Moon Battle (The Wolf Wars #4)

by H. D. Gordon

  But instead of death, I heard a sharp gasp and a heavy thud, and my eyes flew back open.

  At first, I thought I must be dead, because I could not reckon what I saw. The Valac who had been about to deliver a final blow had dropped his blade and was gripping his neck. From beneath the cracks of his fingers, bright red blood flowed, creating scarlet rivers down the gauntlets on his forearms. Before I could process this, he slumped to the earth and sent up a spray of rainwater.

  My gaze rose to the figure left standing in his place—a Wolf with familiar golden fur and bright blue eyes.

  Ryker.

  Earlier, just before his forces had fully broken past our makeshift barriers, Ryker had had the opportunity to kill me. My throat had literally been between his jaws, and all he’d needed to do was clamp them shut and I would have been done for. Everything after that had happened so fast, with the stampede of Hounds from one side and the rebels from the other, that I had not had the chance to really consider it. I’d figured that I’d gotten lucky, that Ryker had made a mistake, had gotten momentarily distracted, allowing me to slip free…

  What I had not considered was the possibility that he had let me go.

  But as he stood across from me now, in the stolen moment before the Valac closed back in, I saw that it was true. Maybe he’d come here with the intention of killing me, but for whatever reason, when it came down to it, he just couldn’t do it.

  I had to know.

  “Why?” I asked, speaking into his mind. I needed to understand.

  Ryker stared at me, blood dripping from his muzzle, eyes glowing Wolf-gold but outlined in that brilliant ocean water blue. For a split second, I could see the other Ryker, the one who had laughed with me, the one who had saved Amara on that day so long ago by not alerting the other Hounds to our presence when the pup had tried to run away, and my dumbass had stepped in to help her. When he looked like that, it was easier to remember why I’d given myself to him, and though what we had shared was nothing at all like what I had with Adriel, not even close, I had felt something for Ryker. Perhaps it had not been love, but it had been something.

  “Because I loved you, Rook. I loved you the best way I knew how,” he said.

  It was stupid, ridiculous even, but some part of me pitied him. He believed what he was saying. It was all that he knew.

  I shook my head, blinking at him through the rain, my fur coat drenched to the bone. “It wasn’t love,” I replied. “What you wanted was to own me, for me to be your possession, and that’s not love. That’s not real.”

  I wasn’t trying to hurt him, could see now that doing so at this point would serve no purpose, but my words were honest. Adriel had shown me what true love was, and Ryker and I had never shared it. One cannot love something and want to possess it at the same time, the two feelings negate each other.

  But I understood that this fact did not mean that Ryker didn’t believe he loved me, rather, that he was a product of a world steeped in toxic masculinity. In order to be considered a true male—let alone an Alpha—he’d had to prove himself through violence and brutality. In many ways, it was not so different from the way Dogs had to prove themselves in The Ring. Only the strongest survived, and when strength was defined based on brute force, it meant that in order to be a strong male, it followed that one had to be brutal.

  The key was not to hate those who were pawns of a system they were mostly unaware of, to not loathe their attempts to fit in, because to some degree, that was what we all were trying to do.

  All of this passed through my mind in a heartbeat, an epiphany that slammed into me like a hammer. Then the moment was gone, and Ryker spared me one last glance.

  “It was real to me,” he said, before turning and charging into the Valac, giving me the opportunity to escape.

  Goldie was at my side in an instant, and I could see that she was injured, that it was time to go. She nudged me with her red-gold head, pushing me toward the center of Dogshead, where the rebels were in full retreat.

  “We have to run,” she said.

  And we did, but I afforded a final look back at Ryker, just in time to see him fall under the blade of a Valac Warrior, his blood joining that of so many others upon the saturated earth.

  Retreat.

  It was the only option. An option that prolonged the inevitable.

  Goldie and I tore across the fields, our heads low and our chests heaving.

