Moon Battle (The Wolf Wars #4)
Page 21
I gave a single nod and took another sip of my drink. “Wasn’t cheap, either,” I responded. I reached into the pocket of my slacks and removed my timepiece, checking it. “You better hurry before the house shuts down for the morning.”
“You’re a clever little Wolf, Dita Silvers,” my father growled in my head, though I could tell that I’d piqued his interest, and that his anger toward Demarco was being replaced by lust for the prospect of Carmen. “You’re the only one of the whole litter who’s worth a damn,” he added. “Can’t be sure if the rest of the shitheads are even mine.”
This was a private joke he liked to share with me, though I never gave any indication I found it funny. We both knew all six of the young Wolves in this house belonged to him. Devon, Demarco, and I shared a mother. Delia’s mother was a working lady who’d moved to the coast shortly after Delia had been born, and the twins belonged to Jodi, who was about as worthless as a mother could be.
We belonged to no Pack, and our family name, Silvers, was as common as they came, as was the case with most all the Wolves who lived in The Mound. The descendants of Dogs—Wolves who’d long ago been forced to fight to the death to entertain the wealthy—and other slaves. Mutts was what they called us, a derogatory term that reminded us of our class and kept us in our stations. It was a word we often called each other, but could lead to brutal fights or even death if an outsider used it in front of us.
I tipped my head to my father, telling him to go on, and requesting that he take the back door so as to avoid another confrontation with Demarco. With a swish of his tail, my father brushed the side of his large body against me and I ran my fingers through the thick fur on his back.
“Only for you, Dita,” he grumbled, and inclined his head to Jodi before slipping through the hallway and out the back door.
I followed him and watched as his large form disappeared into the tightly packed and pitiful houses that made up The Mound, heading in the direction of The Row.
When I returned to the front room, Jodi was glaring at me from her spot at the table. She was on her third smoke since I’d arrived, and she’d refilled her glass a few times as well.
“Where did you send him?” she asked, her voice slurred. Her dark, curly hair was a mess on her head, and her once-pretty face was now leathery with the consumption of so much Wolfsbane, tobacco, and moonshine.
“To cool down,” I said evenly, and reached into my pocket to remove the notes and coins I’d earned that evening. Slapping them down on the table in front of her, I added, “I know exactly how much it is.”
Jodi sneered up at me, her lipstick smeared on her large teeth. “Of course you do,” she replied, her glassy eyes returning to the earnings.
I left her to it, knowing that I would check the books in the morning to make sure she hadn’t shorted us. My fatigue was catching up with me as I exited through the front door of the house, and I bit back a yawn and small growl of annoyance that wanted to escape me.
As I knew they would be, Demarco, Devon, and Delia were out on the porch, waiting for me. The boys had shifted back into their human forms. Demarco was shirtless and his shorts were ripped, and he was bleeding in various places.
My jaw clenched as a little fear flashed behind Demarco’s eyes when I met his gaze.
“He started it, D,” he told me. “You know how he can be. He’s such a son of a bitch!”
I held Demarco’s stare for a moment before turning toward Delia. Waving her over to me, I placed a kiss on her forehead and sent her inside to bed, reminding her that she had lessons in the morning as well. Delia rolled her eyes, which I noticed she’d lined with charcoal around the lashes.
I decided to let the eye roll slide, and once she’d shut the door behind her, I turned slowly back to Demarco.
“I’m sorry, D,” he said, but snapped his mouth shut when he saw whatever expression was on my face. Or perhaps it was my lack of an expression. More than a few had commented on the deadpan stare I adopted when I was unhappy.
“How many times are you going to apologize before you just listen to me?” I said in a voice so smooth and low that Demarco didn’t have time to duck before I slapped him hard on the back of his head.
He cringed and rubbed at the spot I’d hit. Devon, the oldest sibling beyond me, stood watching silently, his arms crossed over his wide chest and his handsome face impassive.
“I know, D. I’m sorry,” Demarco repeated.
I raised my hand to slap him again, and he flinched. I sighed, squeezing the raised hand into a fist before dropping it to my side with some effort.
