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

by J. K. Jones

  “These symptoms…” The physician hesitates. “Have been exhibited throughout the camp. Other wolves that have been bitten or scratched directly by the Lycans seem to be going through the same thing.”

  Micah frowns. “You think it’s contagious?”

  “We believe so. However, since none of the wolves have died, we are hopeful we can find remedies that will cure them.”

  A chill runs down his spine. Those wolves he fought in the forest were Silvercrest Howlers, although they seemed almost rabid.

  “What are their symptoms?”

  “Burst eye vessels, foaming, delirium, and then ultimately complete disassociation from the wolf spirits. They recognize neither friend nor foe, and since they remain in wolf form, they run in small packs.”

  Like the Lycans. Fuck, what madness has Kenyon conjured up from the dark gods? These wolves wouldn’t listen to reason. They’d kill relentlessly. If this thing spreads, they won’t have an army left. Micah runs a hand through his hair as frustration boils in his core.

  “Keep it a secret. Nobody goes in out or out. I want the entire area sealed off until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Yes, Alpha.”

  -

  The council gathers.

  Micah sits on the throne while they look somber and are reluctant to speak. It’s tense. His anger threatens to spill over the longer they stay silent. Why wasn’t he notified about this? How long have the wolves been suffering?

  He clenches his fist. “Speak.”

  “Alpha.” A councilman steps forward. “We didn’t know the extent of the spread until after you left. Several large platoons have gone rogue. At first, it was to search for the traitor Ryu, but they didn’t return, nor do we know where they went. The wolves that left exhibited all the signs the physicians told us about.”

  “And what of the attack of the Filthy Claws?” Micah asks. “What happened?”

  “They weren’t able to penetrate our line. The soldiers kept them away. We’re expecting more reinforcements from the Midnight Stalkers clan. They’ll be with us in a few days.”

  The ensuing silence is eery. Micah knows things are about to get worse. “What is it?”

  “Alpha.” Another man comes forward. “Forgive us. We didn’t act in time. Some wolves have progressed to the point of no return”

  What does that mean? Micah’s frown deepens. His physicians told him that they were doing everything they can to cure the sick wolves.

  “We’ve kept it among ourselves as we didn’t want to cause a panic. It seems the wolves that have been bitten or scratched by the Lycans…turn into Lycans themselves.”

  The world stops.

  Micah stares at the men in front of them. No. This can’t be true. His mind races back to what Randolph said earlier that same day. Your father is dying. That means he knew. The room spins. They kept it among themselves.

  He knows why. Because he was too preoccupied. Too busy trying to stop them from killing his mate and keeping the Filthy Claws at bay that he didn’t even notice the sickness brewing in his camp. What are they going to do? They barely have enough men as it is.

  Micah can’t think. Too much is happening. He swallows once, twice.

  “How many?”

  “Fifty at most.”

  “What happens if they come into contact with other wolves?”

  “Nothing from what we can tell. It’s only those directly bitten by Lycans.”

  Fucking hell. “Does anyone know about my father?”

  They look horrified at the question. Micah knows they would rather die than lose face in front of the soldiers. If the other wolves knew Michael was dying, they would certainly lose all hope.

  “No, Alpha,” a councilman replies.

  Micah’s thoughts race. They’ll need to move quickly. The last thing they need is to cause a panic and have the men turn on each other. That fucker Kenyon knew exactly what it would take to destroy them all. Micah can’t stand it. If he quarantines them and they change into Lycans, their encampment will be overrun.

  “Quarantine them. We will decide what to do next.”

  “Alpha, if they all change into those creatures, our encampment will be overrun.”

  “We should kill them, burn their bodies to make sure the disease doesn’t spread.”

  “We don’t have any more choices.”

  Micah grits his teeth, boiling with fury. Goddamn, these people. Why did they wait so long to tell him? Now they have an even bigger problem on their hands. If fifty wolves go missing, the others are sure to notice. How can he deal with this? Not to mention his father dying and Ryu missing.

