Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. There's been a family emergency and I'm going to be out of town for a funeral, so the next chapter of this and "Dreamers" will likely be delayed. I apologize for this. I also likely won't get to answering reviews for a little bit because of this, but I am exceedingly grateful for each one and will definitely get to responding as soon as real life allows. Again, thank you all and I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter!
Part Sixteen: The Vote
"Combeferre."
Enjolras' voice takes Combeferre's attention away from the arteries that he's studying, bringing him abruptly back to the present and the pack. Turning in his chair so that he can see the door, Combeferre smiles at his alpha. "Yes?"
The smile fades as his mind automatically touches his pack-bond to Enjolras and finds it soft, purposefully quiescent. Enjolras is keeping his mind closed off, inviolate, something that he rarely does. What does slip through his control is a thrumming, hungry power, barely leashed, but even Combeferre's sense of that dims after a moment.
Enjolras walks over to the desk, every step deliberate, controlled. His voice is low when he finally speaks, for Combeferre's ears only. "He's going to ask to be pack."
Combeferre blinks. "What?"
"Grantaire's going to ask to be pack. Tonight, if I'm not mistaken." Enjolras lets out a slow breath. "I gave him permission to."
"But…" Combeferre forces himself to close his mouth, to sort his thoughts and dismay into words rather than simply staring at his alpha. "He hasn't talked with all of us. We had agreed to wait at least the week. He—"
"He asked. I…" Closing his eyes, Enjolras places one of his hands flat on the desk. If Combeferre didn't know Enjolras as deeply as he does, didn't know his actions and reactions so well, he might have missed the slight trembling of his fingers. "I granted him permission to ask. Enough of the pack has interacted with him now to give a fair discussion, and he needs the protection if he's going to be staying with us. The time when we could safely harbor strays without making them pack has passed. We've done too much, made too many enemies, made too much of a name for ourselves among our people."
"Then have him stay here. No one would attack our den. Anyone who wants to talk with him can talk with him here, or at the Musain. There's another place they would be idiots to attack. Though we'd have to control how large an alcohol allowance he has, if yesterday is any indication…" Combeferre trails off, his eyes moving from Enjolras' hand on his desk up his arm and pausing on his face.
Eventually Enjolras opens his eyes, loosens his grip on their pack-bond, and Combeferre draws in a short, sharp breath of his own.
"He's begging me, Combeferre." Enjolras' voice is quiet, strained, hungry, but not worried, not frightened, not unhappy. "He's taking all of my power that I allow, all that slips without my meaning it to, begging for more, reaching for me. He has been since he came here, but… it's worse now. It's so much worse now, and I could keep trimming it back, if you really want me to. I can keep shoving him away. I can give us a week, if it's needed, but…"
"But it would be hard on you." Combeferre places his hand over Enjolras', dredging up a smile. "You've already made your decision. You just need the rest of the pack to vote. I can't vote on this, though. I haven't spent enough time with him. I don't know him well enough."
"He's going to ask tonight." There's a fire and fierceness, a hunger and need in Enjolras' gaze that Combeferre has seen only six other times in his life. "I told him to wait until tonight. He's in his room right now."
Nodding, Combeferre stands and reluctantly pulls his hand away from Enjolras'. "Well, then. I had best go educate myself quite quickly."
XXX
Grantaire paces back and forth across his room, pausing at the window to adjust his clothes in his reflection before pacing again.
Enjolras said he could ask.
Enjolras said that he could ask tonight.
How should he ask?
He can't use the traditional words. He's going to have to change them. This isn't just a decision that Enjolras' making, and he has to make sure that he shows them that he's been paying attention, that he know what they are and how they think.
At least he thinks he does.
Hopes he does.
Maybe he shouldn't have asked Enjolras already.
What if the pack votes against him?
What if they tell him to leave?
He thinks that most of them like him. Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta have been sleeping with him, the female wolf including him in Musichetta's little cluster, nuzzling him against the female's two mates. He's fairly certain he didn't do anything too stupid when he was with Jehan. Bahorel defended him. Feuilly seemed to enjoy his company…
But what if he's wrong? What if they've just been tolerating him? It's only been a few days that they've actually been interacting with him, though for him it seems that he's known them for longer, the weeks that he watched them interacting with the humans without actually approaching them muddling things.
What if he asks and loses everything tonight?
