Chapter 44: Chapter 44

Atticus

With smug, tired satisfaction, Atticus guided his wolves home. His body ached from the exertion of shiting, but it was a pleasant, muscular ache that told of a job well done. Idly, he stretched out his long, bulky limbs as they walked.

Now that Lily was gone – and he brushed over that thought quickly, patched up the hole it left with memories of the battle won – every wolf able to shift had fought by his side. Save for four of his spies, of course – all of whom were otherwise indisposed in the searches for Lily and the Red Ripper pack.

He’d lost three of his own in the fight. Atticus didn’t care. Not when they’d decimated Wild Ravine, thus securing Blood Moon’s reputation for the month ahead. The summer fights were more brutal, more bitter, more bloody; he and his pack needed to be prepared.

Others in his pack would remember their names. In the blur of battle, he’d already forgotten.

Ralphin bumped Atticus with his shoulder. “I see you made it out unscathed,” he grinned, only to wince as the torn skin over his nose pulled with the movement. His nose was crooked, and he held it between pinched fingers as they walked.

“I see you didn’t.”

“It’ll set soon enough. I just want to make sure it doesn’t heal crooked.”

“It doesn’t look good, you know.”

Ralphin levelled his gaze at Atticus, his onyx eyes trailing over his face. Atticus resisted the urge to hide the slight bruise darkening his jaw. It was a weakness.

“What doesn’t?” Ralphin asked eventually.

“Your nose.”

“Well, yeah, I know that–“

“No.” Atticus glared at him, allowing the rage and jealousy and insecurities that been been growing all month to burst free. “It doesn’t look good because my Beta, the wolf I have trusted as my second in command, has been bested in battle.”

“It’s just a broken nose, Att–“

“To you, maybe. But it is symbolic of your failure on the field last night.”

“We won.”

“No, Ralph.” Atticus bumped his friend with his shoulder, but there was no kindness, no familiarity, in the gesture. “I won.”

Ralphin turned away, rubbing his arm, but Atticus didn’t miss the hurt shining in his eyes. He couldn’t afford to care. Blood Moon had to remain elusive, offish, if they were to remain the most powerful pack in Eldda. He could not show weakness. Not now.

By extension, Atticus was Blood Moon, and Blood Moon was Atticus.

* * *

Atticus had ordered his pack to return in groups of six or less in the hopes that their passage edging around other territories would go unnoticed. He was brutal, but he would not incite one-on-one fights between patrolling wolves and his pack. They needed their numbers for the battle with Red Ripper that he was sure would come eventually.

If they wanted to dominate Eldda, then they would have to take down the pack currently in that position. Atticus huffed to himself. They had no chance.

Nobody had spoken to him since Ralphin’s outburst. Atticus was glad of it. It had given him a chance to think. Trove, his Gamma, was leading one of the other groups, which neither Ralphin nor Atticus had wanted to do. He’d let his most experienced Warrior Wolves take charge of the remaining groups, most of which were made up of their least experienced Omegas.

Atticus had done them a kindness by allowing them to fight beside him on the battlefield. He certainly did not need to chaperone them to and from the fight as well.

With a clear head in the light of his victory, he allowed Lily to creep back in. Maveln had, so far, proven useless. Atticus cracked his knuckles. He’d not wanted Lily’s father anywhere near him on the trip to Wild Ravine, and he’d managed to stay focused on the fight during the full moon rather than ripping out his insolent throat.

If there was any chance Maveln could help him, it was better for him to be left alive. For now.

Though he’d procured another win, his thoughts had strayed to pointless, childish imaginings of Lily fighting at his side during the battle. She would support him, allowing him to claim the glory while setting him up for success. And, in the moonlight, she would be beautiful: her muzzle wet with his enemies’ blood.

Sure as he was that such thoughts would become reality, he also knew they were a fault. Had failure come at his hands, he would have had only Lily to blame.

“We’re coming up to the outer woods, Alpha,” said Brown, peering through the cold morning sunlight to the blurred treeline in the distance. Atticus had wanted the Warrior Wolf in their group for two reasons: one, because he was known primarily for his vicious approach in battle, which Atticus respected and appreciated; two, because he was near-silent when not in his wolf form. He only spoke when he had something he felt was important to say.

“Thank you, Warrior Wolf.”

Brown nodded, his blonde ponytail swishing against his neck. Then: silence. Atticus smiled.

It was all going to plan. With a fresh victory under his belt, Blood Moon’s position was secure. Now all he needed was Lily, and his happily ever after would truly be complete.

