Moon Burned (The Wolf Wars Book 1)

by H. D. Gordon

  Dear gods. Had it only been a day?

  “I requested her,” Mekhi said. “I’ve taken a liking to her.” His tongue ran out over his lips, his ginger hair tied back and matching beard trimmed. “I’m willing to buy her with my own coin,” he added.

  Every ounce of restraint I possessed was employed in that moment. I bit down on my tongue hard enough to taste blood, my mind flying a mile a minute. The bruises this bastard had given Goldie the other night were just fading, and I’d be gods damned if I let this happen.

  My Master spoke before I could manage. “You West Coast Wolves,” he mused. “You make a habit of stepping into other territories and running off with the females?”

  To this, Reagan Ramsey grinned. He was all the more handsome when he did so, but there was no mistaking the beast behind his eyes. He spread his manicured hands wide. “We are keen on valuable females, yes,” he admitted, and shrugged. “If Mekhi wants to buy her, I see no reason you two shouldn’t barter.”

  Mekhi’s eyes practically gleamed. “How much?” he asked.

  Benedict gripped his chin between a thumb and forefinger, considering.

  I practically exploded under my skin.

  I was going to kill them.

  I was going to kill every gods damned Wolf in this room if Benedict sold Goldie to this sadistic bastard.

  “Eh…” Benedict drawled, “Pay off her debt and add three and she’s yours.”

  Mekhi’s head tilted. “That’s a bit steep for a common whore, no?”

  Benedict smiled. “You’re the one who wants her.”

  I could hardly hear the words past the ringing in my ears and the telepathic murmur of Goldie begging me to hold my chill.

  Mekhi looked at Goldie… and then at me.

  And grinned.

  “It’s a d—”

  “Just a moment,” a smooth voice cut in, severing the Hounds words like a slice through skin.

  Every head in the room turned toward the red-eyed male, who batted those thick lashes just once—almost innocently.

  “I also have need of another female,” said the male, his scarlet gaze going to Goldie. “I’ve always had a thing for redheads, so I’ll take this one.”

  “You dirty Mixbreed sonofabitch,” spat Mekhi. “You just heard me say—”

  The male’s eyes had been on Goldie, but as they flipped to Mekhi, the Hound shut his mouth without finishing the sentence.

  If it were even possible, I might have felt bad for Mekhi. The way the red-eyed male was looking at him surely withered most males.

  But his voice was calm when he said, “I’ll pay double what he said.” He jerked his chin toward Mekhi, a lock of his ebony hair falling from the coif. He smoothed it easily back into place.

  Mekhi looked hot enough to boil oceans. “I can’t match that!” he all but shouted.

  “Adriel,” Ramsey said slowly, the tone mildly disapproving, though I got the feeling he found the whole thing amusing. “Why do you torture him so?”

  The red-eyed male—Adriel—gave the slightest of grins, his handsome face like that of an innocent pup. “I’m an entrepreneur, Ramsey,” he said. “You know that. And I recognize good product when I see it.” He turned toward Benedict. “Double. Do we have a deal?”

  Benedict offered his hand, and the two shook on it.

  Mekhi stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  The reverberation shook me all the way to my bones.

  16

  Sold.

  To the West Coast Pack Master. And Goldie, to a male with eyes as red as a devil. A male who made Hounds like Mekhi tremble in their boots. Adriel, Ramsey had called him. A dirty Mixbreed, according to Mekhi.

  Even as I was all but shoved out of Bo Benedict’s house and ordered to be ready to leave by midday, I still could not process what had just happened.

  I’d thought I’d been called to the main house because Ryker the Hound or Bernard the Bartender had betrayed Goldie and me, or perhaps someone else had seen us during our efforts. But this…

  Never in a million lifetimes had I expected this.

  I trudged back to my hut in a daze, hardly noticing the fields or Hounds or Dogs around me. I passed by the pup kennels, where the youngest Dogs were kept in rusty metal cages, (the fate we’d saved Amara from, no doubt) but did not hear their harsh barks or hollow whimpering.