A soft knock sounds at his door, and Grantaire jerks around to see Combeferre standing uneasily in the doorway. For a long moment he stares straight into Combeferre's brown eyes, trying to process why Enjolras' beta would be approaching him. Then Combeferre's mouth twitches, just slightly, the corners turning down, and Grantaire remembers that this is Enjolras' beta and forces his eyes to the ground.
"Sorry." The words are a mumbled murmur to the floor. "I didn't mean to cause offense. It's just me."
"It's fine, Grantaire." Combeferre continues to stand in the doorway. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. My wolf is just… nervous at the moment. May I come in and speak with you?"
"Um… certainly." Grantaire gestures around the sparsely furnished room. "Would you prefer the desk or the bed?"
"The desk." Combeferre enters the room softly, on unshod feet. He's still in his waistcoat, but his cravat is gone and the cuffs of his sleeves are loose. "Please, sit as well. I'd like to talk with you."
Settling gingerly on the edge of his bed, keeping his shoulders and head down, Grantaire eyes Combeferre with his peripheral vision. The man seems… distracted, uncertain, his gaze traversing the room briefly before returning to his hands, clasped in front of him. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
Combeferre is quiet for several seconds. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on his hands, not lifting his gaze to stare at Grantaire or challenge him. "What will you bring to our pack if we grant you acceptance?"
Swallowing hard, Grantaire finds himself curling up even further, making himself as submissive as he possibly can. "Myself, I suppose. A bit of coin that I have left. A strong back. Another set of hands to use as you see fit."
Combeferre's eyes rise, stare straight at Grantaire. "We don't use people. We ask things of them. We try very hard to ask the right people, so that our tasks will actually be completed."
"I could be the right person." Grantaire tries hard not to sound like he's begging. "Anything that this pack asks of me, I will do. For this pack, I would… I would burn the ocean. I would drown the desert. I would denounce the Lady and court the Black Night if only you'd allow me entrance to the pack. I want a home, Combeferre, and I can't imagine a home better than the one that I've seen here."
Combeferre meets his eyes evenly, head tilted just slightly to the side.
Once he realizes that he's staring at Combeferre directly, challenging the man again, Grantaire quickly drops his gaze. He hadn't meant to, but the possibility of being accepted or rejected by this pack burns in his heart too strongly for him to remember anything else when he's thinking of it.
"You're so different from any others that he's wanted." There's a soft, contemplative note to Combeferre's voice that hadn't been present before. "So different from even Jehan and Joly, from any other submissives I've seen. I… find it very difficult to understand you, Grantaire, and to understand why he reacts to you the way that he does."
"By he do you mean Enjolras?" Grantaire finds himself smiling, pleased with what he thinks Combeferre is saying. "Is Enjolras pleased with me? Does he want to accept me?"
"Enjolras is trying very hard to keep his opinions on the matter to himself, so that there isn't a danger of his swaying the vote." Combeferre frowns, his eyes closing for a moment and his body stilling. When he opens his eyes again, that frank curiosity is present once more. "What do you think of humans, Grantaire?"
"Some are nice enough." Grantaire shrugs. "They're similar to us in a lot of ways. Different in a lot of ways, too, but at least they don't get upset about my not submitting. And I like Feuilly. A lot. I think he's a very strong person, to have survived what he survived, and I'm really enjoying talking about artwork with him."
"And the monarchy? The government? The laws?" Combeferre's eyes narrow.
"I… don't know." Shrugging helplessly, Grantaire spreads his hands open. "I always thought the king was like a human alpha. They have one really big pack, and their alpha struggles are vicious, but so long as it didn't interfere with me… I never really questioned it. Listening to Feuilly, listening to Enjolras, listening to all of you… you have ideas about how to fix things. I don't know if they'll work. I know that it's dangerous. I don't care. To have a pack, I'll accept that danger. I'll accept that uncertainty."
Combeferre is quiet again, and Grantaire wonders if he said the right thing. Perhaps he should have lied. Perhaps he should have used his status as non-pack, his lack of any connection to Combeferre, to tell the male what he wants to hear.
That doesn't feel… right, though. He doesn't want any lies between him and this pack, not now, not later. There's already a fair chance they're disappointed in him. Trying to make himself seem more useful than he is and then failing would just be a good way to get himself ostracized from the pack.
