Chapter Text
There was a Shepherd in every major city in the world. These areas were theirs to canvass and patrol, an apex predator keeping the rest of their kind in check. There were no appointed Shepherds, only volunteers. It was a grueling, task-filled, thankless role, but it was necessary for their survival.
Some were drawn to the job out of a sense of obligation, others out of a misplaced sense of parental instinct. Urges like that were uncommonly strong among their kind, and there were more than a few Shepherds who became de facto pack leaders of entire countries. Not with an iron fist, but an open hand.
Glynda did it because she thought it was important that at least one werewolf maintained the old ways. She did not mother the ones under her care, she mentored them. She drilled lessons into them, warnings and oral tales older than the first stones carved by human hands.
People these days were too soft. In her opinion it was why the population was getting out of control. Nobody was disciplining these young ones who came crawling to her doorstep.
("Shepherd, I'm in need of aid.")
("Shepherd, please, I'm hungry and no matter how much I eat it doesn't satisfy me.")
("Shepherd, my family doesn't know, nobody knows, and I'm so angry all the time, and it hurts, it hurts so much, it hurts so much—")
Each full moon was a nightmare. In between wrangling every stray pup in the city, she had to make sure no wolfborn emerged from the wild litters, stumbling onto two legs for the first time in their lives. Of course, it had been at least a decade since the wild population last produced a werewolf.
Regardless, every month she prepared for at least one.
The work began in the morning. She had the number of every established werewolf within five hundred miles. She knew their names, their professions, how long they had been a werewolf— since birth or bitten, from the womb or by tooth. If they had any family. If their family knew. If they were in trouble, behind on rent, sticking their nose into human business.
The names crossed out one by one. Some required only a text message, some a phone call or an email. The adults were easy enough to handle, and they knew their Shepherd would care for them.
The pups...
Glynda rubbed her forehead.
Oh, the pups.
If only she could round them up into a big zoo.
Then, too soon, the sun was setting, and she still had house calls to do. Too many pups still needed physical contact, an affirmation of her control over them. No shifting allowed without permission, no accidents, no bites.
A sharp knock at her door made Glynda's ears prick up. Figuratively, at least. It had been years since she let slip her human skin.
Most of her night was allotted to the youngest. Some of them couldn't even drive yet. They often needed her the most, holding their hand or their paw as they trembled in place, fighting the urge to change.
She invited those to come stay the night on her property. It was a little too early for her first call, however. So she was tempted to think it was some pup a little too eager to please her.
Except when Glynda opened the door, she saw nothing but red velvet. A lowered hood, worn by someone much shorter than her. Iron and red meat overwhelmed her senses, wafting from a picnic basket, and then the hooded figure glanced up at her, golden eyes looking freshly minted.
"Hello, Glynda," Cinder said with a coy smile, teeth too sharp and too white to be entirely human.
Glynda's jaw set stubbornly shut. "I have no time to entertain you. As you well know," and she moved to slam the door shut but Cinder pressed a palm to it. Even when Glynda allowed some of her true strength to leak through, trying in vain to shut the door, Cinder was strong enough to match her.
She gave up, and Cinder swept past her, smelling as always like the crushed end of a candle wick. Glynda couldn't growl without loosening her human skin, some, but she could do her best. "For God's sake, Cinder, it's the first full moon of the year. Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?"
"I've come to help you, Shepherd." The scent of blood hit her stronger than ever. Making herself at home, Cinder unpacked her basket, pulling out a feast of freshly butchered meat. The paper crinkled, a set of shears cutting through twine and unwrapping the first steak.
Ruby red and glistening, perfectly marbled, white fat spreading out like spiderwebs.
Glynda's stomach growled in protest, and she set a palm over her belly as though it too were a beast she could quiet.
Then her cellphone rang, insistent and loud.
"Pretend I'm not here," Cinder said in a stage whisper. With a few rapid clicks, she had Glynda’s gas stove roaring, set down a cast iron pan, and got to work cooking dinner.