  When I reached my dismal living space at last, I pushed through the blanket flap covering the entrance and stared down at my meager belongings.

  A couple sets of raggedy clothes, a pair of shoes with holes, a knife I’d fashioned from a shard of metal. I didn’t need until midday to get my things together. I could carry everything I owned on my back and hands.

  “I came to see if you need help,” said a voice behind me, making me jump.

  I spun around to see Ryker the Hound standing just beyond the arched entrance, his handsome face outlined by the gold of the ascending sun.

  “But I can see that you’ve got it covered,” he added.

  In a move that should’ve cost me my head, I shoved the Hound hard in the chest. To his credit, he did not stumble, only absorbed the impact.

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?” I snarled. “You find all of this funny?”

  “Not at all,” he said, but otherwise did not react to my assault or outburst.

  It made me want to punch him in his stupid handsome face.

  “I’m not entirely sure what you’re so angry about,” he said slowly. “I kept your secret. I let the girl go.”

  I jabbed a finger at him, but didn’t dare put my hands on him again. If I was going to commit suicide, I could think of better ways.

  “And I still don’t understand why you did that—Why you’re doing any of this. Why convince Ramsey to buy me? Why let me go in the first place? And who the hell is Adriel?”

  Ryker quirked a golden-brown brow. “I answered your first three questions the last time we spoke, and as for your last… Adriel is a bastard, but not someone you need to worry about.”

  “The hell I don’t,” I snapped.

  “The whore?” he said. “She’s a friend of yours?”

  “Call her that again, and I don’t care whose Head Hound you are, I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth.”

  Anger flared behind his blue eyes at this, and his hand twitched at his side, so near to that coiled whip… but the Hound did not strike me. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.

  Ryker took a step toward me. I stood my ground and refused to shrink away. He had to bend his neck to fit in the hut, his close-trimmed hair grazing the ceiling and his shoulders wide enough to block out the sunlight beyond.

  “I wish I could tell you she’s better off with Adriel than she would’ve been with Mekhi,” Ryker told me, his voice low as though he was sharing a secret, “but your friend is not lucky in belonging to the Mixbreed. Adriel is as cruel and cunning as they come.”

  “Sounds like more than a few Hounds I know,” I replied.

  The Hound’s hands clenched into fists but remained at his sides. “Are you determined to anger me, little Wolf?” he asked, his tone so deadly even that I chose my next words carefully.

  “I’m determined not to be fooled by you,” I said truthfully.

  The Hound tossed up his hands, his handsome face exasperated. “Okay then, little Wolf,” he said. “Good luck with that.”

  With an order to be at the tracks at noon, he exited my hut and left me standing in the mud, cursing his stupid face and that of the rising sun.

  I had a little less than an hour to make my goodbyes, but it was more than I needed. There was only one person I cared enough about to bid farewell to, only one piece of this wretched place I dreaded parting with.

  I found her waiting for me in a spot we’d shared many times over the years; near the tracks where the train cars rolled into Dogshead and out again, taking passengers from coast to coast. The ground here was all weeds and gravel, the metal tracks cutting thr
ough the land like a giant stitched scar. The fields of lavender wheat rolled to the west, and forests of emerald trees stretched out to the east.

  Concrete platforms had been constructed near the tracks, allowing easy access to the trains, and filled with travelers, (mostly from the west this time around, as they were Reagan Ramsey’s crew) who looked tired and bleary-eyed and perhaps a bit ashamed from the prior night’s festivities.

  Goldie sat on a felled, moss-covered tree edging the forest, far enough from the tracks to be out of danger, and close enough to feel the earth rumble when the large carts sailed past. Her golden-red hair hung in soft ringlets down her back, which was sun-kissed, same as my own, from the summer rays. The dress she wore was an emerald that complimented the shade of her eyes, which were so full of emotion as she looked at me.