  “Enough,” he barks. “Do as I say. Gather the wolves, quarantine them. I’ll make my decision within two weeks.”

  Chapter 44

  What should he do? Micah sits on his cot and runs a hand through his hair. It’s been several hours since the council meeting, and he still hasn’t come to a decision. He stares at his arm; the red bracelet stands stark against his skin. He wants to call out to Ryu. To ask him for advice on what to do next. However, since Ryu is an exile, the link between them is dissolved.

  Micah rubs his eyes. Nobody can make this decision but him. If he kills those wolves and they don’t turn into Lycans, he would’ve slaughtered them in cold blood. His brothers, his allies. How can he live with himself afterward? The council couldn’t make the decision and waited until he was back before they discussed what to do next.

  The wolves are suffering because of their inefficiency and their failures. How can he fix it?

  His mother’s face appears before his eyes—her smile, her laughter. He imagines the way she held him close. Then he pictures his father, steady and true, a man he’s always admired and looked up to. What’s left? Nothing. Nobody.

  If it came to it, would he kill his father?

  Micah can’t answer that.

  It’s dark when he leaves his tent. His father’s tent is quiet. The physicians are dismissed for the evening. Micah sits on a chair beside the bed and takes his father’s hand in his.

  “Dad?” he says softly.

  Michael doesn’t stir. His face looks serene and soft in the candlelight.

  “What should I do?” Micah begs. “I’ve—I’m a failure. I failed everyone. I thought I was doing what’s right… How can I lead without you?”

  No response.

  He’ll have to walk this path alone. It’s a crippling thought. Micah’s stomach coil with anguish. He can’t decide. He won’t. He needs more time.

  However, it’s the one thing he’s run out of.

  -

  How can a wolf sink so low?

  Micah staggers through the days, exhausted, as time wears on. The Filthy Claws are relentless. They press against their borders daily, advancing farther and farther.

  The wolves stare at him, their eyes wide and frightful, clawing at his knees to save them—save them all. He can’t even save his mate. Micah wants to scream at them.

  On the battlefield, he’s defeated. Once tall and proud, he now slumps dejected and withered. He doesn’t rile the men with long speeches of power and prestige, the glory and honor of fighting for the Silvercrest Howlers.

  Instead, he hangs back. Limp and useless. The council wants an answer. The wolves are turning faster and faster. They lose their fur, their eyes turn bloody, and their muzzles elongate and deform. Lycans.

  Five of them are already full-fledged Lycans.

  Kill them. Micah doesn’t hesitate, and the wolves are lined up and shot to death. What about the others? The others are raving beasts, mindless and past the point of reason.

  Micah turns pale at the thought. They still look like wolves. They still look like brothers.

  They’re losing the war. Trmon and Deryn stand by him, but their eyes haunt him as the Filthy Claws gain more and more ground.

  Deryn looks especially troubled, his face drawn in a harsh line. They flank him back to his tent. Micah trudges, awkwardly limping from the
wound that hasn’t healed.

  “Alpha.” Trmon kneels as Micah sits down. “Let me have a look.”

  Micah waves his hand dismissively, stretching out his leg and letting Trmon roll up his pants. The wound is ugly. Nearly black veins spread from the hole in his leg.

  “Micah,” Trmon admonishes. “Why haven’t you seen anyone about this? It’s infected. If it gets any worse, you’ll lose your leg.”

  “Why does it matter anyway?” Micah mutters.

  His heart is broken. He’s a disappointment. Why does it matter if he lives or dies? He deserves it. After everything he’s done to Ryu.

  “Enough of this shit,” Deryn barks. “Snap out of it.”

  “Deryn—”

  “People are dying,” Deryn rages. “Do you think you’re the only person who lost someone? Half my family is dead. No thanks to the Filthy Claws and the Blackfang Hounds. We’re in the middle of a goddamn war. You can get Ryu back. You can find him again.”

  “And my father?” Micah says tiredly. “Can I manufacture a new one?”

  “That isn’t my point. We need you. The men are losing hope.”

