Moon Battle (The Wolf Wars #4)

by H. D. Gordon

  Good.

  “Brothers and sisters, you are free. The collars that held you in captivity are gone… but if you want to keep your freedom, you’ll have to fight for it. You have a choice, which is more than any Dog has ever hoped to ask for, and your choice is this: You can either fight and die for the Masters, or fight and live for yourselves…

  “To the Hounds among us, you also have a choice. Surrender all loyalty to your current Alpha and join the resistance, or you will be killed where you stand.”

  That was it, all the words there was time for.

  I saw the whips and the Hounds as they came snapping toward me. I was able to avoid the former but not the latter. My comrades appeared just before a Hound in Wolf form tackled me to the ground. The impact sent us sprawling off the platform in a massive ball of fur and fangs.

  Chaos erupted.

  I killed the Hound who’d foolishly engaged me, the killer instincts that had made me a champion in The Ring coming back to me as though they’d never left. It seemed that one could take the Dog out of The Ring, but taking The Ring out of the Dog was a whole other matter.

  But these were wonderings for another time.

  As blood filled my mouth, the scene exploded around me.

  My comrades appeared from every direction; the Harpies from the sky, the Wolves from the ground. A bolt of lightning lit up the clear night, and I knew without having to look that Asha had also entered the fray.

  The Hound’s blood soaked my muzzle, and a vicious growl ripped up my throat as three Hounds converged on me. Goldie hit one hard in the side, her red-gold coat flashing across my vision as she went for his throat. I engaged the other two Hounds, but to my astonishment, a group of five large Dogs took them down in a fury of fangs and hair-raising snarls.

  I blinked, and saw that all around me Wolves were fighting. The Dogs were rising up, and the Hounds were going down.

  Reality slammed back into me at the same time as a howl from the main house tore across the night. There was no mistaking the sound, even though I was not part of the Midlands Pack, and had not been for quite a while.

  Still, a Wolf knows the howl of an Alpha when she hears one.

  The carnage did not pause, exactly, but there was an inevitable acknowledgement that followed the Pack Master’s call. It was clear that Dogshead was being attacked, and that was the new Pack Master, challenging any who would step forward and face him in combat.

  And that was the thing I’d been avoiding in my mind. We could take Dogshead from the Hounds with the help of the freed slaves, but if we wanted to hold it, someone would need to take the place of the Alpha. It was simply how Pack hierarchy worked.

  In all the history of the Wolves, there had only ever been three female Pack Masters. Two of the three had been terrors in their own rights, ruthless and cunning. But the third, Rea Russoli of the Eastern Pack—also whom the River Rea was named for—was held in the highest regard despite the patriarchal nature in the culture of Wolves.

  As the Pack Master’s howls died out, the time to stake a claim was at hand. Any who wished to take the throne needed only to howl back their intent to make it so.

  More than a thirst for power or a desire to do what had to be done, my eagerness to face off with the Wolf who had delivered so many whippings and beatings over the years was what made the choice for me.

  Lazar, Bo Benedict’s right hand male, the former Head Hound of the Midlands, and the son of a bitch who had tortured me since the day I’d arrived in Dogshead, was calling for challengers.

  So I threw my head back and answered.

  And I was the only one.

  It was almost as if the other Dogs wanted me to take the position, and it was only in that moment that I realized how much of an impact my story must have had among the slaves.

  It was almost as if they had been waiting for this very thing, and the way they attacked the Hounds around me while clearing a path for me to make my way to the still-burning main house was proof enough.

  “Kill that son of a bitch,” snarled a rough-looking female who stood triumphantly over the body of a dead Hound.

  “Take him down,” called another, both speaking directly into my mind.

  Even the males nodded to me as I passed, most of them still engaged with the Hounds who were trying and failing to regain order. Their shouts and cries and howls of rage and aggression were the tune to my march.

  The dirt path that led up to the main plantation house, which was now blazing bright enough to light up the night, was littered with bodies, both Dogs and Hounds alike. More Hounds spilled in from the lavender fields around us, but they were met with the force of a population with nothing left to lose.

  As another Hound found me, so did Asha. The Demon blasted the bastard back with her electric magic, and strolled alongside me as though we were taking a simple walk in the park.

  In this form, I stood tall enough to look her in the eyes, my body large enough to send most creatures that walked on two legs running. But Asha ran her hand through the thick fur on my shoulder and spoke lowly enough that only I could hear her over the symphony of madness taking place around us.

  “You got this, Rukiya dearest,” Asha whispered as she strode alongside me, occasionally blasting at the Hounds who were still trying to squash the rebellion.

  We reached the main house moments later.

  Now I could see why the Dogs were having such an easy time taking out the Hounds near the kennels; the concentration of Hounds had remained here. To protect the Pack Master.

  Because of course they had.

  As soon as they set eyes on Asha and me, they moved in for the kill.

  “Lazar!” I called out telepathically, projecting the thought to all those present. “Will you not fight me, you coward?”

  The Hounds paused at this. They were beasts who lived by rules, and they would not respect an Alpha who would not face his challengers one-on-one for the title.

