The Filthy Claws: Out for Blood (Exiled Book 2)

by J. K. Jones

  Through it all, he looks to Micah. His Alpha, his love, who merely sits by while they all scorn him. Rage fills him. How can Micah not say anything? How can he just sit there and pretend this isn’t happening?

  It’s sickening.

  There are witnesses too. People being called to the stand to speak of Ryu’s betrayal to the Silvercrest Howlers and his collaboration with the Filthy Claws clan. People he’s never seen or heard of come forward. They tell elaborate stories, whispers in the dark between Kenyon and Ryu. Secret meetings. Rumored shady mating rituals. Prayers to the dark gods and demonic rituals. All while Ryu seduced their Alpha, their Byakuren.

  Deryn steps forward. His account of how his brother, the small wolf that went against Ryu and Kenyon, was maimed is what seals his fate. Deryn is ruthless in his details, claiming that his brother fought bravely, thinking he was bringing back Byakuren’s second to the clan, only to be brutally wounded and crippled by the person he was trying to protect. What the hell could he say to that? It was either he maimed him or Kenyon killed him. Ryu didn’t have a choice.

  “If it were up to me, I would see the filthy slut dead,” Deryn says loudly, gaining cheers from all the men. “However, I would never dishonor my Byakuren that way. If it is your will, then let justice be served. Let us be rid of this diseased clan once and for all.”

  “He speaks the truth.”

  “I saw them together with my own eyes. Naked and embracing on the battlefield. When his Byakuren fought for his life.”

  “Such disgrace.”

  “The Omega whore of two Alphas. No doubt will he cast a wicked spell on us all.”

  Ryu clenches his jaw and closes his eyes tightly. None of this shit is true. He wants to scream. It isn’t their words that are immensely troubling; it is Micah’s unrelenting silence. When is he going to tell them the truth? When is he going to set the record straight? Ryu’s stomach roils with anxiety. How long is Micah going to drag this out? If he could say something, anything, they would listen and decide on a reasonable punishment.

  “Since you are Byakuren’s second, we will allow you some time to gather your effects,” one of the councilmen says. “Then you will be branded a traitor, exiled, and thrown into the Icy Lake of Despair.”

  Ryu’s heart stops.

  Exiled.

  They’re casting him out once and for all. Tears fall as he desperately stares at Micah to say something, to do something. “M-may I speak?”

  “You may not,” the councilmen says haughtily. “Nothing but curses will fall from your lips. You Filthy Claws dabble in dark magic. Every word you utter could very well be a prayer to the dark gods.”

  “Wait,” Micah says finally, his voice firm. “We need a moment.”

  Randolph steps up to the throne and bows deeply. “Byakuren, no mercy, remember?”

  “I remember,” Micah snarls. “I need a moment with my—with Ryu.”

  “As is your right.” Randolph bows again, then looks over at Ryu with a frown. “We will collect him within the hour. I’m sorry, old friend.”

  They leave the tent. Micah looks worn in ways that should be unnatural, with heavy rings around his eyes as if he hasn’t slept for days. Why didn’t Ryu notice this before? Why is he just finding this shit out now? Ryu stands quickly, his heart nearly beating out of his chest.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asks, eyes wild and frantic. “You—they’re going to Exile me. Why aren’t you saying anything? Why isn’t anything being done?”

  “There is nothing to be done.” Micah slams his fist on the armchair. “You disobeyed me. I told you not to go fucking see Kenyon. You did the exact opposite. Now they want you fucking dead. This is the best I can do. My father is dying. If they overrule me, they’ll surely kill you.”

  “So that’s it?” Ryu asks. “I make one mistake, and then my life is over?”

  “Your mistake cost the lives of thousands.” Micah storms over to him. “I told you not to do it, and you never fucking listened. Now, look at what you’ve done.”

  “I haven’t done anything.” Ryu screams. “I went to talk to Kenyon to see if he could change his mind. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “But it did happen,” Micah snarls. “Wolves died because of it. We’re losing the war because of it. My father—” He chokes on the words, eyes brimming with tears. “I chose you over the pack. I made the call and broke the line to look for you.”