What on earth are you up to, witch, she wanted to say, but one of her pups was calling. That was something that just couldn't wait. So Glynda answered the phone with a sigh. "What’s the matter, Schnee? I have you scheduled to arrive here in an hour. Has something gone wrong?"
Weiss sounded startled, taken aback by how quickly Glynda cut to the chase. But after decades of wrangling pups, Glynda knew when one was trying to weasel out of their obligations. "Apologies, Shepherd. I won't be able to attend our meeting."
Glynda’s hackles rose. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no. You won’t get off that easy.” She began to pace, cutting off Weiss before she could try and squeeze in her feeble excuses. “You have another six years before I trust you to manage a full moon on your own. So either you come to me or I hunt you down." She paused to let the words sink in, raw power infusing her voice. "And I have your scent."
The girl tried to stammer out an explanation. "Yes, Shepherd, of course, I understand, I don't, I definitely don't think this is something I can handle on my own, but you see I'm not in town, I was just— I flew outside your territory, because I assumed—"
There was a rustle as the phone exchanged hands. A cool, familiar voice replaced Weiss's.
"I'm here to guide my younger sister, Shepherd. Just for tonight."
Winter Schnee. If there was ever a vocal equivalent of 'a sight for sore eyes', it would be their low, rumbling growl.
Winter spoke again, sounding distinctly amused. "I hope this doesn't come across as me usurping your duty."
Quite the opposite. It was a relief, knowing one of her charges was in such capable hands. "As long as she doesn't go the night alone, it matters not which Shepherd guides her." Dryly, she added, "Just give me more warning next time."
"Of course."
They exchanged scant pleasantries. After all, Winter had their duties to attend to, and during the full moon, time was a valuable resource. They both knew that.
When the call was done, Cinder offered her a steak. The witch sliced through it, taking a slow bite herself while matching Glynda's glare with a bright, teasing smile. "Look. It isn't poison."
"As if you'd ever brew the means to your own demise." Glynda took a hesitant sniff, but recoiled when Cinder sliced off another section and offered to feed it to her by hand.
"You'll need both your hands to type," Cinder explained, waving the morsel as though Glynda were a toddler in need of coaxing.
"To type what?"
Glynda's phone pinged with a text message. Sparing one last glare at Cinder, she unlocked her phone to answer the message. It was from Yang Xiao Long, one of her youngest and most paranoid. She reported a new werewolf in the area, one changing for the very first time, and needed Glynda's presence at once.
"Wonderful," Glynda said, and the moment she opened her mouth Cinder took it as an opportunity to slide a piece of steak into her mouth. Dutifully chewing, Glynda texted Yang back as Cinder licked her fingers clean.
She seemed displeased, critical of her culinary skills. "Needs more salt."
"It tastes fine," Glynda muttered. She would never admit she was ravenous, that the sight of a deer carcass on the side of the road made her salivate uncontrollably the night before. Cinder could have pushed anything into her mouth and Glynda's senses would be equally inflamed, the hint of blood driving her wild.
She showed not a hint of this. Instead she grabbed her car keys. "You'll have to entertain yourself while I'm gone," she called as she left. When she closed the front door to her house, Cinder was already waiting for her in the car.
"Shotgun," she said when Glynda ducked into the driver's seat.
"Why do you want to come with me?" She asked stonily.
"Why do you think?" Much to Glynda's irritation, delight blossomed in Cinder's eyes. "I don't make social calls often, Shepherd."
A hefty pause as all the gears finally caught, the teeth combing over each other in a rapid whir.
"You're here on business, aren't you?"
Cinder Fall, coven leader to the entire state and its adjacent territories, crossed her legs at the knee and shook her full mane of black hair over one bare shoulder. She leaned forward slightly, expression heating by degrees until it could be called nothing except pure, molten fire. "Oh, Shepherd. It took you this long to figure it out?"