  Then I saw him, the male whose face had haunted many a nightmare, both my own and those of countless others. He stepped out of the gathering of Hounds around the pyre that had become the main house and his eyes lit up with recognition as he saw me, that familiar sick delight leaking into the serpent-yellow of them.

  “Well, lookie here, boys,” Lazar said in his slow Midlands drawl, “I’ll be Gods damned if it ain’t Rook the Rabid, returned home after all this time.” He ran his tongue out over his chipped front teeth. “More like Rook the Runt if you ask me. Nothing more than a lucky little bitch.”

  I shifted into my mortal form so that he could see my face as I said my next words to him. The magical tattoo Griselle had given me in Mina ensured that clothing appeared along with the change.

  “I always knew one day I was going to kill you,” I said.

  Lazar laughed heartily at this, but I could see it at the edges of his expression, in the tiny lines around his mouth and eyes. I had been a Dog once, after all, and so I could scent it in the air. It was faint enough that only a longtime predator would notice.

  But it was there, nonetheless.

  Fear.

  I grinned slowly before shifting back into Wolf form, inviting Rook the Rabid to come out and play.

  I did not enjoy killing, and I never had, so the triumph I felt needed some context.

  The context was that of all the bad Wolves I’d met over the course of my short but brutal life, Lazar was easily one of the worst. He was not the kind of Wolf who’d been trapped in the system, just following orders to maintain a position and survive in a violent world. He was a Wolf who enjoyed inflicting pain on others, and nothing made him happier than beating on the downtrodden.

  The shredded skin on my back was proof of that. But even more than the physical agony I’d undergone at his hands over the years, there was the degradation. Lazar had a weird fetish with female Wolves, and he was known to lick their faces after tying them to the whipping post, and to rub his hardened genitals on them as well.

  He�
��d done this to me exactly twenty-three times over the course of my time in Dogshead. I’d kept count. The only thing that had kept me from saying fuck the consequences and murdering the bastard at the first chance was Goldie.

  Goldie had endured so much worse every night. All the females who’d been sold as working ladies did.

  It was them I thought of as some of the Hounds formed a circle around us while others tried to quell the swell of newly freed Wolves heading this way. Those Wolves died viciously.

  The same way I was going to kill Lazar now.

  My days as a fighter had made me strong and agile, cunning and quick. Lazar was a male who’d rested on false entitlements, and though he was larger than me, I knew in my gut I could take him down.

  We flew at each other, colliding in a clash of fur and fangs. The Wolves around us erupted into howls of excitement as the blood of the Alpha filled my mouth. I’d caught him on his ear, had ripped the soft skin there right down the middle.

  He lunged, catching me on my right flank before I could twist around and sink my fangs into his hindquarters, my bite going deep and locking. I whipped my head back and forth like a pup with a chew toy before releasing my hold and going for his throat.

  I barely missed.

  There was a flash of gray fur as Lazar threw his large body at me. The impact knocked the air from my lungs, but that was a feeling I’d long grown accustomed to, and even as the wind left me I brought my jaws down on the side of his throat. My sharp canines digging deep for purchase.

  More blood filled my mouth as Lazar let out a yelp. The excitement of the Wolves around me both sickened and exhilarated me. Was it so that we were just creatures of blood and violence? That this obsession with publicly ripping each other to shreds was just somehow in our biology?

  More questions for later.

  I knew I was going to win. I’d known it as soon as I’d set eyes on him, and part of the sadistic bastard had known it, too.

  He tore at my side with his teeth, trying to kick me off of him with his paws, but I saw my opening, and I’d torn out enough throats to know when the opportunity struck.

  As I closed in for the kill, adjusting my hold on his throat, I told the former Head Hound that he was his own undoing, that he had made me this way, that the Hells had a special spot carved out for him.

  Then I ripped his throat from his neck the same way I’d been forced to do so many times before.

  Around me, the Wolves erupted into triumphant cheers and howls that were loud enough to shake the moon.

  All across the realm, Wolves were claiming their freedom, preparing to cross the lands and join us here in Dogshead, where the revolution had officially begun.

  9

  Nahari

  Nahari huddled in the closet, a candelabra clutched tightly to her chest.

  A fucking candelabra.

  If she weren’t so utterly terrified, it might have been kind of funny. But nothing about this was funny. Her master had put the whole household on lockdown. Something about a problem with the Dogs. That had been an hour ago.

  Five minutes ago, Nahari had been scrubbing the latrine in her master’s chambers when a scream had torn across the night, horrible and blood curdling. Next had come the sounds of fighting and struggling, and Nahari had run into the bedroom to hide in the closet, grabbing the stupid candelabra off the nightstand before doing so.

  What in the names of the Gods was going on out there?

  Ten more minutes passed.

  She could hear distant shouting, but the house around her had fallen silent. Where were the other slaves? What was happening with the Dogs? Who had been screaming and fighting?

  She wished she wasn’t such a coward.

  It took her twenty more minutes just to convince herself to creep out and go see for herself.