  “Micah,” Ryu cries now, and tears roll down his eyes. “Please. They’ll torture me. They’ll take away my wolf and exile me. I—I won’t see you ever again.”

  Micah kisses him savagely.

  It’s not like before. This time it’s hot, rough, and demanding. Ryu’s heart shatters in two. Micah kisses him until his lips are blistered and bruised, until his breath catches in his throat. “I will love no one else. I vowed never to take another mate. You will be my one and only,” Micah says softly, grabbing his hands and holding them together. The red bracelet stands in stark contrast to his beautiful skin. “I love you. I always will.”

  Then help me. Save me. Ryu wants to cry.

  “It’s better this way,” Micah whispers and kisses his forehead. “I would rather never see you again than know you are dead.”

  Micah steps away, signaling to the guards to take him. “Micah, please don’t. You don’t know what they’ll do. Please help me. Please.”

  “It’s better this way,” Micah says, and they drag him away.

  It’s better this way.

  Better for whom?

  Chapter 7

  Flesh peels back, exposing muscles and tissue. Ryu’s stomach twists, and bile rises in his throat. The torturer runs his hands over his chest and dips his fingers into the hollow cavern of his neck. His eyes greedily take in his naked form. He licks his lips as he sniffs the air obscenely. Ryu lies on a bench, strapped tightly with corduroy, his mouth bound with leather.

  The smell makes him gag.

  Days ago, they took him away from Micah. Placed him in this tiny room with a torturer, a man the Silvercrest Howlers employed to get rid of traitors. He’s old, slimy, with wispy white hair and a grim expression. He doesn’t ask questions; he merely peels the flesh off Ryu’s side with a scalpel, all the while grinning lecherously at him. His healing is suppressed. He can feel each drag of the blade against his skin.

  “Sweet Omega,” he mumbles to himself, his spidery hands thumbing his right cheek.

  Ryu’s tears have all dried up.

  The real pain is the one within. Betrayal aches fiercely, shattering what he thought was true love. It was all a lie. Micah used him and then tossed him aside. All this time, he was nothing—nobody—just a damn Filthy Claw slut.

  “Just a taste,” the torturer says. His hands clenched around the handle of his knife. Blood flows from the wounds Ryu has all over his body. Long lines, thick and ugly, expose the pinkness of his muscles as the skin curls back.

  A faint rustling drifts in the room, and his mind goes completely blank.

  Nobody is here anyway.

  Through it all, he doesn’t even scream.

  -

  Winter wheat fields are dusted with snow.

  Ryu’s body is limp as they carry him across the turf as if he were a sack of coal. It’s been months since he was sentenced. The torturer took his sweet time, claiming to extract information out of him. Ryu’s stomach roils as he thinks about it. Now, after a month in hell, he’s sentenced. All the clan members are there, waiting in turfs of snow near the encampment.

  It’s cold. The cloth he has for clothing flutters like mad in the freezing wind. Ryu stands on a wooden plank that’s coated with a thin layer of frost. They wrap a chain around his waist. The philosophy behind it is that if he’s innocent, he’ll be able to wiggle himself free. However, if he’s guilty, then he’ll drown—rightfully so.

  “Ryu Suzuki,” a voice says. “Kuroi kage, second to Micah McCorbyn. You have disobeyed your Alpha, committed crimes against
the Silvercrest Howlers that have cost the lives of thousands. How do you plead?”

  Ryu’s teeth chatter.

  He can barely stand. He can barely fucking see straight. All he knows is that he hates them. He fucking hates them all. Clenching his jaw, Ryu steels his nerves as he gazes up at them with complete and utter loathing.

  “Guilty, you fuck. I’m fucking guilty.”

  They toss him into the lake.

  A thousand knives stab him. Ryu holds his breath, his body screaming in agony. The chain drags him down to the depths of the lake. Ryu strains to break the surface. He kicks his legs harder, trying to propel his body upwards. However, his legs tire, water fills his lungs, and his vision blurs.

  Music.