  “Get out of here.” Trmon jumps up and shoves Deryn. “He doesn’t need this crap right now.”

  “Fine,” Deryn scoffs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He walks out of the tent. Trmon takes ira leaf herbs from his pack and crouches next to Micah.

  “I’ll call the physician back in here. This needs to be looked after…” Trmon sighs. “Ryu wouldn’t want you to be like this.”

  Micah frowns. How does he know what Ryu would want?

  “I know what he means to you.” Trmon stares at the floor. “You love him the way I…things are different now. Our options are limited. I can’t begin to understand what you’re going through. The gods have a funny way of making us go through trials and tribulations to make us stronger. You are the Alpha. You must do what needs to be done regardless of the cost.”

  Regardless of the cost. Time to say goodbye. Micah convulses, nearly keeling over in his seat. How can he do it? The thought alone is unbearable. First his mother and now his father? How can he live with himself afterward?

  “Leave me.”

  Trmon bows. “Your will, Alpha.”

  Chapter 45

  Micah drags himself toward his father’s tent, where wolves have gathered. It’s nighttime. The gun is like an anvil in his pocket, like it weighs a hundred pounds. Micah forces himself to set one foot in front of the other. He can’t breathe, but he has to. Many wolves will die if he doesn’t act now. Forty-nine wolves have turned into Lycans. He’s killed them all.

  The crowd parts slowly. Each wolf gives him sad and pitying looks. Micah can’t stand it. The gods have cursed them all.

  The physician gapes at him. For the first time in days, Micah’s mind is clear, and he knows what he has to do. “Clear the area.”

  Micah brings himself to his full height. The weight of the Alpha command pulses through the air.

  “No matter what you hear, nobody goes in or out.”

  -

  “What are you going to tell them?” Micah’s hands tremble, and tears fall as he stares off into space. The tent smells of gun powder. The residual stench hangs listlessly in the air. Nothing matters. Micah keeps his eyes firmly away.

  He’s cried with ferocity, as if that alone could bring his loved ones back. It shatters his bones, breaks apart his heart and soul. There’s nothing left. He carries the weight of the pack on his shoulders. Without him, they won’t last for very long. There’s no comfort here.

  So again, he buries his emotions, stuffing them down further and further until he no longer recognizes what anything is anymore.

  Love, family—all of it gone. In a single day, Micah is all alone. With a mate who hates him and a pack on the brink of extinction. During the night, he sinks to his knees, screaming and crying into the blanket that is now splattered with blood.

  He prays to the gods to kill him then, to take his life for the sake of his father. They don’t answer. Nobody does.

  Tears fall thick and unyielding, and his soul is beyond withered. They need to prepare for war. The Filthy Claws won’t wait for bereavement. In their minds, this is the perfect time to strike. Damn them all.

  Micah scrubs his face, then gets to his feet and hands the gun over to Randolph.

  “My father succumbed to his injuries in battle. That’s what we’ll tell them. Nothing more and nothing less.”

  Randolph nods. “I’m sorry, Micah.”

  There he goes again with that word. He hates that word. “No need.”

  “We must look to the future.” Randolph rests his hand on his shoulder. “Michael based the alliance with the Filthy Clans on a whim. Your marriage to Ryu was supposed to bring order. Now that he’s out of the way, we must turn back, retreat from the Filthy Claws once and for all. It’s not our place to be here.”

  He is stone. A block of granite living and breathing. The pack needs him, and he’ll do everything within his power to make sure his father didn’t die in vain.

  They’ll win this war, bring order to the clans. Micah will spend the rest of his life making sure his father’s dream comes true. Micah shakes his head willfully. “No, we must not be defeated.”

  Randolph’s lip twitches as he stares down at him. “It’s unwise.”

  “My father would’ve expected nothing less. The clans are too intertwined now. We need them as much as they need us.”

  His bottom lip curls downward. “I respectfully disagree. Without Ryu, the plan is foiled. They won’t yield to the Silvercrest Howlers.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Micah replies. “They’ll bend or break. Regardless of that, my father’s dream will remain.”