Of course she wasn't here just to be a snarl in her pelt. Had Glynda truly convinced herself the woman was capable of such frivolity? Even given her eccentricities, there were a million other tasks that the coven leader could have been tending to tonight.
But she must have seen Glynda's name in her portents, saw an event severe enough that it required both of their attention as the two highest points of authority in this territory. That also explained her insistence on using Glynda's title. "You could have said something earlier."
No other living person could have disrespected Glynda the way Cinder so often did. Barging her way into an alpha werewolf's business without fear of repercussion. Baiting her. Goading her. Even one of her own kind would have thought twice.
Cinder knew it. She relished in it. "It's fun to watch you try to make sense of chaos."
"Dare I ask what's going to happen?"
"I saw your face in a silver scrying bowl." Cinder walked her fingers up Glynda's arm and over her shoulder. "You'll need me tonight, so very very badly."
Glynda snorted. "And the steaks?"
The picnic basket was packed and ready to go, resting between her ankles. Cinder gave it a little kick. "Can you think of anything more irritating to deal with than a hungry werewolf?"
"I can think of one thing."
Cinder just smiled and got comfortable for the drive ahead.
Glynda drove with a lead foot, typical for wolfborn. Not that she ever got in too much trouble for it. She lived outside the city limits, on the border between civilization and the wilds that longed to take root and tear it down.
Fortunately for her, the Xiao Long-Rose family were neighbors. It was a short drive.
When she exited, Yang was waiting for her, pacing wildly in front of her house. Upon sighting Glynda she loped over, but the words died in her throat at the sight of Cinder.
"Speak freely, pup," Cinder said. "What is suitable for the Shepherd's ears is suitable for mine."
Still Yang held her tongue, eyes darting from one woman to the other. Glynda tilted her head fractionally, and only after that subtle cue did the younger wolf relent.
"It's my little sister." She spoke in starts and stops, struggling to make a cohesive, linear story out of everything that had happened. "I think I turned her by accident."
Glynda stopped her in her tracks. "You aren't old enough for your venom to be that potent."
"I know, but when I scratched her—"
Oh, all the stars in heaven. Did the pup really call her out for this? "Claws can't transmit the change." Glynda spoke through gritted teeth. She resisted the urge to grab the girl by the back of her neck and shake her. "We've discussed your fears at length, child. You can't transmit the change by accident!"
"So why is there a rabid werewolf running in the woods?"
Beside her, Glynda felt Cinder tremble in surprise. Evidently she hadn't sensed the fourth presence here. Glynda, meanwhile, had caught Blake's scent the moment she stepped out of the car. She took no small amount of pleasure in the fact that the ineffable Cinder Fall could be so caught off guard.
The black wolf trotted out of the shadows, eerily silent for such a large beast. Blake's snout found its way under Glynda's palm, bright pink tongue licking her once in greeting.
They shared a certain bond, as wolfborn often do. And she knew Blake didn't spook as easily as a racehorse, unlike some pups she knew. "Tell me more," Glynda said, stroking a hand over the wolf's head.
Blake's ears pricked forward. "Yang's said all there is to say. She scratched Ruby by accident and the girl changed before our eyes."
"Curiouser and curiouser." Cinder quickly recovered, just enough to add some useless little quip. "Did the sister know anything before this?"
"No!" Yang flushed red all the way to her roots. She rubbed the stump of her missing arm, the tooth marks from her attack still starkly visible along her bicep and shoulder. "My family is totally human. None of them know."
Yang's case was one of the more tragic ones. Some vile creature had bitten her several years ago. A packless maladapt who took pleasure in changing young girls against their will.
Something about her drew Blake's interest, and they became friends. Every month, Blake drove by to pick up Yang. The wolfborn and the young pup often spent their full moons on Glynda's property, where she could keep an eye on them.
So Glynda often heard of the sister, but had never seen her.
"Ruby is half turned and running wild," Yang continued. "I don't know why or how. She just... changed."
