard to convince their loved ones not to take the Change."

"I can understand why they'd want to do it, though." Meara said, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. They were both ignoring the movie at this point, drawn into the conversation. "I think it would be hard, seeing the ones you love stay one way forever. Forcing them to watch you die slowly. It probably makes some of them feel guilty."

He paused. "I suppose." He never gave much thought to the humans around him, and not just because they were fleeting and he had thousands of wolves to care for. He was very, very old, and that meant he'd seen many people die. If he had to grieve every other year he wouldn't have made it to this age.

Meara was still young. Five years a wolf, she was still running on human time - eventually she might change, as age did to all things immortal or not. But for now, the concerns of mortal andl fleeting were still very much on her mind.

Thankfully, she didn't have to go to the ceremony. Didn't have to, as in, Bran told (asked) her not to go.

"We quickly learned, with Anna, that an Omega makes the Change difficult. What you need to survive is the will to fight, and Omegas soothe that." Bran told her. "You will be very important in helping them later on, but having you there would only hinder them."

She was rather relieved that she didn't have to go - only slightly hurt that she would be a hindrance. "You know I didn't mean it like that." Bran told her, taking her hand.

She smiled and laughed. "I know, I know. I'm more bothered by the notion of doing more harm than good. I like helping. I don't like being in the way." And then she held his hand with a frown. "I'm still getting used to that. You knowing how I'm feeling."

With their mate bond, no matter how small and frail it was, came the unusual gift of empathy. The only wolf in the pack who had experience with such a bond was Asil. He and his dead mate had once shared an empathic bond - one that had been corrupted and stolen by a jealous witch.

"Is it an Omega thing?" Meara had gone to ask him, after Bran told her briefly of Asil's Sarai and Mariposa.

"Anna and Charles, while very aware of each other, do not share emotions as such." Asil explained. "It is a rarity that appears only every so often."

"Bran told me he didn't have this with his last two mates." She said absently. "Is it something I did? Or is it because the bond formed without either of us knowing?"

Asil examined for a moment. "I couldn't answer that honestly. What I can tell you, is that a mate bond manifests differently and uniquely for every mated pair. No two bonds will ever be the same; even if one wolf had a hundred mates in his life, he will never experience the same bond with the next as he did the last."

It didn't really answer any questions she had - only left her with more. She didn't mind the shared connection, even if Bran was much better at reading her than she was him. The bond made her feel...closer. Closer to Bran and more aware of herself.

It was that bond that told her something significant about Bran, when the night of the last full moon in October passed.

She woke up, dressed for the day, and met Bran in the kitchen for breakfast as normal. She was feeling antsy; she always did, the days surrounding the full moon. He smiled and greeted her, standing over the stove as he made pancakes. She touched his arm and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him - Bran was a nearly a full head taller than Meara, who was just an inch shorter than Anna.

When she took a step back, tears came pouring down her cheeks. He dropped the spatula, blinking. "Oh," she touched her cheeks, "oh." Her expression didn't match the sorrow, didn't match the heartbroken scent to her tears.

Bran looked pained for a moment. He turned off the burner and moved the pan, food forgotten. "You -" Meara started, when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug, "- why are you so sad? You shouldn't do that to yourself." She gripped the back of his shirt with trembling hands and pressed her cheek against his chest. She felt his heartbeat thrum against her, soothing her.

"I'm sorry." He cooed, stroking her hair. "I didn't think it would reach you. I thought I had it held better than that."

"It's not your fault." She told him, closing her eyes. "You don't have to carry that grief. They made the choice."

She'd never thought about it, never thought of the feelings he carried - not like that. She wondered if anyone but his sons ever did. Bran was carrying the guilt and grief of the people who he had ravaged last night; of the ones who died when the magic failed to take hold. She'd never seen something so human from him. It made her heart ache, and not just because their bond made her share his grief.

"Don't shut me out from things like that." She whispered. "Let me help you. Please."

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the kitchen counter. He held her tighter, feeling her power and her care soothe his grieving heart. "It hurts you, little Omega." He murmured back. "That's why I care to keep these things from you."

"Well don't." She grumbled. The tears were running dry. "It hurts me more for you to treat me like that. Like I'm all fragile and stupid. Don't do that."

He didn't say anything else. He held her tight, keeping her in his arms until the shock left him. When she touched him, the feelings he kept out of mind were wild free. She caught the brunt of it, sapping up the grief and sorrow like a sponge. And that, for a moment, scared him.

He added chocolate chips to the rest of the pancakes. They ate together in silence, but their chairs were pulled close enough that they could touch. He leaned into her, comforted by her presence.

Meara went to check on Rebecca a few days later. She was alone today. Jonah was tending to a friend whose son did not make the Change, and Daniel and Dexter were grocery shopping. Rebecca jumped when Meara walked into the kitchen, but sagged with relief when she recognized her.

