Marie shot her a silencing look. "All wolves can do this. All wolves have to be able to do this." Her voice was filled with an embarrassed rage that made Claire want to sink into the ground.
"Marie," Victoria said carefully, "she's trying. None of us are perfect, at the beginning."
Having someone speak up for her made Claire feel a tiny bit better.
But not much. Her cheeks still burned with shame.
"This is not about perfection." Marie was practically shaking. "This about doing the basic things we can all do. Victoria, I want you to take Matthew home, now." She turned to Matthew. "I am sorry. As you can see, we have some unexpected pack business to attend to. Victoria will make sure you get home safely."
Victoria made a disappointed noise. "If there is pack business, I want to be part of it."
"Matthew needs an escort, and I have selected you." Marie's voice was crackling with barely contained emotion. "I am your Alpha, and I am telling you to take him."
Victoria struggled to her feet, anger glowing in her cheeks. "Come on, Matthew. We've got to go."
Matthew stood up, looking like he wanted to say something but also like he wanted to bolt out of the clearing. He shot Claire an apologetic glance that made Claire's insides shrivel into dust. She had never been so embarrassed in her whole life.
"I'll see you," he said awkwardly, turning to follow Victoria.
"This way," Victoria said, steering him into the woods.
Claire and the rest of the pack watched them go. She was never going to get over this. She'd humiliated herself in front of Matthew and the pack. Leading the hunt was a lost dream.
When their footsteps faded, Marie turned to Claire. "Why did you not tell me you were struggling?"
"But I thought I could do it! I made the smoke before, and maybe sort of lit it another time. I just . . . It was hard to focus," Claire protested.
Marie looked over at Beatrice. Claire's mother had a look of uncertainty on her face, a hesitation that Claire wasn't used to seeing there.
"Is there any way around this?" she asked. "The consequences are so serious . . ." Marie's voice faltered. Beatrice frowned, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening. "She must be able to do it." She looked sympathetically at Claire.
"I know." Marie closed her eyes, thinking, and then turned back to Claire. "The best I can do without violating out laws is to give you a bit more time. The naming of Victoria's baby will take place the night after she is born. Smoke is not good enough—nor, unfortunately, is your word. You will have until then to master this skill and perform it without error, or I will be unable to keep you from suffering the repercussions."
Claire's mouth went dry. "What happens if I can't do it? If I fail?" The words came out in a croak.
"You are not to fail." Marie pressed her lips together. They were white as snow.
"But what happens if I do?" Claire dug her fingernails into the dirt, steadying herself.
"Then you would be considered an incomplete wolf, unable to do the things that are part of a werewolf 's nature. And we would have to"—Marie looked as though she were gagging on the words—"mark you as one."
The panic that swept through Claire was so cold that it numbed her and burned her at the same time.
"Mark me how?" Claire's voice was barely louder than a breath.
Judith leaned forward, her eyes bone hard and blood dark. "The top of your left ear. We cut it off. That way, any pack— any wolf—who sees you knows immediately that they're looking at a werewolf without the right skills. A mongrel who can't be allowed to help make decisions or participate in the pack the way a normal wolf can."
The edges of Claire's vision went fuzzy, and her hand automatically went to her left ear, covering it. Protecting it. The twisted expressions on Katherine's and Beatrice's faces made it clear that this wasn't some sort of nice, neat operation that would involve anesthesia and pain meds—that it would be as vicious and brutal as Claire could imagine.
"But—but you wouldn't have to. I mean, couldn't you . . . ," she stammered, still holding the side of her head. Not believing that they'd really go through with it. Not her own mother. Not her own pack.