  Soft, melancholy, reminding him faintly of Amaya. He remembers her kind face, her frail skin, which looks almost like paper in the morning light.

  Kenyon. Ryu imagines his laughter and beautiful face.

  Then everything fades to blackness.

  -

  Darkness fills the edges of his vision.

  Ryu gasps awake. His body burns like an inferno. With his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest, Ryu takes shallow, ragged breathes, trying to calm down. What happened? Wooden furniture decorates the room. Ryu realizes he must be in a small cottage.

  “Rest.”

  Ryu groans, his vision blurring. White sage. His stomach lurches, but forces himself to stay awake.

  Rest.

  Micah.

  For the next several days, he’s writhing in pain. Fever rages as the curse finally takes hold, and his wolf is separated from his body. It’s agony. He screams long and hard. Someone cleans him, bathes him, makes sure he has enough to eat during that time. Ryu doesn’t know who it is. Between the pain and his hallucinations, he never sees their face. Whoever it is, Ryu can tell they’re kind and gentle. He smells like love, like home.

  The morning he truly wakes, he knows his wolf is gone.

  Ryu’s heart is empty as if it were cut right out of his chest. He has no more tears left to cry. A small bowl of soup and a piece of bread waits for him, with next to it a note. Ryu devours the meal quickly, although his stomach cramps from the days he spent without solid food.

  After he’s done, he picks up the note with trembling fingers and reads it carefully.

  My friend,

  This is all I can do for you. I’ve risked a lot in helping you. However, I couldn’t sit by and watch you die. You must know Byakuren never meant for this to happen. He’s not aware of my actions. I’ll never tell him, and neither should you.

  Be well, friend.

  Randolph.

  Ryu crumples the letter, rage simmering in his heart. It burns like wildfire through a forest, scorching everything in its path. So it was a hallucination after all. Micah never came to find him. How revolting. His Alpha didn’t care if he was alive or dead. He merely acted in his self-interest and betrayed him. Truly alone, Ryu resides with no clan and no wolf to help him defend himself. These people meant for him to go through the worst kind of suffering. With no money, provisions, or connections, he is no better than a beggar on the street.

  Just like all the other Filthy Claws.

  Chapter 8

  The Blackfang Hounds

  Yokosuka, ‘18

  Three years ago…

  Ryu sprints down the street. The men shout as he tears across the narrow alleyways. Fuck. They’re right on his heels. He ducks, scarcely missing the wooden beam directly above his head. The Blackfang Hounds are relentless in their pursuit. The food in the cabin didn’t last long.

  Within a matter of days, there was nothing left. Randolph was kind enough to leave him some clothes, a few black shirts and pants, along with some provisions that will last a week at most. Panting, Ryu dashes through the market streets with the Blackfang Hounds hot on his tail. They bellow insults and jeers as they chase after him for the fifth time in three days. Since he arrived here, Ryu isn’t sure what to expect. Most wolves have a scent to signify they are from other clans. Being an Omega makes him an easy target, especially to those who don’t have the purest intentions.

  Silvercrest cunt.

  It’s what they called him when he was caught stealing several loaves of bread from a vendor. For months, he’s been living in the slums, filthy and fighting daily to fucking survive. All the years he spent with Kenyon come rushing back, and he recalls the tips and tricks they used to employ for getting food.

  The cold wind whips across his face as he plows down the streets, dodging wayward market vendors. Shit, they’re gaining on him. Ryu pivots left, then fakes right, expertly avoiding one of the guards blocking his path.

  “You thieving Silvercrest shit.”

  Ryu runs faster. His lungs feel like they may burst. He doesn’t know this area, and each twist and turn take him deeper into the Blackfang Hounds city. It’s nothing like the towns that are home to the Filthy Claws or the Silvercrest Howlers. Devoid of warmth, the city is a strange collection of dilapidated buildings and decrepit homes that do nothing to quell his uneasiness. Ryu doesn’t like it here. The rich seem to get richer, their market stalls lavish and guarded heavily by the Blackfang Hounds regiment, while the poor get poorer. Ryu doesn’t have the heart to steal from them. Their meager market stalls look sad and pathetic, with half-rotten fruits and vegetables.