"How are you feeling?" Meara asked, setting her keys on the kitchen table. Rebecca shrugged, fetching her a drink. "It's easier now that the moon has passed." She confessed. "But I'm still nervous."

"Because of Everett's pack?" Meara leaned forward. One of the prospects had been from Everett's pack, and two of the man's friends had come with him; one had made the attempt to Change him. The man didn't make it, and they were still here, preparing to leave with the body.

Bran had told them himself they were forbidden from seeing the witch. She was there when he did. They'd apparently received the same order from Everett, and Bran was putting emphasis.

Rebecca nodded, sitting next to her and setting their drinks on coasters. "Not just that." Rebecca confessed. "I've got - I've got two months at most left. I don't have perfect control of my magic."

Meara put her hand on Rebecca's. Comforting her helped Meara forget her discomforts. "You've done so well . Even Charles said so. You haven't had any sort of episode or the like since that last nightmare you had. You're just nervous because of Everett's wolves and the moon." Meara told her. "And you're very smart. You've got it almost completely reeled in. You'll do fine."

"My magic is still sporadic." Rebecca said sheepishly. "It scares me."

"Good." Meara said sternly. "Scared means you're not too stupid to think it won't harm you. Be scared, but keep being smart. You'll get it, I know."

Rebecca sighed and leaned forward. "You're so nice to me."

"You're my friend. Duh." Meara grinned. She leaned forward to say something else, but went still when she heard a car pulled up to the front of the house.

Meara stood. It wasn't Jonah or Daniel's cars. It wasn't Charles, or Bran. No one else was allowed to really come see Rebecca unless Bran told them so.

Meara's bad feeling crawled up her spine. She locked the door and backed into the kitchen.

There were two werewolves coming; one in human skin and one in wolf. Meara knew they weren't here with good intentions. The hesitated on the porch when they caught her scent.

She took a deep breath; they smelled like desert sand and anger. Everett's wolves. They were here, despite what Bran and their alpha instructed.

"Call Bran." She told Rebecca immediately. "Right now. Tell him Everett's idiots are here and we need him or Charles right now."

Rebecca hesitated, until Meara looked at her sharply and threw her cellphone. Rebecca fumbled to obey, hastily telling Bran that Everett's wolves were here and Meara needed him here. He told them he'd be there and hung up.

Meara open Jonah's oven and pull out his heavy cast iron skillet. She didn't see much better in Jonah's kitchen, but she knew broken bones were much harder to recover from than stab wounds. Anna told her she favored her grandmother's marble rolling pin as a home defense weapon. She grabbed the small, sharp fruit knife in her other hand anyways.

Meara hesitated. Fighting was a foreign concept to her. She'd never done it in earnest before becoming a wolf, and no one dared to try and harm her now. She'd play fought during hunts - but that would be nothing compared to what she knew was coming.

"You were told by your alpha not to come here." Meara said, knowing they could hear her. A locked door wouldn't hold them for more than the seconds it took to bust it down. "You were ordered by the Marrok to leave her be."

"We were told not to go see the witch. So we come to see you." Came the answer. He was trying not to lie, but it was a half-assed and stupid attempt.

"You came to see the witch - liar. Don't make something up to try to be clever. You're not fae, and you're not good at it." She snapped. "She is part of the Marrok's pack now. You can't be that stupid."

He kicked down the door, and Meara twirled the pan in show. The human skinned one was tall and had pale blue eyes. He stared her down, and she met his gaze, the force of his dominance washing past her. The wolf was big and colored like a dark german shepherd. He snarled with bright gold eyes. She didn't know their names.

Good. That would make it easier.

"We don't want to hurt you." The man said, a little more gently than before.

Meara snorted. "Of course you don't. You're angry, not crazy." She said. "This is a death wish. If you fight me I won't stop until I kill one or both of you or you kill me, and if you kill me Bran will kill you. You've already disobeyed your alpha. Don't make it worse."

"We don't have to fight. We just want the witch." Rebecca growled at her mention. "Two of our pack are dead because of her. She must pay." The wolf growled as the man spoke, lowering himself in preparation to spring. Meara angled herself in front of Rebecca and flipped the knife so that the blade faced forward. "You will have to get through me first. Your pack has lost enough. We have all lost enough as of late - leave, turn around and go home." She countered. She knew it would come to a fight either way. She just wanted to give Bran enough time to get there.

She tried something other than talking. Gathering the power she knew was there, she unleashed it in a wave - cold air that smelled of salt blasted through the room. Rebecca stumbled and sighed - the man took a step back and sat in a heap on the porch. "Oh." He mumbled, the wolf pushed back and the human fully in control. "Ohh-mega, right. Shhould have ruh-emembered…" He slurred.

