Pack of Wolves, page 23
I expected to feel a lot of things when I finally saw him free. The rush of anger flooding my heart, however, was not at the top of the list. I shove Cyrus hard as he moves closer to me, finally falling apart as my fists connect feebly to his chest. A howl so strongly overpowers me that I shove us both into the dirt. Cyrus—my enemy, my broken childhood friend, my abuser, and my second in command.
Cyrus lets me pummel him without a comment until my fury finally stills its strikes. I can feel his body quivering under my attack, and that knowledge only heaps more wretchedness onto my head. In the end, I think I do more damage to my hands than I ever could have done to him. I lean hard onto his chest as I wail, and Cyrus’s arms instinctively wrap around me. So familiar; if I close my eyes, I could fall into the trap of believing I am with Wolf once more. I can let my mind remember the days when life seemed simpler in the House of Vultures.
It’s the scent of Cyrus’s clothing that jars me back to reality; he smells of crisp, autumn days and wood smoke. The scent reminds me of cool, cloudless nights, when I’d set up camp outside just to glimpse the night sky. It was one of the few indulgences I could allow myself to have in the House of Vultures, a means of finding peace in a terrifying world.
“I still hate you,” I whimper, even as I realize that’s a lie. This world brings out the worst of us all, and I do not blame Cyrus any more than I hate myself for all the wrong I’ve done.
“I know,” Cyrus replies sadly, even as he strokes my hair, carefully tucking a few loose strands behind my ears. So similar to his brother, it’s unnerving.
“You took everything from me,” I accuse, brushing the chapped scars that crisscross my wrists from the days when Cyrus had me thrown into the traitor binds. “But I never wanted you to suffer like this.”
“I am sorry too.” The steady thumping of Cyrus’s heart attempts to dull my resolve. I cannot seem to pull myself free of my bitterness. Still, human contact, even with someone like Cyrus, is what I need in this moment. My eyes drift closed as I allow myself to steal this moment of comfort in the arms of my once enemy.
***
“Fox? Is that really you?” I question, feeling a little stunned as he stands beside a reddish brown Ddraig. “I thought—”
“That I would stay loyal to him?” A grateful swell of emotion fills my heart as he continues. “I reached the point when I, too, could no longer ignore the atrocities he was committing.”
“Iris!” Grouse babbles excitedly as she gives me a quick hug. Bittern and Goldeneye stand behind her, both seemingly pleased by my appearance in the Ddraig camp. “We had just come up with a plan to escape Wolf’s clutches, but your methods were far better! What are these creatures? One of them seems to have taken a liking to me—”
“Grouse, give her a minute,” Goldeneye chides, pulling her back to his side.
“Okay, Swampy,” she grumbles, a glitter of mischief in her eyes. They take off running after each other, leaving me with Bittern and Fox. Sensing my mood, Fox pats my shoulder before silently moving off with his Ddraig, leaving me to reunite with my old friend.
“Still alive,” Bittern muses, blushing slightly as she realizes she’s stating the obvious. That’s when I notice that she’s already completed the Dadeni bonds with a Ddraig. A white, beige, and black streaked creature stands behind Bittern, her tail flicking nervously as she watches the scene. “We’re fine, Nepsa. Leave us.”
“Goldeneye and Grouse?” I wonder aloud, recalling Grouse’s words about a Ddraig preferring her.
“Just me. They are companionable with the Ddraigs, but not bonded like I am.” Bittern—Aspen, I deduce from her Ddraig’s name—gives me a tentative smile.
“Are you okay? With the bonding, I mean?” I question, unsure how Bittern, of all of my housemates, will adjust to her new Ddraig.
Bittern nods, and I see what I think is a glimmer of peace and admiration in her eyes. “Nepsa is amazing. She understands me in a way that no one ever has before. She knows that I still miss my family, but she…she fills some of that void somehow. I think that she can make me happy.”
I nod, completely understanding what she means. “Any sign of Wren?” I ask before our conversation can grow stale.
Bittern shakes her head, and I startle as a hand tentatively touches my shoulder from behind me. “Suryc and I saw him a few times in my brother’s camp. I’m pretty sure he came into the tent and tried to encourage me to hold on to my sanity.” Cyrus offers me a sheepish smile that does not quite reach his haunted eyes. “I can’t be sure if it is a memory or a hallucination. But I know he wasn’t there when Suryc rescued me.”
“So, we left Wren to die then,” I murmur, stepping out of Cyrus’s reach. “I should have known. We should have found a way to help him.”
“Wren can fend for himself,” Bittern interjects before Cyrus can speak. “He’ll find a way to survive. Right now, you have bigger issues, don’t you?” She points to the Cadogans and Ddraigs ambling around the woods close by. “Your nomad leader Drake tried to show the others a few pointers on how to work with the Ddraigs, but everyone refused. There is a strong layer of tension among the formerly masked Cadogans and the nameless.”
“Most of them are still in shock or grieving all that they’ve witnessed. Social barriers and prejudices are going to have to come down slowly. They need training, mentoring, and lots of emotional assistance.” Cyrus moves closer, tentatively holding a hand out to me. “Can we do this, Iris?”
I stare at his outstretched hand until I see his fingers quiver. My hand moves to accept his touch, even though my heart still aches over all that we’ve endured. “Call Siri and Suryc. We need to start as soon as possible.”