Glynda had never heard of such a thing. Quietly, she suspected that Yang's family tree held more wolves than they realized, and Ruby's latent instinct had just been awoken by the regular presence of her sister and their friend, Blake.
"Speaking of which." She levied a stern look down at Blake now. "Dare I ask why you are changed without my permission?"
Blake stood four feet tall at the shoulder, and six feet long from tip to tail. But at Glynda's harsh words, the wolf seemed to shrink into a black little ball of fluff, tail tucked between hind legs. "I was looking for Ruby."
Perhaps if it were anyone except her youngest wolfborn, Glynda would have pressed the issue. She knew firsthand that the ones born a wolf often held a more steady grip on their transformations.
Blake's tail wagged, a little uncertain twitch as the wolf tried to please the Shepherd. "I did catch her scent before I heard your car in the driveway. I can take you to her?"
"That won't be necessary. I'll go wrangle..." she inwardly groaned. "...The new pup."
Another shifter to account for every month. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
"Everyone else, please stay here. And for goodness sake, keep your human skins on. We're in public." Glynda eyed Cinder. "That includes you."
Cinder's heavy, molten stare never wavered. "Certainly. Someone needs to protect the pups while you're off hunting."
She could have stared down any man or beast on earth, but with the most powerful witch in a century it was usually a toss-up. Glynda was the one to avert her eyes this time. "Protect them from what?"
"Hopefully nothing." Cinder languidly blinked, but didn't elaborate, and Glynda refused to wrestle the true meaning from the witch's cursed mouth. So she went into the woods, stalking her prey with singular devotion.
Glynda had no need to transform when the path was so clear. The moon was bright enough, and Ruby left a very visible trail to follow. She noticed tufts of fur caught on tree trunks, signs that the young wolf had rubbed against them in search of relief. If the change was slow, all that vast, dense fur could be unbearably itchy.
This poor, lost little idiot. No clue what she was getting into. Glynda had similar problems, being born before any kind of guiding force could be brought to the werewolf community. So why were they having this problem now?
The sprawling, vast bloodlines of the shifters had finally become too disparate to handle, Glynda realized. If somewhere in Ruby's bloodline there were sown the seeds of wolfhood, the Shepherds should have known, and kept an eye on her and her kin, just in case.
Meanwhile the wild population of actual wolves shrunk more every year. It was an imbalance; it wasn't right. In her youth, she'd been chased off by her own pack, their teeth nipping her pale alien heels as she ran on two legs. But she never stopped loving them, and when she dared to return in wolf form she found she had outlived them all. Then she outlived all the wolves in Wales.
Then she immigrated to America, and she chased their dwindling numbers further west and further south, a mournful guardian.
It took the better part of two hours for the trail to go completely cold. Glynda never lost her quarry before, not in at least a century. When she retraced her steps, she soon realized Ruby had doubled back at one point like a fox, knowing she was being hunted.
Then and only then did Glynda dip into her other senses, and let her ears grow long.
That was how she realized Ruby was right there with her, and that she likely had been that close the entire time.
A crack of brittle tree branch made her glance up in alarm to see that creature staring down at her, eyes wider and paler than the silver moon above. It was horrific; it was bestial. It climbed in the trees with simian grace, with claws the length of daggers and a split mouth, black lips so long and so thin they did nothing to cover rows upon rows of jagged teeth.
Ruby pounced.
Screaming in anger and fear, Glynda grappled with Ruby across the ground. Ruby's lips stretched all the way back to her ears, her jaw unhinging like a snake. Ruby's teeth shredded right through her shoulder, crunching bone and sinew like paper.
"Get off of her!"
Two deafening booms made Glynda wince in agony. Worse than the pain of being bitten was the roar of gunfire to a wolf's ears. Ruby went tumbling back, snarling in pain.
Before Glynda could struggle to her feet, Cinder stepped over her, expelling two shells from a very familiar shotgun and quickly reloading. "This piece of junk shoots bean bags?" she said, pale with anger as she cast a glare at the Shepherd.