"You're very focused on Enjolras." The question is spoken to his hair, and Grantaire remembers to duck his head again. "Explain."
"Explain?" Grantaire chokes on a laugh as he attempts to turn it to a cough. How is he supposed to explain it? What is he supposed to say? "He's… Combeferre, he's the most impressive alpha I've ever heard of. I submit to him. I'm right when I'm with him. He's beautiful. He's—"
"He's not interested in a mate." Combeferre's voice is ice cold.
"All right." Grantaire shrugs, blinking in confusion at the interruption. "That's fine."
Combeferre stares at him, head tilting slowly to the other side. "That's all? That's the entirety of your reaction?"
"Well… yes." Grantaire shifts, uncomfortable. "I didn't expect him to be interested in me like that. I just want to be a part of the pack, Combeferre. If he was interested in me as a mate, I… I don't know what I'd do. Maybe die of happiness. But it would be enough for me if he's just interested in me, if he just… if he just lets me be a part of this pack, a part of your lives."
"You'd be the eleventh member of our pack." There's consideration in Combeferre's voice, in the way his hand reaches up to rub at his left temple. "Enjolras is quite certain that he can handle that many wolves, but I don't know if he's thought ahead to if you wanted to bring a mate into the pack."
"Eleven…" Grantaire whispers the word, running through the wolves that he's met. Having to think of ranks theta and kappa had given him an idea of how large Enjolras' pack was, and he had known there were a lot of wolves in this pack, but it's still an impressive number for one alpha to hold. "I would be fine with that. If I'm the last, if I don't have a mate, I don't care. I'll at least have a pack. Especially since this pack apparently doesn't believe in fall, I'm not sure it'll even make that much of a difference."
"We can't afford a fall. There's a difference." Combeferre appears distinctly uncomfortable, his back suddenly straight, his eyes elevated, announcing his dominance in a way that Enjolras' wolves rarely have. "And just because we don't indulge in fall doesn't make having a mate something to dismiss out of hand. If it's a drive you have, it can be a very worthwhile bond to form. And it makes it easier to draw strength from the pack, to protect ourselves when danger comes."
"I'm an old stray, Combeferre. I haven't found a mate yet. I don't expect one to magically appear now." Grantaire shrugs, dismissing the worry out of hand. "I don't even have a pack. I don't think you're realizing exactly how terrible a position that is, and how much more amazing it would be to have one."
"No." Combeferre answers quietly, his eyes dropping again. "No, I don't. I've never been in that position."
"You've been with him for a long time, haven't you?" Grantaire asks the question tentatively, not wanting to upset Combeferre again.
"I have been." A smile, small but unmistakable, makes Combeferre look much less threatening and intimidating. "I was his first. He took me with him when he left our birth pack. We were fifteen, almost sixteen."
"That's young." Grantaire straightens without meaning to, surprise drawing his eyes and his head up. It's just slightly younger than Grantaire was when he left his birth pack, in the summer of his sixteenth year. "Why?"
"Because of who and what he is. He couldn't stay in that pack, not and be… him. His father was the alpha; my mother was the beta. They tried to give him as much leniency as they could, but once it became clear that he really intended to change everything…" The smile doesn't fade from Combeferre's face, though it does become sadder. "We took the money they had been setting aside for us and we left. They didn't want me to go with him. They didn't want to lose both of us, and they were afraid that he would get himself killed before summer even began. He had to help me sever the pack-bond, but he was there to claim me. It was… it was terrifying. It was amazing. I've never regretted it."
"If you've been with him so long, why did you and Courfeyrac…" Grantaire trails off, hunching down as small as he can make himself as Combeferre's smile disappears entirely, cold disdain taking its place.
"Finish your question, stray." Combeferre's voice is even, but the warmth that had been building throughout the rest of the conversation is suddenly gone.
"Why did you and Courfeyrac end up mates instead of you and Enjolras." Grantaire whispers the words, knowing that Combeferre will hear them anyway. "I'm sorry. You did start it, though, telling me not to think of Enjolras as a potential mate."
Combeferre's silent for a long time, and Grantaire finally risks a glance up at him. A brief smile flits across Combeferre's face and he shakes his head. "You're right. I did bring up the topic. It's just… a sore point for me, in a way. Not because I'm unhappy with Courfeyrac or because I was rejected by Enjolras or anything like that, but because everyone keeps expecting that to be my story. People keep telling Enjolras that this must be my story, and it makes him act strangely."