“Alpha! Alpha!”

Atticus sighed, but pushed himself into a run towards the small, squeaking voice. He doubted it was a trap; no wolf would dare enter his territory, let alone try attacking him, the most feared Alpha in Eldda’s history, on his own soil. But, still, he gestured for Brown and Ralphin to check the area as he followed the sound of the voice.

“Alpha Atticus!” This time, heaving sobs broke up his title and name. Part of him wanted to roll his eyes. Another smaller, scarier part began to panic.

Two children broke out from the trees. They were both male, and were clutching hands, stumbling as they ran towards him. Atticus sprinted to them, panic winning out.

“What is it?” He was too gruff to offer them any comfort. He needed answers, not tears.

“They – they –“ The first boy crumpled in on himself. Atticus recognised his head of ginger hair and his gangly limbs, but could not put a name to his face.

His friend was doing a better job of controlling himself. “Alpha, they – they came as the moon rose. We tried to fight, but they were wolves, and we had to protect the others that couldn’t defend themselves–“

“Who came?” Ralphin interjected, dark eyes darting between the two boys. He crouched down between them, and put a steadying hand on the ginger one’s knee. The other held his crooked, bloodied nose in place. “It’s okay. We’re back, now. Tell us what happened so we can fix it.”

The more composed of the two inhaled deeply, the sound wet. Atticus grimaced. He’d seen this one trotting behind his parents by the medical centre, quietly learning to stitch wounds and mix poultices. He was nominally preferable to the one that was still sobbing, Atticus decided.

Brown eyes met Ralphin’s shakily. The boy – Marley, he thought his name was, maybe – seemed too afraid to talk to him. Though he’d had no issue shouting for him in the outer woods.

“We tried to fight them. But they hurt us, and then they went to the vegetable gardens. We didn’t know why, but we tried to stop them.” He folded his arms across his chest and pulled himself up to his full height. His brown skin shone dimly in the low light, gleaming as his chest moved beneath his crossed arms. The sunlight caught on a patch of dried blood, and fear settled like a vice around Atticus’s heart.

“What did they do when they reached the vegetable gardens?” Ralphin asked gently.

“They – they ripped it up, with their teeth and their claws.” Marley swallowed. Beside him, the ginger one trembled with silent sobs, his jaw clenching with every shaking breath.

“Is anyone hurt?” Atticus barked. Snakes writhed in the pit of his stomach.

“Y-yes, Alpha,” Marley said, eyes wide. “My parents are the medics, so I know some stuff. I tried to help them – I tried…”

Marley dissolved into sobs, folding in on himself. The ginger one wrapped his arms around his friend.

“Come on,” said Ralphin, nodding to Atticus, Brown, and Siras and Dumin, the two other Warrior Wolves behind them. “I don’t think we’ll get much more out of them for now.”

Atticus raised an eyebrow at Ralphin. He was bordering on insubordination. Ralphin ducked his head, and Atticus stepped up.

“I agree, Beta. You two,” he nodded at Siras and Dumin and then at the two boys, “carry them. They’ll slow us down if we make them walk. We need to assess the damage and find more witnesses – hopefully ones able to compose themselves.”

This only made the boys cry harder. Atticus pinched the bridge of his nose.

He had to keep his poise. He was the spine that held his pack together. Holding his head high, he led the run back to the centre of the Blood Moon pack’s land.

* * *

It had been decimated.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but Atticus did not dare let them fall. He replaced the horror, the panic, the pain, with anger, and let it fuel him as he blinked away those few, shameful tears.

Their entire spring crop had been ripped from the soil and chewed and clawed at until it no longer resembled food. Their greenhouses had been smashed, their plants destroyed. They relied on their crops almost solely; few packs near Blood Moon encouraged trade relationships.

Atticus had nothing to feed his pack.

Marley had got his hysterics back under control by the time Atticus had stormed around the gardens, making a mental list of everything that had been ruined.

“Alpha? Seven children are in the medical centre,” he said quietly, as if afraid of Atticus’s response. “I’ve done all I can for them. D-do you know when mum and dad are getting back?”

“Alpha,” Siras murmured, stepping up close behind him, “his mother died in the battle. His father…”

Atticus held up a hand. Oh, shit. He could barely think through the panic rising like a swelling tide.

“Soon,” he grunted, placing a calloused hand on Marley’s shoulder. “They’ll be attended to then. Now, was there any other damage?”

At Marley’s nod, Atticus’s heart dropped. He swallowed hard.

“Can you show me?” he asked.