  Ryu flies down the street, his threadbare shoes scraping across the concrete. He looks over his shoulder. The Blackfang Hounds become lost in a sea of people.

  He’s close. His hideout is just beyond that ridge. Ryu smirks, rushing forward but ends up slamming face-first in solid muscle.

  “Gotcha.” A hand clamps around his neck, nearly crushing his windpipe. “You’re a slippery fucker.” Bad breath washes over his face. The Blackfang Hounds regiment surrounds him and the man who captured him. Their military uniforms are made in a woodland pattern, not like the Silvercrest Howlers. The brassard coat of arms bulges. The curving at the top looks like a hexagon, in the middle of which is a wolf surrounded by a hilly landscape. The wolf howls, its face upturned toward the full moon. On the outer layer, tiny gems in black and blue accentuate the picture with the motto Progress through wisdom.

  “Let go.” Ryu shouts as he struggles to get free.

  “Not in this lifetime. Give it back.”

  Ryu looks down at his knapsack, stuffed with bread and whatever else he could get his hands on. They take his things and dump everything he owns onto the ground.

  “You shit.” One of the guards laughs. “You dare steal from Thorin. Ha! He’ll have your head for this.”

  Ryu tries to wrench himself free, but his movements earn him a hard punch to the stomach. “Stop moving, you fuck. Or else it will be worse.” The man holding him fists his hair and jerks his head backward. “Goddamn Silvercrest cunt.”

  “Let’s get moving,” another guard says. His brassard is different from the rest, showing he’s the general of the Blackfang Hounds regiment. “Imperator Yamamoto is expecting us.”

  Crap. This is bad.

  Ryu tries to keep calm, but his insides are churning. Fucking Imperator Yamamoto. Rumors are flying he’s the most sadistic, ruthless Alpha to ever grace the five clans. His preferences for callousness and carnage are well known. This is very bad. Not only did he happen to piss off the entire regiment, but now he also caught the attention of Imperator Yamamoto of the Blackfang Hounds regiment. Fuck.

  They shove a black bag over his head and cuff him, then drag him toward their destination. Ryu keeps quiet, relying on his other senses. Since his wolf was taken, he depends heavily on his sixth sense, his body's perception of self-motion, and the awareness of things around him. He’s been living on the streets for a long time, and he’s gotten fairly good at avoiding trouble. Sensei Musashi’s training is still engraved in his mind. However, defeating the entire Blackfang Hounds regiment would be challenging for anyone.

  They are nothing like the Silvercrest Howlers. Their ways are foreign to Ryu.
He can only go by what he heard and the ever-growing rumors of their increasing barbarism toward their people.

  After the fall of Alpha Prince Wulfrun, the clan fell to ruin shortly afterward. Due to his involvement in slaughtering all the Silvercrest Howlers women, Michael declared war on them, killed their prince, and destroyed their resources. Everything happened fairly quickly. Within a matter of years, the Blackfang Hounds were brought to the precipice of poverty and despair. Only then did Michael call for a truce between the two clans, to which the Blackfang Hounds reluctantly agreed.

  It’s been madness ever since. With no surviving predecessors to take over the clan, the duty fell to the council, who in turn did nothing but line their own pockets and allow the inner cities to fall into anarchy. The council appointed Imperator Yamamoto to oversee the Blackfang Hounds regiment to keep order among the citizens and stop the pillage and ravishment of their lands.

  Ryu swallows thickly. What to do next? There are too many of them. It's pointless to think he can overpower all of them and get free. Better to wait it out and appeal to Imperator Yamamoto's soft side. If he has one at all.

  Chapter 9

  Iron chains dig into his wrists, and a rope around his ankles constricts his movements. He breathes harshly, his body aching from the kicks and punches he received earlier. His cheek is raw and bloodied.

  Someone yanks the bag off his head.

  Ryu squints against the low lighting in the small room.

  They’ve taken him to the dungeons. From a high window comes a rectangle of daylight, the beams white and illuminating the grime and filth coating the concrete walls.