"Not Courfeyrac?" Grantaire allows a slight smile to grace his face.
"Not Courfeyrac. He is… absolutely amazing." Combeferre's own smile grows. "He accepts that Enjolras means a great deal to me without any question, without any hesitation, without any jealousy. I was Enjolras' first wolf, and he will always be my alpha. But that doesn't mean I settled for Courfeyrac. If Enjolras were interested in me as a mate, he had almost three years in which to ask me before Courfeyrac and I became mates. Would I have accepted? I don't know. But I'm happy with my bond with Enjolras and I'm happy with my bond with Courfeyrac, and I don't want to change either."
"Then don't." Grantaire relaxes again, taking in the way that Combeferre's body has stilled, the way his eyes shine as he speaks of his mate and his alpha. He clearly cares deeply about both wolves, and it's a beautiful thing to see. "Be happy. Your pack deserves to be happy."
"All men deserve to be happy—all wolves, all humans. We will be happy when we've achieved our goals, winning the humans' freedom, winning ours alongside it." Combeferre leans forward, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes fixed on Grantaire's face. "And yes, we will be happy in the interim, because our pack is fantastic, but if you are to be a member of this pack I will expect you to be useful. I will expect you to help him—to help us. If you don't…"
"I'll do whatever you ask me to. I'll do whatever the pack needs. And if I fail…" Grantaire turns his head to the side, exposing his neck, closing his eyes, making himself vulnerable to Combeferre in a way that he rarely has with any other alpha-level wolf. There are too few that he has been able to trust, especially these last two years.
Combeferre's fingers are chilly against his neck, a feather-light touch as Combeferre uses his other hand on the back of Grantaire's skull to tilt his head forward. Combeferre's chin rests in Grantaire's hair as he gathers Grantaire into his arms for one brief moment before releasing him and turning to the door.
Grantaire blinks at the other wolf, uncertain. "Is that it? Did you not have any other questions for me?"
Pausing in the doorway, Combeferre turns and shakes his head. Another slight smile dances across his face. "No. Between you and Enjolras, I think I have my answer."
With that Enjolras' beta is gone, disappearing as quietly as he appeared.
Grantaire hopes that he gave Combeferre the right answer, though he's afraid that he's not sure what exactly the question had been.
XXX
Gather.
The word isn't quite a word. It's a sense of the pack, of all ten of them together, of peace and security and safety, of strength and family and unrestrained delight, of potential and wonder and just a hint of danger. It's all that the pack gathering means to Enjolras, condensed into less than a millisecond, and it blazes through the pack-bonds.
It's not a command, but it jerks Courfeyrac's head up, drags him roughly back to full consciousness and awareness despite Combeferre's fingers dancing along his furred ears, and he accidentally knocks the book that Combeferre had balanced on his back onto the floor. Combeferre's head comes up, also, a slight frown and a pulse of uncertainty running from him through their mate-bond. Bounding off Combeferre's bed, shaking his fur into place, Courfeyrac slips out the half-open door of Combeferre's room.
He briefly misses the feel of Combeferre's fingers on his head, but that's all right. If Enjolras is sending out a suggestion that the pack gather, it's time to stop attempting to prove Combeferre wrong. Especially since he wasn't doing a very good job proving that studying in wolf form is quite possible, though Combeferre cheated by playing with his ears.
Courfeyrac checks the time twice, reassuring himself that the night hasn't fled faster than he expected. It's odd for Enjolras to summon the pack to his side before late in the night, not unless there's something important to discuss. Following his sense of his alpha and the rest of the pack to their common room, he takes his place at Enjolras' left hand.
He knows what's coming as soon as he looks at Grantaire. Grantaire is at the center of the pack's attention, even Enjolras' eyes focused on him. For his part the stray exudes a mixture of glee and terror, his gaze flitting from one member of the pack to another, a combination of wariness and burning hope in his eyes.
Enjolras doesn't turn to look at Courfeyrac or Combeferre or the rest as they join the gathering. He continues to watch the stray, his blue eyes filled with a hunger and desire that Courfeyrac recognizes, though Courfeyrac can sense that Enjolras is trying to keep his expression blank.
