Page 4 of Pack Ruin
One of them was in human form, and he stepped forward. It was Josiah, one of the males who I’d trained with for years. “Alpha Heir?” His expression was stunned when he met my gaze. He dropped his immediately, but peered back up from the corner of his eye. Suspicious. Nervous. As if he didn’t recognize me. “Is it really you?”
“What do you mean?” I snarled. “You don’t recognize me, Josiah?”
He tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck in a sign of submission. “My apologies. I do know you. But you’ve… you’ve changed.”
I blinked, looking to Glen for an explanation. He shook his head. “You’ll have to see it to believe it, brother.”
3
Flowers and Weather
GRIGOR
Ihad lived for centuries with a raging fire inside that wanted nothing more than to be let out to burn the world. The magical abilities my mother had passed on to me, combined with the cruel power and madness of my father’s line, had made me unstoppable once I killed him. I’d been uncontrollable in those early years, murdering indiscriminately.
I’d felt no remorse. Killing had felt good, like snapping a candle flame out with my fingers. It was almost amusing to watch the light fade in the eyes of those who were less than me.
In my childhood, against the wishes of my mother, I’d found a way to shape my magic. I’d assumed a wolf form the same color as my father’s, but hid my skill from him. Hid the threat of my growing power. I had only just grown strong enough to punish him for all he’d done to my mother and to me, when he struck out.
And lit the match of my rage. My madness.
He’d been the Grand Alpha of the Eastern Hemisphere, unassailable, an enormous wolf and a powerful Alpha. But he’ddied like all the others, unaware of how strong magic could be when wielded by one with both witchcraft and wolfcraft in his veins.
To my surprise, over the years, I’d found my wolf spirit wasn’t an extension of my own spirit, as it was for most shifters. He was a complete, disparate entity inside me. A malevolent one, to be sure, but clever, with his own desires and needs.
His own madness.
He was with me now, fully present as we tortured a male we’d found in a rogue encampment, the only living shifter close enough to sense. He’d been gnawing on a human femur, utterly feral, unaware of my approach. But luckily for me, he could still speak.
“Please,” the rogue begged, his own eyes half white with insanity, the trickles of blood seeping from them a nice contrast against the creamy color. “Lemme go, I don’t know nothin’ more.” His teeth were long, almost curving out the sides of his mouth, distorting his speech.
This happened to rogues, when they’d been without a leader for too long. Their wolves became feral, desperate for structure. Eventually, they clawed their own throats to shreds, after they’d taken out their rage on as many others as they could find in their search for the safety and peace of a pack.
“You don’t know why the Sergeant at Arms from Northern stopped at your squalid little camp?” I squeezed his neck, allowing my nails to lengthen and pierce his flesh a bit deeper. “You have no idea what he wanted?”
I’d been following the Sergeant after his defection from Northern. My wolf had fought me at first, needing to be close to his mate-to-be. But I reminded him that we had courting gifts to arrange, and suggested that our perfect little blade would be far more likely to accept us as we were, if we sweetened the mating pot a bit.
I wasn’t the tallest, or the youngest, or the most handsome of her suitors. But I would prove to her that I was the most devoted and protective. My littlebehrserkloved blood, and I could show her my love in ways her other, more traditional males might overlook.
“You didn’t hear a single word? Maybe you don’t need those ears.” I moved one hand to the side of his head, cleaving away one of the useless appendages with a whip of magic.
The acrid stench of urine filled the air, along with the rich copper of his blood. “Flowers,” he gasped, his eyes bulging out. “Weather.”
I released the pressure, surprised. That was the truth. But it made no sense, unless… “Did they speak in some sort of code?”
“I dunno, I really d—” He let out a satisfying gurgle as his head sailed away from his neck, and I dropped his body, done here. Sergeant was probably at Southern’s borders by now, if that was his true goal. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to follow protocol and announce his arrival to the pack leaders, who were mostly Council Enforcers at this point.
The Mountain guards who had stayed when my mate left had been relieved of their duties after two dozen of the Southern Enforcers had been mysteriously slaughtered in the night, their remains arranged in a startling pattern. I smiled, remembering how hard it had been to balance all the skulls just so.
She would love it.
I looked around the deserted rogue camp, listening for any other heartbeats, or panicked breathing. Unfortunately, the Sergeant had already killed or chased away all the others in this group.
I broke into a jog and then a run, seeking out his trail, which was faint, almost indiscernible. I admired his skills.
I’d almost hate to kill him.
Southern hada stench all its own. Some of it was the kind of stink that offended the nostrils. Septic tanks that needed to be pumped competed with the natural bogs that dotted the length of the border between the inhabited areas and the forest.