  “Yes, Alpha,” Randolph grits out. “And Ryu?”

  The sound of his name is like a spike to his chest. Through sheer will, he forces himself not to react, to remain calm and collective.

  “It’s as you said… he doesn’t want to be found.” The words taste like ash in his mouth. Micah turns to leave, but Randolph stops him.

  “One more thing…” He hesitates. “I’m sorry. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Micah nods stiffly and leaves the tent.

  -

  It’s broad daylight.

  The sense of serenity that used to be present in his soul turns to torment. He finds no rest here. Micah strides through the encampment. The wolves bow their head in solidarity and condolences. He deserves none of it. If they knew what he did, they’ll never follow him again. Another wave of grief hits him. It expels every breath, suffocating him. There’s no time for that. No time for grief or pain. They must prepare for war. The scent that used to be familiar and welcoming now has a sour undertone.

  Amaya sits on his cot, her face aged and shrunken, tears trailing down her cheeks. She shivers violently, clenching her fists tightly.

  She glares up at him. Ryu. He took him and discarded him like he was nothing. She hates him for that. He hates himself too.

  “You—” She stops herself.

  He knows. Micah was supposed to protect him, he was supposed to make sure nothing bad happened to him, and he’s failed miserably. He’s failed at everything.

  Tears spill from her eyes onto the grass. She wrings her hands. Micah takes in her floral dress, her hair in a tightly coiled bun, and her fresh and smooth face. She smells of home, of the Silvercrest Howlers, and everything he’s been fighting for.

  She also smells like Ryu. They must have sent her the news that Ryu Suzuki was charged and punished for his crimes against the clan, branding him a traitor and an exile.

  “You never told me…all these years.” She takes a stuttering breath. “He loved you so much.”

  That’s what makes everything worse.

  All pretense of quiet coping is obliterated. Micah falls to his knees and places his head on her lap, sobbing violently. He soaks her dress. His tears are quick and endless, his pain nearly everlastin
g.

  There’s nothing left.

  “There is,” Amaya says fervently. “There’s always hope.”

  Chapter 46

  The Filthy Claws

  Fujisawa, ‘21

  Present day…

  Ryu isn’t sure what he feels. All he knows is that it’s strange, profound, like being intoxicated. Is he drunk off love? It doesn’t make any sense. Something about Micah makes him coil as if he is a spring ready to be sprung. They move in sync, their thoughts an extension of each others.

  The Māku sings, its pitch high and vibrant. He feels when Micah is near and yearns for him when he isn’t.

  Love. He’s falling in love.

  Not like before. It’s different now, better. Things are more balanced in ways that allow him room to think and breathe on his own. They share a bed, but they don’t fuck. Micah is true to his word and keeps his distance. They’re intimate in other ways. They spend hours deep into the night just talking.

  Of their past lives, of the space between now and then. It’s hard to believe he’s twenty now and Micah is twenty-two.

  Ryu stands on the balcony, taking a drag from his cigarette. He smiles to himself, wondering when his life got so…diverse.

  The doors open and close. Then Ryu is wrapped in a warm embrace. Micah folds his large arms around his waist. “Mhmm, I thought you didn’t smoke anymore.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “And failing spectacularly.”

  Ryu snorts a laugh. “I’ll quit after the war.”

  “Sounds like a lie to me.”

  Ryu takes another drag, then stubs it out on the railing. They stare off into the distance in silence. Micah feels like a furnace. His skin is soft in the setting sun. Ryu relaxes into the embrace. Micah’s scent is more potent now, making his head spin. His heat must be closer than he initially thought. There’s so much to think about, so much to do in the coming days that Ryu doesn’t know where to start. He’s overwhelmed but at the same time incredibly hopeful for the future.

  Yet his dreams and visions of Arima Kihei flicker across his mind. Ryu shoves the images away. He isn’t going to let nightmares of the Bloodhound Prince ruin his evening with Micah.