by H. D. Gordon
The look on Nahari’s face was a clear invitation of challenge as she tilted her chin up and waited for his rebuttal.
All Ozias could think was that, yes, he definitely loved her.
His hands twitched as they ached to take her into his arms and have her again right here, under the shade of the trees and by the soft murmur of the stream.
Instead, he only nodded.
After a hard, questioning stare, Nahari nodded once as well, and then continued her strut toward the battle. Ozias thought he’d never found the movement of any Wolf so alluring, and he followed after. If he was following her to their deaths, then that was a choice they each got to make. She was right about what she said, and he did not have a right to take that choice from her.
And if he was being honest, if he had to follow someone to a violent and bloody death, he was damn glad that someone was Nahari.
NAHARI
She didn’t mean to snap at him, not really.
It wasn’t him she was angry with, and if she was being totally truthful, it was not even the people who had locked her up and abused her all these years.
Mostly, she was upset with herself for allowing it, for doing what was easy, rather than what was right. While some part of her understood that the power structures and systems that had been in place before she’d been born were not a result of her failings, but rather of the failings of the whole, she still was done with the feeling of helplessness.
Nahari would not run and cower. Not ever again.
When she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was following, she was relieved. As much as she was putting on a brave face, she was very grateful that Ozias was with her. She wanted to fight, but she didn’t want to fight alone. This made her feel selfish, but there was nothing to be done about it.
They would either live or die in the hours ahead, so there was no point in thinking about what would come after.
And, yet, she couldn’t help it. Even though she had only known Ozias for about a week, she felt that she could trust him. This revelation had smacked her in the face the previous evening, the realization that for the first time in her life, she’d met a male who she did not feel threatened by.
Despite the fact that the world was in violent chaos around them, when she was with Ozias, Nahari felt safe.
This had been the reason she’d been so bold with him, had given herself to him so willingly. It occurred to her with a sort of stoic emotional detachment that had been a necessity for survival that he was also the first male she’d chosen to be intimate with. Her Master had stripped her of her virginity when she was thirteen, and had been crawling into her chambers on drunken nights ever since.
When she was younger, she would stare at her chamber door for hours, praying to Gods who were either heartless or not listening to keep him away.
Sometimes weeks would pass, but he would always return. At some point, she’d stopped staring at the door, had accepted the abuse as the way of her life.
But Ozias was different. He was everything that the other males in her previous life were not. He was kind and good, protective but not possessive, respectful and strong. She thought that if they’d lived in a better world, perhaps the two of them would have fallen in love, raised pups, laughed and celebrated the Harvest Holidays together.
It was a life Nahari had never dared to imagine, and she thought it both cruel and beautiful that she was doing so now.
Now that they were hurtling toward what could be their death.
They passed through a clearing in the wood, full of wildflowers and bumblebees gathering nectar. Nahari paused for a moment as warm shafts of sunlight peeked down through the canopies, giving the space a golden glow. A smile formed on her lips as Ozias paused beside her. She could feel him watching her, and heat spiraled low in her belly.
“What will you do?” he asked her, drawing her eyes from the beauty around her to the beauty that was him. “If we win this war and our freedom… Where will you go? What will you do when you get there?”
It was eerie but also somehow comforting the way he always seemed so attuned to her thoughts. As if they had known each other forever instead of having just met.
Nahari let out a low sigh as she raised her hand and watched a stream of sunlight dance along her skin. “Where? I don’t know,” she admitted. “But, what… I think I’d like to have a small house, maybe a little land, some chickens and a garden.”
It hurt to picture it when she knew it was not at all a secure future, or even a likely one, so she shook away the scene her mind was creating and met his eyes instead.
Why did he have to be so handsome, so attractive and attentive? When his lips pulled up into a slow smile, Nahari thought she might burst into flames with the urges that came over her.
“What?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless.
He moved a little closer, just an inch or two, but she was highly aware of his proximity. He was so much bigger than her that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him.
“Sounds like a dream,” he answered. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to touch her, but didn’t dare. She’d noticed him reining himself in with her several times, actually, not making contact unless she made it first. As if he knew instinctually that she needed this after the abuse she’d been through.
And it only made her want him more.
Ozias released a slow breath and moved to continue on the trek, but Nahari reached out and gripped his calloused hand. He stopped in his tracks and met her gaze, and she was done for.
She leaned forward, standing on her tiptoes, and placed a gentle kiss on the soft brown skin of his neck. When he didn’t pull away, her tongue darted out and traced a small circle there.
When Nahari pulled back again, Ozias’s eyes were glowing Wolf-gold.
He was still holding himself back, but he was teetering on the edge, and she was going to shove him over.
A howl of agony somewhere in the near distance shattered the moment like glass, bringing her back to the reality of the present. Ozias grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a line of trees. He found a spot nearby that provided modest cover; a den in an outcropping of rock just large enough for the two of them to crawl into.