"It's called a baton round. And I don't recall giving you permission to rifle through my car trunk," Glynda said, noting faintly that she was bleeding to death. Over everything else, Glynda was irritated. Her influence over all werewolves, even freshly changed ones, should be absolute. Whatever Ruby had changed into, it wasn't a wolf.
Ruby circled them, or tried to. She growled deep in her throat, flesh turned the color of raw clay. Cinder kept the gun trained on her, and when Ruby tried to lunge again she shot two more times.
Glynda flinched again at that terrible sound. Baton rounds were only nonlethal by the barest of technicalities; a blast this close might have cracked a human's skull or broken their ribs. However Ruby just shrugged off the second barrage, running right through it to try and maul Cinder.
Panicking, Cinder swung the shotgun by the barrel like a baseball bat. Ruby caught it in between her huge jaws, crunching right through and spitting it to the side.
The forest erupted in light, the witch blazing up in an inferno of gold power. Her skin rippled, her human shape barely held in place, like pins barely holding together the shape of a dress on a mannequin.
Ruby howled back in defiance, wreathed in silver, freshly-hammered and glinting.
Then two more huge shapes hurtled through the darkness. Lupine snarls and yips of pain sounded out as Blake and Yang tackled into Ruby. They tore at each other, Ruby knocking one back only to be pounced on by the other. Finally they wore her down like an elk, dragging her to the floor and savaging her out of pure instinct.
Rushing right into the fray, in between flying fur and fangs and claws, Cinder pulled up the hem of her dress. A row of needles were fastened to her thigh, held in place by her garters. She took one and plunged it deep into Ruby's neck.
It didn't work at once. Ruby managed to get one more good swipe in, catlike claws ripping open Cinder's neck in a spray of gore and blood.
Grimacing, Cinder passed a glowing yellow hand over her throat and sealed the wounds in a blaze of heat. Yang held onto Ruby's right arm, Blake her left, and slowly the girl stopped thrashing. She zoned out, staring blankly at the stars as the other four waited and watched.
"Cinder." Glynda spoke gruffly, not wanting to bring too much attention to herself. But Cinder was soon at her side, warm hands setting fractured bone and stitching flesh.
When Glynda could finally stand, she moved unsteadily to Ruby Rose.
The girl was crying, sniffling. Her body had slowly morphed back into human shape, and she writhed half-naked in the dirt, covered in bruises and scrapes. She tried to push herself away, heels carving furrows into the black earth. Yang growled in warning, teeth tightening over her wrist and she stopped.
"What are you going to do?" Cinder asked, rubbing her throat. The freshly healed skin was red with irritation, splotchy from the rushed job.
"I don't know," Glynda admitted, kneeling before her. She held Ruby by the chin, carefully angling her head back to look into her eyes. They were still bright as the moon itself, and suddenly another piece of the puzzle slid into place. "She's fae."
One sculpted black eyebrow rose up, concern warring with amusement. Cinder didn't need to say what they both knew: that was impossible. All the fae were gone... well, all except one, evidently. If Glynda hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it either. Though it explain why Ruby responded so violently to Yang.
And why the witch saw fit to join them tonight.
Ruby's hand flexed, claws rippling just under her knuckles. The change was waiting in her, barely dormant, like mice rolling under her skin. "I'm not a monster," she said, tears streaming down her face.
"I know." Glynda soothed her as best as she could. "But you're not human, either. You need to let that go."
Ruby shook her head, still unfocused. "I won't. I won't. I'm not a monster!"
With that exclamation, a sudden surge of magic rushed into the area. The others stumbled, knocked off balance and squinting in the blinding silver light. It was brighter than the moon itself. It reminded them all that moonlight was nothing except the sun's pale reflection.
Glynda withstood it, watching dispassionately as Ruby struggled and sobbed, overflowing and denying everything that was happening to her. "Resist any longer and the strain will kill you."