***
Wolf sits on his broken throne, staring blankly at the empty corral. In his hands he holds the tatters of the tent where Cyrus had been captive. Bits of canvas are clenched so tightly that they slice into his palms. “Fox abandoned me, my brother escaped, and now Iris. What happens now?” He whispers to no one, failing to notice the border guard from Déchets that stands like a wraith in waiting.
Matthais clears his throat as he announces himself. “I was coming to see if you’d bargain for the rest of the slaves, but I see that trouble has fallen on your camp.”
“I have no one to trade,” Wolf mutters, his simmering rage threatening to boil over at the brazenness of this border guard’s approach. “You should address me as Highness or Sire too. After all, I will soon be named king.”
Matthais snorts in derision, but does not comply. “While I was travelling back here, I noticed what appeared to be a tornado on the horizon.” His words, though innocent enough, cannot hide the fact that he knows it was a Windwalker.
“She’s already disappeared.” Wolf dismisses the guard with a flippant wave. “You’ve returned for nothing.”
A bag of gold plops onto the edge of the dais, almost touching Wolf’s booted toe. “On the contrary, news of a rogue Windwalker will pay nicely in Déchets. The king will find favor with us both for such information.”
Wolf raises his eyes to the border guard, a cunning smile bursting to life on his face. “Be sure to make it known that Cane, first king of Cassé, was the one to give you that information. Let him consider it an apology and repayment for the death of the Vibría while he was under my command. And please give my most sincere compliments to your ruler. Explain to him that I would like to meet him in person as soon as possible; he and I would be of similar mindset when it comes to the Ddraigs, I’m sure.”
Matthais tries to hide his smirk as he bows, backing away from Wolf’s throne. “I will share your message by the next full moon.”
As he moves away, another cloaked figure approaches Wolf’s throne. This one wears a dark, mottled mask that Wolf instantly recognizes.
“What? You failed to join my horrible brother, Wren?” he sneers, curious to hear what the famed master of disguises has to say.
Wren’s voice does not waver as he smoothly replies, “I go where I think I can survive, and right now, I believe my best chance is with you.”
“That doesn’t inspire much confidence in me. You’ve the same as said that you are disloyal. So why should I let you into my ranks at all?” Wolf assesses the man, waiting patiently for a response.
“I can’t give you any good reason. You know of my reputation, of the things that I can do. Are my talents worth the gamble?” Wren replies stoically, standing silent as Wolf considers his request.
Such a clever spy could be useful, Wolf decides, recalling all the ways Wren proved his mettle under Condor’s control. How much more could he accomplish under a true leader like me? “Jackal! Take our newest soldier into your ranks, and see that he is properly fed and clothed. Welcome to the Pack of Wolves, Wren.”
Epilogue
“On your feet,” the frigid as a snowstorm voice of the Déchets’ guard demands as he rattles the lock of a grimy cell deep in the palace’s dungeons. “You have a visitor.”
A lithe form shifts in the darkness, a mass of frizzy dark hair covering her face. “Who seeks me now after all this time?”
“You could have spent your days by my side had you chosen to share your memories with me,” a muffled voice replies as Alaric wipes his nose with a perfumed handkerchief to ward off the pungent odor of human waste and death. “I feel no sympathy for you, Helena.”
“Majesty.” The woman scorns the word, her piercing eyes glaring at the regal intruder. “Have you come for that again? My answer is unchanged.”
“You always were the most stubborn girl I had ever seen. But no, I have come to make a deal with you instead.” The king steps into the cell, ignoring the squelching of his shoes as he crosses into the dirt and muck. “A chance at freedom, at life outside this dungeon. After all this time, I am sure you miss the sunlight.” He stays a safe distance from the woman, just out of her arm’s reach as he continues. “Don’t you miss the feel of the fresh air on your face? Don’t you long to use your Windwalker abilities once more?”
“What’s the catch?” Helena mutters as her fingers inch along the stone floor, desperately seeking a sharp knife. Even a rusty piece of the horrid iron bars would work—it would burn her skin to touch it, but pain would be worth it if she could jab out the king’s eye. No anguish could be worse than anything she’s already endured.
“I’ll send you and one of my guards over the Devil’s Spine. My border guards report that a Windwalker was seen deep in these enemy lands using enough power to be witnessed for many miles. Yet no one of that strength has gone missing from Déchets in a long time.”
“Why me?” Helena asks, trying not to let the snarl of hatred loose in her throat.
“You know the land, the people, and their ways. And it will give you a chance to prove your usefulness once more. Fail, and you die. Refuse to go, and you’ll die slowly. The choice is up to you.”
With immense effort and a curse as her stiffened limbs break free from their long underuse, Helena crawls up to stand by the cell door. Her body shows its bones under a thin coating of scarred skin, barely more than a walking skeleton. “You give me no choice, Highness; I will obey.”
*End*
Hope you enjoyed Pack of Wolves! Don’t miss book 3 in the series, Brood of Vipers!
Book One
About the Author
Maggie Claire gave up a career in education to pursue her dream of becoming a published author. In addition to House of Vultures, she is the author of Attila the Hummer, a chapter book for middle grade readers. She is also a freelance photographer who regularly posts her photos on her website and social media. She lives near Waco, TX.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Maggie Claire, Pack of Wolves
