Revolutionary

Death. It was something most didn’t want to speak of, but at some point in their lives, everyone had to deal with it. To think of your own mortality was morbid to say the least. To be aware the moment it was happening to you, and still be aware after your body ceases to live, was anguish. Being dead was peaceful, but there was nothing peaceful about dying. Jackson had felt every ounce of pain when the fist punched through his chest, breaking ribs and squeezing his heart until he could no longer breathe. His life had not ended the moment his heart was torn from his body. He fell limp, but it took a few minutes for his body to cease circulation as he bleed out, fading into nothingness. While most went on to find their peace in the afterlife, Jackson was in a state of unrest. A sort of pre-afterlife purgatory. He knew that without a leader, the Crescent pack would be tormented and hunted to the point of extinction. And it was a damn good thing that during his life he had made more friends than enemies.

Vincent Griffith was the regent of the New Orleans coven of witches. Vincent knew the importance of leadership for each faction and the leaders’ willingness to work towards the same goal – to peacefully coexist as equals. Each of the supernatural factions had something to offer, but the vampires thought themselves to be superior over all others. For this reason, it was not only important for Jackson to be alive; it was, without a doubt, a must. Vincent had Freya collect the remnants of his battered heart that had seen way too much trauma. His ashes were a little trickier to obtain, but Davina was able to wield her magic to locate and separate them from the silt on the bayou floor. The trio worked tirelessly to prepare for the ritual that would ultimately bring the Crescent alpha back to his pack.

Very few outsiders knew about Jackson’s re-existence, and that’s just how he wanted it. He’d taken the pack deep within the bayou, leaving the abandoned shacks and trailers as a protective layer to the lavish community the pack had built under the cover of the harsh environment intruders and enemies alike would have to penetrate to find them. Lurking around his cabin or sunning on his deck, two massive American alligators, one a rare white albino, tended to congregate. Although they were not his pets, Jackson had fondly named them Boudreaux and Bocephus. These son of bitches were cold blooded killers and he afforded them the respect they deserved. He didn’t mess with them and they didn’t mess with him. The same could not be said for any intruder. Sitting on his deck with a beer in hand, Jackson felt the tension ease from his body. The full moon was finally waning. No longer did he have to worry about the genetic curse and the repercussions that came with it. He had full control over shifting, as did every other Crescent wolf, thanks to Vincent. As an honorable man with ethics much like his own, Jackson trusted Vincent with his life and to that end, they had struck an accord. In return for his resurrection and control of the curse, Jackson offered the strength and numbers of his pack whenever and wherever Vincent needed.

His mind drifted to Hayley; fond memories of their time together. He had not sought her upon his resurrection. Their marital bond had been severed upon his death and she’d gone about her life without him. He’d recently learned that she’d sacrificed herself to save Hope and wondered if she’d found her peace or, if like him, was stuck in that purgatory. Either way, he knew one thing was for certain… “Well Bo, when she realizes I’m not there with her, man she’s gonna be so pissed!”