No! Ruby howled, but not with a human mouth. It stretched out, almost wolfish, but with far too many teeth. I'm not a monster! I don't want this! Thick, heavy tears stuck to her fur, and soon all words were lost to mournful howling. Blake and Yang tightened their grips on her wrists, and though they tried to be gentle, Glynda could scent fresh blood.
"Let her go!"
Glynda spoke sharp enough that Yang and Blake had no choice but to obey. They released Ruby and let Glynda scoop the girl up into her arms.
Glynda held her through the transformations, feeling fur, feeling scales and leathery wings, feeling hundreds of spines and horns. She didn't fully ken the scope of Ruby's powers, she didn't even know if the girl would survive the night.
But she knew pups. She pushed back with her own magic, gleaned over centuries, and molded her into something familiar. When it was over, a small red wolf trembled in her arms, with claws flexible and grasping as a panther's. Ruby kept sobbing, a human voice in a wolf body. Then it petered out, exhausted and soft.
"I'm so sorry, Yang," she said, head lolling drowsily. "I ruined everything, didn't I?"
And then she passed out.
"Good pup," Glynda said, exhausted. She stroked her palm over Ruby's head, hugging her. "Good pup, good pup. There you go. It's all going to be fine."
Blake was the one who dared to speak first. "What happened?" the black wolf asked. "What is she?"
"You could consider her your polar opposite, wolfborn." Cinder said, explaining absolutely nothing in true witch fashion. "We've got a good sampling of the entire shifter population here. Though now I'm curious about her sister..."
"Half sister," Yang said with reluctance.
"Can we discuss this at my home?" Glynda asked. She rose to her feet, tossing Ruby over her shoulder. The red wolf remained still, tongue lolling out of a black mouth. "I still have other pups and appointments to meet tonight."
"Of course, Shepherd." Cinder reached forward into Glynda's pocket and took her car keys. "I'll drive."
She was late to accompany five other pups through their monthly transformation. They were all waiting on her porch, yipping and growling and snapping at her heels as she walked into the house. Blake, the oldest, gave a bit of order and structure to them while Glynda deposited Ruby on her couch.
Yang sat at her sister’s side, snout resting on the cushions. She watched her with that special brand of huge, sad dog eyes that only pups can muster. When she caught Glynda's gaze, she said nothing, but she whined deep in her chest.
"Don't be dramatic." Glynda pointed at the door. "You know the rules. No wolves in the house. Outside with the rest."
Displaying an unusual amount of resistance to Glynda's influence, Yang slumped down further on the floor. She cried again, a shudder rolling through her whole body.
So Cinder sat down on the couch, keeping Ruby's head on her lap. "Don't worry, I'll stay here and watch the kids." Much to Glynda's displeasure, Cinder couldn't keep her hands to herself. She started squishing the unconscious wolf's paw pads and velvety ears, cooing in delight. "It'll be fine. Kids like me!"
"The ones you lure with gingerbread don't count."
Ignoring Cinder's offended gasp, Glynda went back outside to round up the remaining pups. One of them broke into Glynda's car already, and dragged Cinder's picnic basket onto the lawn. The whole pack of them descended on the steaks with a series of yelps and excited screams. Bloody but sated, the pack passed the remaining hours grooming each other and romping around on Glynda's vast property.
Late next morning, they all shifted back. Confused and dazed, they gathered their clothes and bid farewell to the Shepherd.
She rinsed the blood off the grass with a garden hose, deeply exhausted. A dark hand took the hose from her, though, Blake's amber eyes still too wolfish to return back to human society.
"Allow me, Shepherd," her fellow wolfborn said. "Tend to the faerie on your couch."
Nodding, Glynda walked back inside with wooden feet. Cinder was still awake, but Yang and Ruby were both curled up on top of her. They remained in wolf shape, a pile of fur burnished gold and coppery red.
"I'm trapped," Cinder said, delighted.