  I took a seat on the log beside her, staring out at the tracks and the quiet commotion surrounding them. “This was a twist I wasn’t expecting,” I said. I was trying to make light, but my voice came out a tad too tight to convince.

  No tears escaped her eyes, but the sadness was evident enough in her tone. “Only you would joke at a time like this,” she said.

  I leaned into her a fraction, the closest to an embrace we would share before departure. “We could still run, you know… I would still run… with you… if you asked me.”

  Her delicate throat bobbed as she looked down at her hands and smiled. “I know you would,” she said.

  “I would take an honest shot at killing them all… if you wanted,” I added. I couldn’t say why, but I needed her to hear it.

  Goldie only sighed, her full pink lips pursing. “Yes, I know,” she said.

  I’d never really known what love was, but if this was it, I was sure I didn’t want a damn thing to do with it. I hated the heaviness that settled over me, the pressure that built up in my chest. Most of all, I hated how small and weak my voice sounded when I told Goldie goodbye.

  And I hated seeing the sorrow in her eyes as she told me the same.

  We could not allow the farewell to last any longer, neither of us keen to draw out the woe. I watched her retreat with my shoulders square, my heart sinking, and my face a mask of stone. She was getting on a train headed east, while I would board one going west, and that was the end of it.

  Deciding I could use a stretch before cramming myself in a train cart at Reagan Ramsey’s demand, I wandered deeper into the trees, looking for a good spot to relieve myself.

  What I ended up finding was not a latrine.

  The sound of whimpering reached me first, and had I been less of a nosy little Wolf, I might have headed in the other direction and minded my own business.

  As it was, I padded a bit closer and peered around the trunk of a large tree.

  Glowing scarlet eyes stared back at me.

  Though I immediately regretted my decision to meddle, I found myself rooted to the spot same as the tree beside me. It was not just the red eyes that captured me, but the scene as a whole.

  Adriel stood among the trees, only he was not in his mortal form. He stood over ten feet tall, ebony fur covering the tip of his hideous snout and down to the claws that had replaced his hands and feet. If not for those ruby eyes, I would not have even known it was him. His head was that of an overgrown Wolf, but his enormous and muscled body stood upright like a man or a bear.

  Before him, a dirty-looking male trembled and pleaded, terrified in his smaller humanlike form.

  The male hardly got the chance to draw another breath before the beast named Adriel snapped his neck and let his body fall to the earth. When I blinked again, the beast was gone, and the handsome, pale-faced male with the stunning red eyes had replaced it.

  And he was utterly naked.

  If I’d been able, I might have gasped. Instead, I only stood there, gaping like a fish on the sand. My stomach lurched as Adriel stooped, his tight muscles contracting, and bent his head toward the dead body. Fangs pushed out over his full lips, and he grinned up at me.

  “Are you just going to stand there, dearest, or would you like to join me?” he asked.

  “Please be good to her,” I replied, clearing my throat twice before the words would follow. I didn’t elaborate. He knew to whom I was referring.

  In answer, he sank to his knees and tore into the still-warm throat of the dead male before him, the sounds of his meal fading behind me as I exited the forest, more than disgusted.

  Repulsed.

  And this was the monster that now owned Goldie.

  17

  The train ride was as unpleasant as an itchy ass on a scorching day, a statement that was not a leap from reality.

  The metal carts trapped in the summer heat, and the smell of overcrowded Dogs dominated the spaces. The door to the cart I rode in was kept open, the land rushing by just to the left of me, the sun making me squint my eyes.

  A thin, grated walkway surrounded the train cart, allowing for access to different parts of the train while in motion, and it was the railing of this walkway that I leaned my head upon, watching the world go by in a blur beside me.

  I tried to push thoughts of Goldie out of my mind, to ignore the fact that I would likely never see her again, but it was a useless effort. My heart felt as heavy as an anvil within my chest.

  Time passed, I’m not sure how much, when the train cart in which I was riding received an unexpected visitor. I felt his presence ripple through the other passengers before I opened my eyes and saw him. Every Dog in the cart had gone utterly silent.