  Morning was still hours off, and this realization came with the knowledge that the entirety of this battle had taken place over the course of a few hours. The amount of destruction that could be wrought in such a sort timeframe was mind boggling.

  But it was there, every step of the way.

  The bodies of Wolves—Hounds and Dogs, working ladies and other slaves, littered every inch of the land. The rain had let up a little, and now rose like steam from the still warm corpses, creating a low fog that seemed to thicken the further we went. Within the fog, I could hear cries for help, moans of agony, but there was nothing I could do for them. A glance back over my shoulder showed that the Hounds were still coming, the Valac strengthening their ranks.

  I almost wished Ryker had let the Valac kill me. I’d run clean out of my will to fight, my hope of success.

  And where was Adriel? What if something had happened to him? Something had to have happened to him, otherwise he would be here.

  Of all the morbid thoughts that had passed through my head on this endless night, this was by far the worst.

  Just as the thought flitted across my mind, an ear-piercing roar tore through the night, so loud and imposing that it shook the very earth beneath my paws. Goldie paused in her tracks, causing me to run into her rear as we both peered up into the night sky.

  I knew the roars of the beasts, had heard them enough within that dreaded mountain in the Unclaimed Realm to which the Seers had sent me. Even so, I could hardly believe my eyes.

  Firedrakes.

  Three of them.

  “Not just Firedrakes!” Goldie shouted in my head, her excitement renewing me. “Look! Look who’s on their backs!”

  If I were not personally witnessing it, I would not have believed it, but as I squinted up into the rain, which was now little more than a light drizzle, I saw what Goldie meant.

  There were people riding the Gods damned Firedrakes.

  And not just any people, but Yarin, Bakari, and… Adriel.

  Adriel, riding the largest beast of them all, ebony hair whipping in the wind, and scarlet eyes glowing red with his special brand of magic.

  “Fuck yes!” Goldie shouted, loud enough in my mind that I cringed a bit, though my own elation at the sight easily matched hers.

  As we watched, the three Drake riders split up among the armies, and as the winged beasts swooped low, brilliant orange and red fire erupted from their maws, shooting out streams too magnificent to look at. Everyone shielded their eyes, their faces, the glow of the flames leaving impressions behind our eyelids.

  The Hounds and Valac did not even have time to scream before they were reduced to ash.

  There was little to do but stare in awe as the Firedrakes tore through the ranks of soldiers, the smell of sulfur filling the air. The temperature rose so significantly that I began to pant and cough. Within minutes, Dogshead had become a veritable inferno.

  Bits of white fluff mingled with the remnants of the storm, and at first, I thought that it was snow, despite that making no sense at all considering the season and the fact that a few rain clouds still lingered overhead.

  Then, along with the stench of charred meat and the choking smoke from the Drakefire, came the realization that the white fluff was not snow, but ash.

  The ashes of the Hounds and Valac the Firedrakes were burning.

  Adriel, Yarin, and Bakari herded the Hounds with the fire, creating an inferno of protection for the rebels retreating to the center of the plantation.

  The tides turned quickly after that, the forces of the Pack Masters no m
atch for the instant burn of the Drakefire. Soon, the Hounds and the Valac were the ones retreating, abandoning their Masters in the name of self-preservation.

  A sense of relief did not find me, though I thanked the Gods for Adriel’s return. It was hard to gloat, or to feel good about the utter devastation that had become Dogshead.

  Goldie spoke into my mind, and as I blinked in awe, eyes burning from the smoke, her voice seemed to come from very far away, though she was right at my side. “We have to kill the other three Pack Masters,” Goldie said. “This doesn’t end until those bastards are dead. We can’t let them escape.”

  I knew she was right, but could not tell her that I’d had my fill of the killing. It didn’t matter if I was at my limit. We’d come too far. Too many had died so that we could have a shot at freedom.

  So as the fires of the hells raged around us, the howls and screams of the Hounds and Valacs filling my ears as the smoke filled my lungs, I lifted my head in a nod.