But it was all for naught, when the wolf sprang forward and slammed into her. Her power was knocked out when she fell; the wolf dug his claws and fangs into her shoulder and shook his head until the flesh was torn to ribbons.

Rebecca screamed, but Meara didn't. Instead she brought the skillet hard against his ribs and heard three break. He didn't give up even as she continued to smash it into him, biting into her other arm and tearing away flesh. She heard Bran's voice in her head, calling when he felt her pain through the bond - felt the ice of his rage spill into her. She had to ignore him to focus.

The man shot over them, going for Rebecca, and she flung him back with a wave of magic. Meara managed to turn the skillet around and drove the handle into the wolf's eye.

The beast howled and lurched away. Meara's wolf took over, filling her with a fury as she sang her song through their human throat. Meara slammed into the wolf, into the barrel of its chest, and they rolled into the doorframe hard enough to smash it. She threw the wolf out onto the porch; she still had her skillet.

She didn't get the chance to react before the man grabbed the side of her head and smashed her into the doorframe.

She managed to drop the skillet and get her hand up fast enough to cover her eye, fingers just barely guarding it, but wood splintered all into her face and she felt something in her jaw break. She let out a muffled scream when he did it again, then he managed twice more before she smashed her foot into his knee, effectively breaking it.

Her other arm swung before her brain caught up, and the knife sitters across his face and nailed him in one eye. He lurched away, howling in pain.

The wolf came at her again, digging his claws into her side and sinking his teeth into the shoulder he had already begun to tear apart. She screamed as he dragged her down, pulling her across the porch. She tried to pull away, tried to give herself a moment to protect herself. He savaged her shoulder and she thought the only way for this wolf to be capable of this is if he was mad.

He grabbed her by the left arm and shook . He shook so hard that her bone broke, the joint popped, until it felt like the arm would come off. Then he released her, taking a sudden step back and snarling in anticipation. She attempted to roll over.

The man was there again, and he punched her in the face hard enough to break her nose. He punched her in the ribs and in the gut - blood spilled past her lips - and hit her in the face again. He took her head in his hands and pulled her upright.

They were going to kill her before she had the chance to use her power on them again. Bran's voice slipped into welsh in her mind - she shoved him away again, his voice distracting her.

She reached and found the skillet, and smashed the man in the side of the head. The blow knocked him clean across the porch and halfway down the steps. She struggled to put weight on her limbs while still having her weapon ready; her left arm was broken.

"Stupid fucking girl." The man choked. He was crying - he was fucking crying . "We didn't have to do this!"

"You're boring." She croaked, and Rebecca sent a strong blast of magic sent the wolf howling into the yard, rolling to put out ghostly looking flames.

The man got up. So did Meara, broken bones forgotten for a moment. She reset her nose without a flinch. She dropped the skillet and switched hands with the paring knife. "Stupid fucking woman-" He snarled at her, and she lunged with the knife. She was faster than him, but she was more injured than he was. He was fast enough to dodge her aim for his eye and end up with the knife in his shoulder. It didn't so much as stall him.

He grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into the ground. He pinned her on her front and leaned heavily on her; heavily on her broken arm. She heard something click, smelled the metal and silver. Then he fired once and she felt the burn go straight through her hip. She screamed.

"Stupid girl," he snarled at her, leaning heavily on her torn and bloodied shoulder, "you stupid girl. This could have been easier. She is an abomination."

Meara looked up and saw the wolf lunge for Rebecca on the porch, interrupting the spell she was building. She rolled to avoid him, ending up with claws down her shoulder. The wolf skittered to gain traction on the hardwood and Rebecca slid down the porch and into the grass.

Rebecca's eyes were yellow and bright. Her fingers looked black and thin, and the air felt sick and heavy.

Meara heard the gun click as he prepared the next silver bullet. "Pretty tattoos," he mumbled above her, words slurred and half spoken.

Meara remembered what Rebecca's nightmare was about now. The gun dropped in the grass next to her head.

The man was staring at her back, focused on the eyes of her tattoo. She grabbed the gun and smashed it into his jaw, rocking him off her back and on his side. He didn't so much as flinch - he stared, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Meara got up and twisted his neck before she could think. She turned and shot the wolf in the eye before he could lunge for Rebecca. She shot at his head until the gun ran dry, until his skull was littered with holes. Blood and silver were the strongest scents in the air.

Rebecca turned and smiled at Meara. Her eyes were black now. Meara limped over - dragged herself, really, as the silver made her body burn and ache. She slammed the butt of the gun into the side of Rebecca's head. Rebecca stumbled and fell, and the black and sick feeling left the air.

Rebecca gasped, breathing hard. "Wha-" She wheezed, barely looking up in time to see Meara limp up the porch and twist the wolf's neck.