  I lifted my head from the railing where it had been resting, my eyes peeling open and settling instantly on Ryker the Hound. He stood only a couple of feet in front of me—over me, looking down with that ever-inscrutable expression on his handsome face, his muscular frame absorbing the wind that had been blowing back my hair only a moment ago.

  “Come with me,” he commanded, his blue gaze meeting mine before he turned on his heels and began crossing between train carts with nimble leaps, not waiting for me to follow.

  There were a few snickers from the Wolves within the cart, a couple foul names thrown that had me baring my teeth at the other passengers before climbing to my feet and following after the Hound.

  Leaping between the train carts was not a difficult task for an able Wolf, but my back and other various parts of me were still healing, and after jumping twenty or so times, sweat was clinging to me and I was pretty sure I’d ripped a few wounds clean open. As I made it to the final cart at last, the land speeding away on three sides of me, I had to lean against the metal to catch my breath.

  Ryker stood there waiting for me, and seeing that I was in pain, he opened the small door that led inside the caboose cart. Then he wrapped a strong arm about my waist, supporting a good portion of my weight, and led me inside.

  The last cart held only luggage and other various belongings too large for passenger stowage. The lack of other bodies made the air inside this cart infinitely more tolerable, and I breathed in deeply as the Hound rearranged a couple big suitcases and gently set me down on them.

  My body was in too much pain for protest, and the situation was too weird for words, so I only sat silently and glared at the Hound, my eyes narrowed and untrusting.

  “What. The. Hell,” I said.

  Ryker shook his head a bit while stacking a couple more suitcases and using the stack as a table as he arranged various items which he removed from the pockets of his black uniform. “Are you always so pleasant?” he asked. “Or are you ever the feisty little Wolf?”

  I said nothing to this condescending bullshit. Only sat there and glowered in his direction.

  When he turned back and looked at me, there was amusement in his sapphire eyes. “Relax,” he said. “I’m just going to clean your wounds. I have some painkiller as well, if you want it.”

  I resisted the urge to tell him that I didn’t want shit from him, but I was pretty sure my eyes said it for me.

  “What is it you’re after?” I asked. �
��Sex? Because you should know I’ve killed better males for trying.”

  The Hound only exhaled slowly, dousing a cotton ball in a blue liquid that smelled of alcohol. “Take off your shirt,” he said.

  My hand struck out before I could think to stop it, aiming for the right side of his stupid face. Even though I was fast, Ryker was faster, and he caught my wrist easily in an iron grip, halting my hand before it got anywhere near its target.

  As soon as he gripped my wrist, he stepped in closer, standing between my knees where they were draped over the stacked suitcases. The scent of him flooded my senses. He smelled like seaside and sunshine, no doubt remnants of the western coast we were now heading to. His handsome face hovered close enough to mine that if I tilted my chin up a fraction, I could have brushed his lips in a kiss.

  Not that I would ever do that. The bastard was a Hound, after all.

  I could scarcely draw air as his blue gaze held mine. There was a certain fire in those icy eyes that scared me… Or maybe thrilled was a better word.

  “You should let me heal you, little Wolf,” Ryker the Hound said, releasing my hand and returning to his setup as though he had not just paused the world with that last interaction.

  I would not admit it, but I was so confused and drained and disheartened that I didn’t utter another word while the Hound proceeded with doing what he’d said.

  The Wolfsbane was a blessing, and even if I had only been in half the pain I was previously in, I would not have been able to refuse it.

  “The Wolfsbane is Sorceress-spelled,” Ryker told me, rubbing the cotton onto my back. A cold, stinging sensation seeped into me wherever the cotton touched, followed by soothing relief.

  The Hound proceeded in cleaning my wounds while I sat silently with my shirt clutched over my chest. I was more uncomfortable than I let on that he was seeing the ruined mess that was my back, the scars that were a timeline of my very life, but my pride was outweighed by the knowledge that many a Dog before me had perished from post-fight wound infections.