Enjolras wants the stray. Enjolras' power thrums through all of the pack-bonds, hungry and eager, and Courfeyrac blinks in surprise. He's felt this before from his alpha, every time Enjolras decides that he wants a new pack member, but he wasn't expecting to feel it in regards to Grantaire.
It seems that whatever reservations Enjolras had about the stray have disappeared.
He's glad, but he doesn't have time to comment before Enjolras speaks, his voice quiet, as stripped of emotion as his face. As though that could keep the rest of them from sensing what he wants. "Now that we're all gathered, Grantaire, you may ask your question."
"I have seen your pack." Grantaire's gaze moves to Enjolras, his head lowering, his body taking on a submissive posture that had been missing when he watched the rest of them. "And I beg your leave to join it. All of your leaves."
Grantaire turns from Enjolras to Combeferre, keeping his posture the same, from Combeferre to Courfeyrac, from Courfeyrac to Bahorel, all the way down the hierarchy of the pack. Submitting to all of them, requesting acceptance of all of them, and Courfeyrac lets out a slow breath, his ears pricked forward, his tail waving in frantic happiness despite his best attempts to make it stop.
It's a good way to ask their pack for admittance. It's a nice twist on the traditional ask-and-answer, faithful enough to put their instincts at ease, changed enough to show that he has been paying attention to what they say. Courfeyrac wonders, briefly, if someone coached the stray on what to say, and finds himself glancing at Enjolras.
That's unfair, though, to both Grantaire and to Enjolras. Enjolras wouldn't try to sway their judgment, has been doing everything in his power to keep them from seeing how much he wants to claim the stray.
And Grantaire is clever enough to have figured out how best to approach this issue on his own. Courfeyrac barely manages to contain a yip of proud delight as he watches the stray.
"Your request is heard." Enjolras straightens, turning away from Grantaire with a visible effort. "The pack will consider it, and give you an answer as soon as a consensus is reached. Please wait in your room until one of us summons you."
Grantaire leaves quietly, without another word, though he pauses at the door to take one last look at Enjolras before bounding up the stairs.
Stretching, Courfeyrac pulls his human form around him. Talking is apparently going to be a very important skill for the evening.
For a moment he thinks that he'll simply speak as he is, but then he takes in the hesitancy in everyone's faces, the wariness as they look from Enjolras to the door that Grantaire has just exited through. The pack hadn't been expecting this, not yet. Their wolves are eager for a decision to be made; the rational parts of their minds aren't quite so certain.
Add to that Enjolras' barely-contained eagerness…
"Well." Scratching behind his ear as he stands, Courfeyrac smiles at Enjolras. "I think I'd like to go grab some clothing before we start debating this in earnest."
After a second's hesitation Enjolras nods, leaning back against the wall, and the tension that had held the pack stationary is broken.
Courfeyrac isn't the only one who leaves to go change. He watches Musichetta pad up the stairs on four silent feet, Jehan right behind him. The other two wolves are gone for only a few seconds longer than he is, though, and when they return all eyes turn to Enjolras.
Enjolras straightens again, his hands held still at his side, and the thrum of his hungry power through the pack-bonds slowly lessens until Courfeyrac can only feel it because he's looking for it. A slight smile turns the corners of Enjolras' mouth up. "Discuss."
Joly breaks the silence, nuzzling against Bossuet and speaking to a point just to the right of Combeferre. "I like him. I don't see a reason not to make him pack."
"I haven't had much of a chance to talk with him." Monet wraps his arms around Feuilly's neck, his teeth nipping lightly at Feuilly's shoulder as his eyes narrow.
"If you wanted to…" Enjolras gestures toward the stairs, each motion contained, tense, though still with his usual grace.
"No. That's all right." Shaking his head, Monet pulls back, leaving one arm around Feuilly's shoulders. "Feuilly approves of him, overall, and that's pretty much the only vote of confidence I need."
"We all know his weaknesses." Combeferre's voice is soft. "His drinking could be a problem."
"He promises he'll stop if we ask him to." Enjolras hesitates, his shoulders dipping down and up again, shivering a ruff that isn't present in this form. "Or I could order him to stop."
"Promises to stop drinking can be hard ones to keep." Courfeyrac speaks quietly, looking between Enjolras and Combeferre. Enjolras wants this stray as his; Combeferre… Combeferre is almost impossible to read right now, his emotions clamped down low, his mind focused on Enjolras rather than replying to any of Courfeyrac's probes. Courfeyrac doesn't like being kept away from Combeferre mentally, so he crosses to Combeferre's side and presses himself against the male. "But I think he really would try. I don't think it would come down to you commanding him to do anything."