"They're werewolves, not lapdogs." Well, mostly werewolf. Still, Glynda reached down to rub a fond hand over both their heads. "One of them ripped your throat out less than seven hours ago."
"But she's adorable..." Cinder took Ruby's big square head between her palms again, running her carmine nails through her black-streaked fur. "Can't I keep her?"
The Shepherd pierced right through the joke. "Is that your desired payment for saving my life?"
"I did that because I have a vested interest in you being alive."
"And no other reason?"
Cinder took her time responding. She ran her fingers through Ruby's fur, petting the girl in her sleep. When she looked up, a slow smile spread over her face. "You don't need to sound so accusational."
"You're a witch. Selfishness runs in your veins."
To say the faerie were the opposite of werewolves was categorically untrue. Changelings sprung without warning from pure and untainted human blood, much like the wolfborn emerged from their wild packs. But a wolf was a wolf, and fae shifters their own breed of chaos.
Balanced on the other end of the scale was no fae but a witch, just one witch named Cinder Fall. One who burned her path to leadership. Cinder held no qualms about slaking her thirst for power on her own kin. Much like the packless, bloodmad outcast who had ripped off Yang's arm at the elbow.
"Your desires are unclean," she added.
"If anything, my desires are economical. I devote myself to no one thing if I cannot glean multiple rewards from it." Cinder stroked a hand over Ruby's head. "Not everyone is so single-minded as you."
"It's manipulative."
"Is that so wrong, in and of itself?"
Her head hurt. To Glynda, shades of grey were the domain of evil creatures and untrustworthy humans. She did not dabble in it; she did not trust those who skirted too close to its border. "Name another price. That's my pup on your lap."
"And they say I'm selfish." Slipping free of the sleeping werewolves, Cinder walked up to Glynda. She wrapped her arms around the Shepherd's neck, pulling close until they were chest to chest. "Let me watch you transform tonight."
Glynda stood resolute, spine straighter than ever. "Excuse you?"
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Cinder said, one hand on the back of Glynda's head. "You don't like slipping free of your human skin these days. All that pent up potential... If I'm in the right place at the right time, your transformation could garner a lot of energy. My only regret is not thinking to try and harness whatever was rushing through you last night, with the little Rose in your bloodied palm."
The Shepherd grimaced. "What will you do with the energy?"
"Store it. Use it against my enemies." She rubbed the sore, tender, pink flesh of Glynda's exposed shoulder, and Glynda realized she was still wearing the tatters from last night. "Or heal my allies. Does it matter?"
"Of course it does."
"I'll also want one of your claws, and fur from your pelt. A tooth, if you don't mind parting with one."
"Fine."
Cinder seemed taken aback. "Truly?"
"As long as you leave my pups out of whatever you're scheming."
The witch considered it, swaying slightly with her arms still wrapped around Glynda. "Deal," she said at last. She arched up on the tips of her toes and kissed the Shepherd on the corner of her mouth. "I'll see you tonight."
Then she was gone, leaving nothing but curling red smoke in Glynda's hands.
She stood there for a moment, palms open but empty. Gazing at the trails of smoke that still surrounded her, Glynda finally breathed easy. A deep inhale, the scent of a candle wick being crushed, red blood, and a million other scents both foul and fair. When she finally roused herself from her stupor, she noticed that the two pups were awake.
Yang and Ruby stared at her with big black eyes, tails wagging.
"Out! No wolves in the house!" Glynda snapped, pointing at the door. Whatever had gotten into the pair last night, right now they were ready to follow her orders. Yipping and barking, they scrabbled out the house and onto the front lawn. Blake shifted in excitement to greet them, barking loudly before howling.
She had a fae under her stewardship, and a deal with a witch, and two werewolf pups still on her front lawn.
As she realized she would not get any sleep until midnight tonight at the latest, Glynda brewed a pot of coffee. With singular devotion, she accepted that fact and moved on with her day, already focusing on the next task.