  Rapid flashes of light drew my attention to the left, and Asha, clothing torn and dark curly hair a wild mane atop her head, stepped out of the smog. Tiny bolts of lightning flashed in the whites of her eyes, and her dark pupils gleamed with battle lust. Though she looked as tired as I felt, a wicked smile pulled up the Demon’s mouth.

  “Pick your prizes, ladies,” Asha said. “And let’s go kill these bastards once and for all.”

  We stole a moment of understanding, of camaraderie, another small favor I knew enough to be grateful for.

  Then Asha went north while Goldie went south and I went east to make one final kill, and secure the future of our people.

  30

  Rook

  I found the East Coast Pack Master, Ansen Ormen cowering in the woods, tucked away in a small den, waiting for the bloodshed to cease. His Hounds had fled, running from the Drakefire as fast as their paws could carry them.

  It was strange, to see a once-mighty male come to the realization that the power he’d used to oppress others had slipped through his hands. Once all of the money, finery, and henchmen had been removed, he was little more than an average Alpha. And in my experience, most such males were nothing but limp dicks.

  He was not afraid of me. I could see that much in the gleam of his eyes. I was a female, after all. The lesser of the sexes, weaker and obedient. But I’d played a large role in upending his place in the world, and to a misogynistic piece of shit like a Pack Master, this was salt poured in the deepest wound.

  To make things worse for him, I only found him because one of his Hounds gave up his Master’s general position when I’d caught the coward around the throat. I’d killed the Hound anyway and come to the spot he’d revealed.

  And, sure enough, Ormen had been there.

  It was a clever hiding spot, one easily overlooked and likely chosen long before the battles had begun, in case of just such circumstances.

  I’d stood in the forest and listened carefully, breathing deeply the smell of the greenery, the scents welcome after the overwhelming smells of iron and smoke. It had seemed that I was alone, but as I’d strained my ears to their greatest capacity, I’d picked up the patter of a heartbeat.

  I called out mentally to Ormen. “I know you’re here,” I said. “Come out and face the consequences of all you’ve done.”

  I almost didn’t recognize my own voice. It was the voice of someone much older, and it felt as if it were coming from outside of me, even as the words rang in my own head.

  Ormen stepped out of the den where he’d been hiding, and the hatred in his eyes when he saw who’d come for him was as bright as Drakefire. Even in the shadows of the trees, under the full dark of night, his size was imposing. His coat was as white as fresh snow, with small patches of gray around his eyes and chest. Dark spots matted his coat, wounds leaking blood that appeared black under the veil of darkness.

  A low growl rippled up his throat, a sound that would have once cowed me instantly coming from a Pack Master. But Ormen was no longer anyone’s master. The screams of those still being burned alive only a league or so behind me was testament enough to this, as was the utter silence around us.

  There were no Hounds coming to help him. He’d have to face me on his own.

  Ormen stalked forward, massive head low, sharp teeth bared as his voice echoed in my head. “You’re a stupid little bitch for coming after me by yourself, Rukiya Moonborn,” he snarled, “you may have scared off my Hounds, but I’ve still got enough left in me to kill a female who’s gotten way too big for her britches.”

  My eyes glowed Wolf-gold in response, but I held otherwise perfectly still. I would be a fool to underestimate an Alpha, but I was starting to understand that they were fools for underestimating me, too.

  “Most of your Hounds are now nothing more than ash on the wind, Ansen,” I replied in that same cool voice that was not quite my own, using his first name to deepen the insult.

  Ormen rushed me before the words were even fully relayed, but I was ready for him. He was much larger than me, of course, but I’d been a born a runt, which meant that pretty much every Wolf I’d ever fought was bigger than me. It was a trait that most assumed was a disadvantage, but I’d long ago learned to focus on the benefits of it. I’d found that the experience of life was dictated by this; the choice of what to focus on in any situation, the good or the bad.

  I was small, but I was fast, and I’d been in more high-stakes fights than a pampered Alpha would ever see.