They were in the space for a total of three seconds before the source of the commotion barreled past them. Nahari’s heart thundered in her chest so loudly she was afraid it would be overheard, and when she gasped at the sight ahead of her, Ozias clapped his hand over her mouth and put a finger to his lips.
The space was so close and intimate she could hear his heartbeat as well, hammering with the tension of the moment.
Beyond the thick tangle of roots and the downed branches Ozias had hastily used to better conceal their hiding spot, a Hound was sprinting past. The look on his furry face was one of sheer terror.
Three other Hounds went barreling after, and four more after that. They were moving so fast Nahari and Ozias need not worry about being noticed. From the expressions—even in their Wolf forms—they were not chasing something, but running away from something instead.
As far as she knew them, Hounds were cruel bastards, trained to be the hand of the Masters, the executers of their Alpha’s will. To make them run away in such haste, to strike that kind of fear into their hearts…
Ozias’s deep voice filled her head, the sound of it soothing, even if the words were not. “Sometimes it takes a monster to slay a monster,” he said.
Nahari wasn’t aware of it, but she was holding her breath, staring out through the cracks between the roots and brush, golden eyes as round as full moons.
Around them, the wood grew quiet, the birds and bugs ceasing their chirps and clicks, the gurgling of the stream they’d passed the only sound beyond the thudding of her pulse.
When the male stepped into view at last, Nahari could do nothing but stare. He was as big as a mountain, bigger even than Ozias, and was draped from head-to-toe in the most wicked armor she had ever seen. His legs were the size
of tree trunks, and a deadly sharp blade was clutched in one hand, the tip of it dripping scarlet. Over his head, the helmeted mask he wore was like something out of a nightmare, the face of it twisted and angry—what Nahari imagined the face of a Devil might look like.
When that terrible mask turned toward her, the breath snagged in her throat, and even Ozias stiffened beside her. The only part of the new arrival that was visible was his eyes. They were a vibrant sapphire that leaked into black at the edges, and there was an ancient darkness to them, as if invisible shadows perpetually wreathed him.
He was before her in a blink, slicing through the brush and thick roots as though they were nothing more than parchment, revealing her and Ozias and holding the dripping tip of his blade poised at their throats.
For a heartbeat, Nahari was sure that he was going to kill them, and she was angry at the fact that they had made it this far, had come this close only to stumble now.
Ozias spoke again into her head. “He was chasing the Hounds,” he said. “Maybe he’s not the enemy.”
As Nahari continued to stare at the stranger, Ozias spoke aloud. His voice was strong and smooth. “We’re going to Dogshead,” he said. “We’re going to fight with Rukiya Moonborn against the Pack Masters.”
In answer, the male lowered his blade, and Nahari relaxed a fraction. He turned and pointed the bloody tip of it to the west, where the sun was just beginning to make its slow descent below the horizon.
Nahari and Ozias followed the direction in which the stranger pointed, hope blooming in the former at the idea of having actually made it. Part of her had suspected they would not.
By the time Nahari pulled her eyes away from the west, the stranger with the terrifying mask and the aura of shadows was gone.
25
Rook
“You did what?” I asked, my jaw hanging open as I stared at Goldie.
Goldie lifted her shoulders in a shrug, holding my gaze as she kept her face blank. “I sent Ryker Mekhi’s head,” she repeated.
I nodded slowly, my eyebrows arched. “That’s what I thought you said… How?”
Goldie snorted. “I had Akirah fly west until she spotted his army. It wasn’t that difficult. We’ve been tracking the movements of the four other Pack Masters for days. Yarik has been very detailed in his reports.”
I said nothing.
“What?” Goldie asked. “You think I shouldn’t have?”
She continued on before I could consider an answer. “He sent that bastard here to kill you, Rook,” she said. “So fuck him and the Gods damned horse he rode in on. We’re at war, and he needed to know how I felt about his weak ass assassination attempt.”
I held up my hands. “Remind me to stay on your good side, Golds.”
Goldie sighed, the fervor leaving her and revealing how tired she was underneath it all. “I’m sorry,” she replied, lowering her voice. “I should have asked before I sent the Harpy with the head.”
I couldn’t help a grin. “I’m sure it came as a surprise.” I tilted my head. “I would have liked to see his face, actually.”
Goldie’s answering smile was similar enough to the one she’d given Mekhi before interrogating him that a chill ran up my arms. I rubbed at the goosebumps that appeared there.
“According to Akirah, he looked very flustered,” Goldie said. “Kicked the head into the wheat fields before any of his men could see it.” She paused, her expression turning darker. “They’re close, though. They’ll likely reach Dogshead this evening, along with the Hounds from the north and south. The east was delayed thanks to Yarik and his crew.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the anxious twisting of my stomach. We’d been working day and night to prepare for battle; we’d dug trenches and erected towers for the limited number of archers we had. Asha, Akila, and Goldie did an excellent job managing the Wolves and tasks. Weapons had been made from any material we could find; wood made into spears and metal forged into blades. All together, we had nearly twelve thousand Wolves standing beside us, with more still straggling in as the hours ticked down.