"I wouldn't want to command him like that." Enjolras shudders again. "Not unless he asked me to, at least."
"Besides." Bahorel straightens. "Drinking every once in a while isn't such a bad thing."
After a moment Combeferre nods. "He's cynical. He doesn't really believe in what we're doing. Even though he says he'll help us, he's going to find it difficult to articulate our desires to others."
"So we teach him." Courfeyrac shrugs. "We don't ask him to do any convincing of others until we've convinced him ourselves."
Combeferre nods again, his expression grim. "He needs us."
"He—" Courfeyrac trails off, tilting his head and considering Combeferre with one brow raised. "You realize that isn't a flaw, right?"
"It could be." Shrugging, Combeferre looks away. "He'll say or do anything to be with us, because he needs us. It's… different than it has been with a lot of the others."
Joly speaks to Combeferre's chest, his head low, his eyes downcast. "We needed you, as well. What other pack would accept a trio like us?"
"Or me." Bahorel raises one eyebrow, his bright green eyes fixing Combeferre in a stare that's half-challenge before falling away. "There aren't all that many who would want to keep a half-breed wolf who accidentally causes other wolves to Change. I can interact with other packs well enough for short-term things, I'm great with the humans, and I would have done fine on my own if I had to stay a stray, but… well, I'm glad that I found you."
"And we're glad to have all of you." Combeferre says the words, but the truth of them rings through the pack-bonds for a moment, Enjolras' power tethered to each of them, drawing forth and reiterating their relationships to each other, and Courfeyrac draws in a sharp breath as he bites down on Combeferre's shoulder.
It's a good feeling. It's a strong feeling, a connected, contented, powerful feeling, but it's not a necessary thing. It's not something Enjolras would normally have felt the need or desire to drown their conscious thought in, and Courfeyrac raises his head to blink blearily at his alpha.
Is Enjolras always this tempestuous, this eager and potent when they're considering a new pack member?
Yes. His rational mind says yes, remembers drowning in this sense of rightness and belonging with Jehan's joining, with Bahorel's, with Feuilly and Monet, with Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta.
His wolf just says that his alpha wants this stray, that their pack is going to grow, and yearns to have the magic unleashed and completed.
Combeferre's quiet for several long seconds, his arm tight around Courfeyrac's shoulders. "The stray's also kind. Eager to speak his mind, to be heard, and not afraid to voice an opinion, but kind."
"That's two things." Courfeyrac smiles fondly at his mate, staying where he is rather than returning to Enjolras' other side, resting his head against Combeferre's shoulder. "And I'm fairly certain neither of them is a flaw."
"Enjolras said to discuss, not to condemn." Combeferre leans into Courfeyrac's touch, though his eyes continue to scan the rest of the pack. "These are my observations."
"I agree about the kindness." Musichetta has a hand on each of his mates. "When we comfort him at night, he's… surprised. Surprised and relieved and always eager to make us more comfortable, to return the reassurance, to do what he can to help us."
"It shows when we're talking to him, too." Joly closes his eyes, pressing back against Musichetta's hand. "He notices how we react. He cares when he says something that hurts or bothers or even just annoys us. He'll be a good friend, I think."
Courfeyrac reaches around Combeferre's shoulders to tease at his opposite ear. "Do you have any other observations to make?"
"No." Combeferre twists his head away from Courfeyrac's hand. "I would say that's a fairly comprehensive list."
Enjolras straightens, his arms crossed over his chest, his blond hair shining in the firelight. "Does anyone else wish to say anything before the vote?"
Silence is the pack's answer, a waiting, eager silence.
"All right." Enjolras stares toward the stray's room for one long moment before purposefully turning to each of them in turn. "How will we vote? Do you want me to take the votes from you? Do we want to do this like the humans do, to provide some anonymity? Do—"
"If someone votes against, that's it, isn' t it?" Courfeyrac speaks quietly, not expecting Enjolras to turn on him but not sure how in control his alpha is. "And we'll all know who did before the week's out. We'll do this like we normally do, a verbal vote, and you can save your strength for bringing him into the pack later."
I'll always have strength to do what's needed for the pack.