  Ormen’s death was quick and brutal.

  I slipped under him and ripped out his throat same as I had done on countless prior occasions, watched as the light left his eyes, sending up as silent prayer that his would be the last life I would have to take.

  When it was done, I surprised myself by collapsing to the forest floor. My legs gave way and I rested on my belly, the vegetation of the wood a soft cushion beneath me. Ormen’s body lie lifeless in front of me, the taste of his blood still coating my tongue. For a long while, I could do nothing but stare at the dead Pack Master and take slow breaths of air.

  At some point, the terrible cacophony of noises coming from the direction of Dogshead ceased. The wind shifted directions, carrying the smells of smoke, iron, and charred meat. I retched, spewing the meager contents of my stomach. My eyes burned, my body exhausted enough to sleep for a week.

  I knew I should return to Dogshead, to my friends, to face the aftermath of the battle, but I wasn’t ready just yet. We’d succeeded, but that victory was marked with the deaths of thousands of Wolves, countless sacrifices. I wasn’t ready to stroll through the garden of bodies awaiting me there, nor the broken bodies of those who’d survived but would never be the same.

  I wasn’t ready for the new world that would come on the heels of this battle, a world I’d only ever considered possible after meeting Adriel and his people. It was not that I believed we’d been unjustified, it was that so much loss was just sad, no matter how you cut it.

  Staring at Ansen Ormen, his eyes still wide but seeing nothing, I thought perhaps it was a good thing I felt that way, that maybe it meant I’d maintained some humanity, a piece of my soul.

  Or maybe it just meant my soul was in pieces.

  We’d won, but we’d also lost.

  Such was the brutal nature of war.

  Eventually, I climbed to my paws and began to make my way back to the others. I kept my eyes on the ground right in front of me, partly because I was too exhausted to even hold my head up, and partly because I didn’t want to see any more of the world around me at the moment.

  The sun was just breaking over the horizon, the morning arriving and casting a pale glow over the land. Fatigue slammed into me like a hammer. After days of high tension and hours of fighting, all I could think about was my bed back in Mina, about crawling under my covers and not emerging for the rest of forever.

  My paws left prints in the mud, the rain and blood having saturated the ground. It felt as though my entire body had been dipped in grime, and
I amended my need to crawl into bed to first allow for a dip in the hot springs outside of Mina. The thought of doing just that was enough to carry me onward.

  Those desires dissipated along with the shadows of night as I drew nearer to Dogshead, to the center of where it had all gone down. As I pushed onward, I felt my body making the shift back into my mortal form, and though the energy it required made the change longer and more painful, I didn’t fight it.

  It seemed my body wanted to take part in the grieving that had gripped my mind, and only mortals cried tears.

  My bones and muscles rearranged themselves, my fur receding to reveal my sun-darkened skin. When it was done, I looked down at my hands. They were covered in blood.

  A sob escaped my mouth. I bit my fist to stifle the sound, but could do nothing to staunch the silent cry rising within me. I’d only just looked up from the ground between my feet.

  My knees went slack, and I wasn’t aware of falling until they hit the earth, kneeling as if some deity had demanded fealty. I blinked around the burning of my eyes, taking in the carnage.

  Tall stacks of black smoke rose into the now pale blue sky, creating an ever-shifting screen through which to view the scene. Entire sections of lavender wheat fields were little more than charred spaces were once proud stalks had swayed. The structures that had housed the Dogs, the Hounds, the working ladies, the taverns and the training area—all gone.

  Littered around, like dolls tossed by a careless child, were the bodies of Hounds and Dogs alike, indistinguishable from one another in their Wolf forms. The dark-armored forms of the Valac were also scattered around them.

  Then Asha was before me, kneeling as well, pulling me into her arms. I held her in return, as numb as I could ever remember being.

  All around us, I could feel the eyes of several Wolves observing, but could not care less. Only the truest of monsters would be unaffected by such devastation.