According to Yarik and Akila’s daughters, who’d been tracking the Pack Masters’ armies, the time for battle was almost upon us.
A warm hand found mine, and I looked up to see that Goldie was still beside me. Always beside me. “We can do this, sister,” she said, giving my fingers a squeeze. “We’ve come so far, and we can do this.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but Goldie knew me well enough to anticipate my response.
“I don’t care what the numbers are,” she said. “I don’t care that they have nearly five times the Wolves. We can beat them. We will beat them.”
I released a low sigh. “I don’t know how you can be so sure. What makes you so positive we’ll win?”
Goldie’s jaw tightened as she strolled alongside me, her hand still holding mine, giving me comfort I hadn’t realized I’d been in such desperate need of.
“Because we have to,” she said. “We just have to.”
We continued on in silence for a while, savoring the calm before the storm. As if these thoughts were some kind of summons, thunder boomed in the distance. I looked to the Northern horizon to see an approaching gray mass. As I stared into it, a bolt of lightning lit up the clouds.
“It won’t reach us until much later this evening,” Goldie said. She’d always been good at calling the weather. In fact, the Midlands Territory was infamous for devastating tornados, and Goldie had the uncanny ability to call the arrival of one just by stepping out and sniffing at the air.
“So not until after the battle has begun, then,” I replied.
“Mmm,” Goldie mumbled. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
I raised a brow at her, the question evident on my face.
Goldie offered a grim smile. “The rain will help to wash away the blood,” she said.
We heard them before we saw them, and smelled them before we heard them.
The sun had only just set, the sky a medium blue that grew deeper by the moment. I sat in the highest watchtower, wondering where in the realms Adriel was and what he was doing. I knew that he had survived the Kahla poison from the reports we’d been receiving from Mina, but other than that, his whereabouts were unknown. As much as it was selfish, I wished he were with me, wrapping me up in the safety that was his presence.
The Pack Master who’d preceded Bo Benedict had built this particular watchtower, and it stood nearly one hundred and fifty feet tall. Made of heavy stone, it had taken one thousand slaves only twenty days to build it, and the Alpha had had them inscribe his name on the outside of every single block of stone.
I was still not a fan of heights, but climbing rocky cliffs and riding on the back of a Firedrake had gone a long way in curing me of the phobia. Below me, the fields of lavender wheat stretched out in every direction like a vast sea. One moment, I was staring into the ocean of gold and listening to the sounds of the wind through the grasses.
In the next, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and a ripple in the stalks to the south caught my attention. I stood and leaned against the railing of the watchtower, my fear of heights overshadowed by the fear of what was to come.
When the wheat stalks to the north rippled, along with those to the west, I tipped my head back and howled up at the moon, my voice carrying to every corner of Dogshead. A chorus of howls responded, and I watched as the Wolves who would fight for their freedom came alive, having been waiting for the signal.
Above, Akila had gathered her Harpy daughters, and they circled in the darkening sky, letting out caws that were a language all their own, large wings flapping and sharp talons at the ready.
The first of the torches to the south came into view as the Southern host broke out of a wheat field and crept their way forward. Minutes passed. I kept hoping to see the end of them. Instead, they swarmed over the countryside in a wave, followed by the host from the north, and finally, that from the west.
The latter wa
s where my eyes went. Though they were still far enough out that it was impossible to make out features, I knew Ryker as soon as I spotted him. He led the Western forces, traveling by horse at the very front of the Pack. I knew him by the way he held himself, the way he moved. The dying light of the day touched his golden hair, and I could only imagine the expression that must be on his face.
Did he hate me?
I decided rather instantly that it did not matter.
He’d come to kill me, to crush the resistance, and I would do everything in my power to keep that from happening.
Once the Southern Pack reached the position we’d deliberately herded them into, I let out another howl, the sound of it reverberating through the night.
Then I watched as the Hounds from the Southern Territory were ambushed by our forces. Based on their movements, we’d expected the Southern or the Northern Packs to arrive first, and had mapped out all possible routes into Dogshead. Then, we’d dug an enormous trench in the fertile earth, and at the bottom of that trench, we had placed sharpened sticks that stuck out of the ground like jagged, wooden teeth. We’d cut the trench right through the fields of lavender wheat, had continued to dig and place spears up until we’d run out of time. Then we’d covered the trench with fallen stalks to conceal it as best we could.
I held my breath as the Southern Host approached what would be a shallow grave for the Wolves at the front of the Pack.
The first cries and howls of pain rose up in a chorus as those at the front lines fell right into the trap. Those directly behind them followed after, causing more screams of agony to fill up the night. As if in concert, the storm still gathering in the distance let out a great boom of thunder that sent an electric ripple across the air.
As the Hounds in front fell into the trench, those in the middle began to panic. I let out another howl—the third of hundreds of orders I would give on this night. The Wolves whom I’d stationed to flank the incoming southern Pack sailed out of their hiding places and began to tear into the Hounds. Simultaneously, Akila and her Harpy daughters rained down melon-sized boulders from above.