The words ring through the pack-bonds, but it takes Courfeyrac a moment to make sure that they weren't actually spoken aloud. They're too crisp, too clear, too clean, more words than emotions or vague ideas. The meaning behind them is also too sharp, though, to ever be conveyed with words, a dedication to and love of the pack, honor and respect and a deep affection for all of them that Courfeyrac could drown in if he allowed himself, and that means that the words weren't verbal.
Enjolras blushes, just slightly, and wraps his arms harder around his chest. "We need to vote."
"I vote accept him." Jehan darts his gaze up to meet Enjolras'. "Even if he doesn't like poetry, I like him. I like his story. I like his oddity."
"I also vote we accept him." Joly's smile is bright and pleased. "He makes a good pillow."
"Accept him. I like talking to him about art, and he can follow directions if he chooses to." The good humor slips from Feuilly's face, and his hand clenches hard at his side. "And if we have to, if we don't have another choice, we can always kill him later."
A growl rips itself from Courfeyrac's throat and he's covered half the distance between himself and Feuilly when Combeferre and Enjolras draw him up short.
Feuilly stares him in the eye for just a moment longer than most wolves would dare before submitting. "I said if we have to, Courfeyrac. I don't think we'll have to, and I wouldn't want to do it. But turning him away, exiling him… after talking with him, I'm fairly certain he would prefer if we killed him."
Bossuet places a hand on Feuilly's shoulder opposite Monet, angling his body so that he's another barrier between Feuilly and Courfeyrac. "I don't think it would come to that, anyway. And I also vote for his acceptance. I've enjoyed spending the nights with him."
Letting out his breath in a long, slow sigh, Courfeyrac nods. "You're right, Feuilly. I just… don't like thinking about having to hurt a pack member."
Especially not with the magic so bright and high, running through his mind and his veins despite Enjolras' best attempts to control it, making his wolf more aware and his emotions more volatile.
Not when he brought the male to the pack, introduced him to everyone, is responsible for him.
"Another for acceptance." Musichetta's smile as he watches Courfeyrac is far more knowing than a submissive wolf's should be. "He's a sweet thing, and he does make quite the good pillow. I think he'll do well with watching over pups when we finally have them."
Enjolras and Combeferre's fingers both tighten on his arm, and Courfeyrac forces himself to take a few steps back, drawing them with him. At least mention of fall and pups will shift attention away from his lack of self-control at the moment.
"I vote acceptance." Monet's words drain the tension again, drawing the vote back to how it should be. "Anyone who can earn Feuilly's approval is good enough for me."
"He's got spirit." Grinning, Bahorel buries his fingers in Jehan's hair. "He says his mind, even against an alpha. I like submissives with spirit. I vote acceptance."
Which brings it back to Courfeyrac. Leaning his head against his alpha, Courfeyrac tries to control the trembling in his body. It would be easier if he didn't feel the same trembling mirrored in Enjolras' form. "Acceptance. I brought him here, and I've watched what he does. He'll try, and I think with us he can be amazing."
Combeferre's hand is trembling, too, and Courfeyrac closes his eyes.
"Acceptance." The word is a whisper, but it rings in the pack's expectant silence. "Bahorel and Joly are both right. He both speaks his mind and has a deep well of compassion in him. I find it… interesting. I can't justify turning him away."
He's not entirely certain that accepting him is the right thing to do, and Courfeyrac can suddenly feel Combeferre's hesitancy, his fear that they're making the wrong choice, but it's overshadowed by hope, optimism, a desire to teach and protect.
"I've tried to keep my own opinion from influencing this." Enjolras slowly lowers his hands to his sides, and the thrum of hungry power through the pack-bonds amplifies a hundred fold, something Courfeyrac would have said was impossible a moment ago. "I think I failed rather spectacularly, though. I vote acceptance. A consensus is reached."
They would howl. If they could, if it were safe, they would raise their voices in joyous song to call the stray back to them.
They can't, Enjolras' power binding them back, enforcing the order he gives them every night, and so the elation and desire instead echo through all the pack-bonds.
"Courfeyrac." Enjolras' blue eyes seem to blaze hotter than the fire. "Would you be kind enough to bring Grantaire to me?"
Courfeyrac doesn't say anything as he bounds toward the stairs. He doesn't need to.
He's certain the whole pack knows that there's nothing else he'd rather do right now.