  She found her owner, Urk Ormen, dead in the hallway, his throat torn open as if with tooth and claw. Another Wolf that Nahari didn’t know was also dead beside him—a Dog by the looks of him.

  What the hell would a Dog be doing in her owner’s house?

  Nahari swallowed back the scream that tried to rise in her throat.

  She found Curi, another slave and the resident cook, dead in the kitchen, her gut opened in the same horrific manner as Urk’s throat had been.

  She wandered into the sitting room in a short of daze, and found Sheryn, Urk’s mate, and the lady master of the house, also dead, along with her sister and mother, who had been visiting for tea.

  Nahari bent at the waist and retched onto the fine Arkian rug, something that would have earned her ten lashings had she done it under other circumstances.

  She went next into the children’s room, where little Nahni and Norman were still sleeping peacefully from when she’d laid them down earlier, with no idea that their entire world had changed while they slept, that their rich and privileged parents were now dead. They were five and six, and Nahari had literally helped pull the pups into this world when Sheryn had given birth to them.

  When she peered out the nursery window overlooking the courtyard behind the house, and saw that the city of Bayrine was in chaos, fires burning and Wolves streaming through the streets, she packed a bag of whatever she could, gathered up the children, and ran from the house with exactly no idea where she was even going.

  It did not take long to learn what had happened.

  Everyone was talking about it.

  Someone had freed the Dogs of the magical collars that kept them in line, kept them from ever running or rebelling against the Pack Masters. If the rumors were true, it was not just here in Bayrine, but all across the realm.

  The Dogs were free of their collars. And they were pissed the hell off.

  So they were murdering every Hound and high-status Wolf they could get their paws on, particularly those who owned slaves.

  The first question that came to Nahari’s mind was what was happening with the pups. If all the Dogs had been freed of their collars, and some were fighting the Hounds and killing the masters, what was happening to the other children?

  Her better instincts insisted that she should run. She already had Nahni and Norman to look after. Her owner was dead. The realm was in chaos, and as a female who had spent the better part of her life dodging death and danger around every corner, Nahari knew that things would only get worse before they got better. The danger would only increase before any progress could be made.

  She may have been a coward, but she was not stupid.

  Where would she go? How would she protect the children when she could barely protect herself?

  As if on the wind, another rumor was whispered from mind-to-mind until it had reached every corner of the realm.

  Dogshead.

  The rebels were meeting in Dogshead, where they would join forces to take down the Pack Masters and the unjust system that had held them in place for so long.

  But that was no place for children. Not at the frontlines of a Gods’ damned war.

  And she could not leave the children. She hated the thought for even flitting across her mind. Children, no matter whom they were born to, were always innocent of all crimes.

  She held little Norman in her arms, Nahni tucked in at her side as she moved through the streets. The children stared with wide eyes at the scene taking place around them, though Nahari did all she could to keep them from seeing it. Hounds and Dogs were tearing each other to shreds, the sounds and snarls coming out of them loud enough for it to seem as though the entire city of Bayrine had turned into a giant Ring.

  Looters were also taking advantage of the mayhem. They had set fire to some of the wealthier houses, smashed in storefronts, and were streaming out with stolen goods clutched under their arms.

  Others were clearly drunk on the craziness, messing things up just for the hell of it. Nahari tried to make herself as small as possible. She may not know where she was going, but getting out of the city was step number one.

  She needed to get the children somewhere s
afe, and then she could decide what to do next.

  Norman shivered in her arms, despite the fact that the various flames that had been set to some of the buildings were causing the heat in the city to rise steadily. Pillars of black smoke billowed up into the sky, and the electric energy of the Wolves made her shoulders tense.

  Just let us get out of the city unnoticed, Nahari prayed.

  As if to mock her, she turned a corner, her eyes searching warily behind her, and ran smack into Linus, the Dog she’d encountered in the alley just the other day.

  Her stomach dropped as she saw that there was indeed no collar around his neck.

  The slow grin that came to his face made her want to scream. Was a tiny bit of luck too much to ask?

  Apparently, the answer was, yes.

  He didn’t even bother to speak as he lunged for her. Nahari darted back out of the way, shoving the children behind her and removing the dagger she’d tucked beneath her cloak before leaving the house.

  She wished now that she would have stayed. Maybe that would have been a safer option.

  Linus glanced at the pups behind her back, dismissing the dagger as if she were not even holding it.

  “Whose pups are those?” the mad Dog asked.

  “Leave us alone,” Nahari warned.

  This made his smile grow. “You’re Ansen Ormen’s slave, right?” He checked the silver slavers’ cuffs around her wrists. They were not magical like the Dogs’ collars, but with the Ormen house insignia etched into them, they marked her as property. “So those must be his pups,” Linus concluded.

  She pushed the children further behind her, a maternal instinct awakening and momentarily overshadowing her fear.

  “They’re none of your concern,” Nahari said as coolly as she could manage. “Just leave us be.”

  Linus tilted his head, his cruel and scarred face pretending to consider. “I don’t think I will,” he replied.