Wanting the power to protect his pack, Scott does something foolish.
Somewhere in the deep woods of La Push
Scott stared at the whistle for hours. Long after getting back to the cabin from spending a surprisingly convivial evening with Jason, Jacob and their pack. They didn't call it that, but that's what it was, more or less. Long after Ethan and Liam went to bed. Even after Stiles finally packed it in. He was still staring, thinking when the first light of pre-dawn turned the sky from deepest blue to shades of dusty, glowing orange and turquoise.
It was a small thing to possess such power and danger. And pretty. The silver whistle was intricately chased with swirling lines that might have been waves or wind or some kind of writing. When he looked at the small silver cylinder without focusing his eyes, it seemed like those darker lines almost, but not quite resolved into some flowing, beautiful script that he couldn't quite read. It was light in his hand as he picked it up. Cool. Smooth. Almost ordinary feeling, but for the faintest of vibrations, as though something inside it was oscillating.
Scott realized he'd made up his mind. He'd made up his mind yesterday and spent the whole night agonizing over the decision, not asking for opinions because he knew what he was doing was stupid at best and suicidal at worst. But it was a solution. A quick solution that would help make sure his pack would be safe. That would put him on the same footing as the La Push werewolves. Literally, as Stiles would have said.
After knocking on Ethan's door to wake him up, Scott made coffee and took a shower. He put on the best clothes he brought with him and by the time his betas were awake, he shoved mugs under their noses and told them to drink up quickly. Something about doing this at dawn seemed right. Less than half an hour from the time Scott picked up Mab's gift, the three of them were in the deep woods.
The still green shadows were very deep and the first rays of the rising sun speared between the ancient trees in visible lines of golden light. The young alpha stepped into one of those and faced the dawn. He looked towards Ethan and said, “If anything goes wrong, I'm counting on you to get us out of here. But if it looks like you can't handle it, grab Stiles and Liam and get them to Jason and Jacob. They have people who know about this stuff.”
And with that he blew the whistle. The sound wasn't the shrill, piercing shriek he'd expected. It was more like a long, long sustained note from a woodwind. Deeper than a flute. Perhaps an oboe. And when that pure note stilled, he realized they weren't alone in the clearing.
The faerie was tall, towering over Scott and as thin and spare as a stalk of winter wheat. He was dressed in a simple, well-made suit, pearl gray, with golden buttons. Gold-rimmed round glasses obscured eyes that were disconcertingly pale. Almost white all the way to the pupil. He bowed from the waist, looking at Scott and said, his voice pleasant and smooth, “Mr. McCall. We weren't expecting you to redeem your ...token... quite so soon. You may call me Reeve. I settle Her Dread Majesty's accounts. What can Winter do for the True Alpha?”
Scott swallowed and replied, “Um, I'm not sure you can do what I want. I mean, it's kind of … weird.”
Reeve grinned, and his teeth were long and pointed, like some deep-sea predator. “I assure you, Mr. McCall, there is very little Winter cannot do. What we will do is another matter. Ask.”
The young alpha paused a moment and then took a breath and plunged on. “You know there are different kinds of werewolf, right?” He didn't wait for a reply as he plunged on. “I'm one kind and Jacob Black is a different kind. And Jason is another kind, different than either of us. But um, I really don't want to be whatever he is, so that's why I'm asking about Jake. Asking if you can, you know, make me closer to what Jake is.”
The faerie functionary's eyes widened in surprise and he almost seemed to purr as he asked, “You wish to be more like Jacob Black? Metaphysically? Supernaturally? Is that it, Mr. McCall?”
Ethan stepped forward and half-whispered, “Scott, I don't think....”
The alpha glanced sideways at his beta and held up a hand, as though to say, 'Hold up. I know what I'm doing.' It was a bluff, of course. Scott was as unsure about this as Ethan. But it would solve a lot of problems to have the kind of power Jake had. And to have it now. But he needed to be careful about how he asked, he was sure.
“Um, something like that. I don't want to stop being me. Or stop being a True Alpha. Or my kind of werewolf. But I want there to be a ...um... bridge, between what I am and what Jake is. So I can do the things he can do. Have the same, um, supernatural stuff.”
Reeve's smile was shark-like. “A bridge, Mr. McCall? How fascinating. Oh yes, I do believe Winter can accommodate you. Of course, if you wanted to be more powerful still, we could offer you that as well. All you have to do is beg our favor and meet our price.”
Ethan and Liam were both stirring and muttering, standing close to one another and whispering, looking towards Scott as though they though he'd gone crazy. Liam's clear voice rose as he said, “Scott, don't do....”
Scott shook his head, cutting off his beta but looking directly at the tall faerie. “No. Just what I asked for.” He kept himself from saying please at the last moment. “That's all.”
The faerie nodded and said, “Fair enough, Mr. McCall. The whistle, if you please.” He held out one impossibly long hand, palm up, waiting. And when Scott deposited the silver tube in it, the tall faerie closed his hand and brought it up to his lips, chanting,
“Moon-borne and magic born,”
“Silver dart, sharp as thorn,”
“Blood blends and blood binds,”
“Bridge their souls, hearts and minds."
When Reeve opened his hand, the whistle had been replaced by a silver wasp with stained glass wings. It was delicate and deadly and beautiful looking. And fluttering its wings a few times, it rose from the tall man's palm and then shot, faster than even a werewolf's reflexes could follow, towards Scott. The alpha yelped as the wasp landed on his arm and drove home a stinger of pure silver.
“Don't! Do not not swat it, if you wish Winter's debt to you paid, young Mr. McCall.” Reeve's voice was sharp and cold.
Scott held still, aborting that motion to slap the metallic bug and then watched, fascinated, when a tiny bead of his blood, ruby-red, filled, like a jewel-tone accent on the silver thorax. The wasp suddenly launched from Scott's arm, which was already healing and flew off between the trees, glittering in the dawn sunlight.
Reeve smiled again, already fading. “It seeks Mr. Black. When your blood mingles with his, your ...bridge... will be formed. May it be everything you wished. And so much more.” Like the Cheshire cat, his toothy smile was the last part to vanish. But his laughter, as bitter and biting as January winds, rang in Scott's ears for a long time after.
He looked towards Liam and Ethan and sighed. “Ok, now you can tell me how stupid that was.”