“You know how hard I’m working, Marco?” I asked. “You understand that I’m trying to get us out of this place? Why are you making things harder for me? I told you to stay away from father. I told you not to respond to his taunts. I told you not to make me leave The Row early for this bullshit. Didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you these things?”
Demarco nodded, looking as sheepish as he very well should. “You did. I’m sorry, Dita. It won’t happen again. He tries so hard to get under my skin. He hates me, and I hate him. I can’t do this shit no more. I need to get out of here.”
I nodded slowly. “And go where?”
Demarco sighed, and though I would not let him know it, I sympathized with his struggles.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The coast maybe. Or north. Hell, anywhere but here. I fucking hate him so much.”
I pointed to the dirt path that led out of The Mound. “There’s the door,” I said.
Demarco only shook his head, his jawbone standing out as he clenched his teeth and crossed his wiry arms over his chest.
Releasing a low breath, I placed my hand on the back of his neck and drew him toward me, resting my forehead against his.
“I just need a little more time,” I told him. “Soon, I’ll have enough. I’ll have everything set up to get us out of here; somewhere father won’t find us, away from this wretched place and everything that comes with it. But I need you to be patient, Marco. Can you do that for me?”
Demarco squeezed his amber eyes shut, his light brown skin still flushed from his fight with our father. “Only for you, Dita,” he said, unwittingly echoing our father’s words to me.
“Good boy,” I said, and kissed his forehead before shoving him toward the west. “Go sleep at Rocco’s tonight. I’ll come get you in the morning.”
Demarco sucked his teeth, his shoulders sagging in the manner only teenagers seem capable of. “Rocco’s house smells like shit,” he complained.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “This is The Mound, Marco. The damn land itself smells like shit, and crashing at Rocco’s is better than risking father slitting your throat as you sleep, no?”
Grumbling, Demarco bid us good night and started off in the direction of Rocco’s. Devon and I stood in silence for a moment, watching until Marco disappeared between the rows of dilapidated homes that resembled our shack. These homes were little more than wood, sheet metal, and fabric that stretched on for miles in every direction on the dry, dead land that locals called The Mound, even though the terrain was more bowl-shaped.
Home to the poorest and lowest class of Wolves, most of the world thought the inhabitants of The Mound were all drunks, drug addicts, and criminals. And they weren’t entirely wrong, despite the fact that the more I learned about the world, the more I concluded that this was not a result of the poor Wolves’ own agency, but rather a result of the unseen powers, entities, structures, and systems that kept us in our place.
For this many of the population to be sitting so low, did that not mean that a smaller group of the population was sitting very high? While I struggled daily to provide the basest of needs for my family, were there not Wolves who commanded massive amounts of wealth and power at their fingertips?
Of course there were. I’d seen them ringside on fight nights, with their fancy clothes and enormous bets. I’d even sold Wolfsbane to more than a few, and they usually just went ah
ead and bought me out of my stock. No pooled money to get a dime bag for these Wolves. No, they took everything they wanted, and as much of it as they wanted.
I didn’t hate them for it.
I wanted to be them for it.
If spending so many nights hustling The Row and watching the fights at ringside had taught me anything, it was that in the world of Wolves, there were winners and losers.
My siblings and I had been born losers, there was no doubt about it, but we would not die that way.
I would see to it.
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Also by H. D. Gordon
The Alexa Montgomery Series
Blood Warrior
Half Black Soul
The Rise
Redemption
Heiress of Magic Trilogy
Born of Magic
Thief of Magic
Throne of Magic
The Aria Fae Series
The Halfling
The Masked Maiden
The Blue Beast
The Haunted Hero
The Wolf Wars Series
Moon Burned
Moon Broken
Moon Born
Moon Battle
The Blood Pack Trilogy
Moon of Fire
Moon of Shadows
About the Author
H. D. Gordon is the author of several urban fantasy novels. She is the mother of two amazing daughters, and a lover of kick-ass females, beautiful things, and nerdy t-shirts.
She believes our actions have ripple effects, and in the sacred mission of bringing love and light to the world.
H. D. spends her time with family, eating desserts, and taking strolls by the sea.
She resides in southern New Jersey—which she insists is really quite lovely.
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