It was done. The adrenaline faded - Meara stumbled and fell, leaning hard against the porch rail. Her wolf preened in satisfaction; they had protected their own.

Rebecca shivered and was crying as she hurried over to Meara. "Oh my god-" She said, hands shaking, "oh my god. This is my fault."

Meara was drained - and she was beginning to feel the panic. But Rebecca was losing her control and Meara's wolf stepped forward. The wolf made them calm; and Meara took Rebecca's hand and shared that calm with her. "Don't think about that right now." Meara told her - her voice cracked.

Rebecca was submissive. The wolf could not come forward to help, because it was not capable of it. Meara had to keep her calm and able - not only so she could help Meara, but so she didn't draw anyone's ire when Bran and help arrived.

Rebecca swallowed a sob. "What do you need me to do?" Rebecca asked, holding Meara's hands tightly. Meara pointed to her bloody hip. It burned like she'd dropped a hot iron on it, stabbed a fire poker into her flesh. The bullet was still there.

"Get it out, please?" Her words slurred a little. The wolf tried to shake off the dizziness.

She heard the cars come up, heard the voices. "I can do that, I think. Maybe more." Rebecca said, but faltered and backed away. She dropped her face and showed her throat.

Meara felt Bran's hands on her before she felt his ice cold rage blast over them. It felt like the bite of a blizzard. "Hi," she mumbled, leaning into him immediately. His arms coiled around her and he pressed her into his chest. "Rebecca can fix - silver." She said into his shoulder.

"Do it." Bran spat the words like venom. She heard his teeth clack, heard the growl in his chest. She hadn't been paying attention to the bond since the fight started - it distracted her, and she had to focus on not dying. He was so angry and that rage was bubbling and hot - but oh, so cold. She would have felt it, would have known it was there, but she was so tired .

Her wolf was still forcing the calm. She reached with her bloodied and torn arm and put a hand against his neck. Rebecca touched her hip - it was going numb from the pain and blood. "Sorry," Rebecca whimpered, "I can't make it not hurt."

"Just do it. " Bran snarled. He was . Meara closed her eyes and pressed her face against his shoulder. "It's not her fault." She whispered to him, but she couldn't get anything else out when her body began to burn . She grabbed onto his shirt and whined, trembling.

It was slow and horrible, and Meara heard someone screaming. It took her a moment to realize it was her, that she was screaming into Bran's shoulder. He was talking to her, murmuring to her softly and reassuringly in her ear and in her mind. One of his hands was holding the back of her head, cradling her. She bit into his shoulder, sinking her teeth in deep to stop screaming, and he didn't so much as flinch.

Rebecca dug a finger in and then the pain was half gone. Meara heard the bullet clatter on the porch like it was the loudest thing there. Meara heard Bran snap at Rebecca, telling her to fix what she could manage. Rebecca started with the shoulder the wolf had torn apart - the worst of her wounds, the one that bled the most. It didn't burn at all like the silver wound did.

Meara let go of Bran's shoulder, his coppery blood mixing with her on her tongue. "Sorry," she croaked.

Bran kissed the top of her head, and something cool and tasting of salt washed through her. It dulled the pain and eased the result of the blood loss. Pack magic, she vaguely realized. Bran had told her that the bonds of a pack could help a wolf heal, help the change go faster - lots of things. She sank into his arms with a relieved sigh that came out as half a sob.

"I can't do anymore-" Rebecca sobbed, when she half-finished with Meara's shoulder, "I don't have enough for that. I used too much fighting them off."

"Fine." Bran snapped.

Meara finally managed looked up at him. His eyes were pale and bright gold as he glared at Rebecca. She saw the rage and something like pain - and when she reached through the bond, she felt his control shake. She lifted her hand, her left hand, and managed to put it on his cheek, smearing blood. "I'm sorry." She mumbled, pulling his face down so he couldn't glare at Rebecca anymore. "Don't be mad at her. She helped."

Bran took a deep breath; it sounded like it trembled, and she felt shivers run through him. Her wolf recognized something dangerous rising; something deadly. For a fearful moment Meara thought not only of the death that could come, but of Bran being lost to his beast forever. Her wolf pushed forward and grabbed for their mate bond. Meara willed herself to be calm, to be serene as she could manage and gave it all to silver in her eyes was almost as bright as Bran's gold.

He wiped a tear from her bloody, splintered cheek. "Save your energy." He told her softly. "Don't waste it on me, little wolf. You must heal."

"Please don't leave me." Meara's eyes drooped. Her words meant something more in that moment. "I won't leave you. Don't leave me." She whispered again. She heard him suck in a breath through his teeth. She felt his lips touched her forehead before she slipped into the blackness.

She didn't dream. But her sleep felt warm and comforting.