Atticus
Decorations lay in tatters across the grounds. Children huddled in groups beneath wide, leafy trees – as though they would offer some measure of protection.
Atticus tried miserably to smile at them. He had to be strong for his pack, even as panic choked him. Whispers filled the air around him, and he tried to shut his ears to the words “Impulsive” and “Brutal”; that was not what he’d meant to be. He’d only ever wanted to do his best for the Blood Moon pack.
Mint that had been strung in vials from tree to tree now lay upon the grass, the shattered remains of the glass cracking beneath his boots. Rabbits – a sign of family, of protection – scurried into patches of undergrowth, freed from their enchantments when their magical cages had been broken. Their wide, innocent eyes mocked and haunted him. Bunting in the colour of bloodstone had been ripped to shreds by unforgiving claws.
Seeing the innermost part of his territory desecrated by another pack… it stung. It stung, and it made rage boil deep in Atticus’s gut. Clenching his hands into fists, he followed as Marley led him past trees now scraped with deep claw and teeth marks.
He would find them and then, only once they had begged for their lives, he would kill them.
“Take me to the medic’s cabin,” Atticus said abruptly. “There were seven injured?”
“Yes, Alpha,” Marley nodded, keeping his eyes on the blood-slick grass. Seeing it curdled Atticus’s stomach, and his eyes moved, unbidden, to the dried blood on Marley’s arms.
He… he had left them behind. He had taken every wolf of shifting age and allowed them to fight at his side. They had won the battle against Wild Ravine, but…
But he had left his home undefended and unprotected. He was looking at the consequences of that decision. Stepping over a wide-eyed rabbit, he sighed.
Maybe fate had seen this coming. Maybe Lily had been given to him, a compassionate gift, to stop this from happening. He was certain she would have argued against the battle with Wild Ravine. If even they had fought closer to home…
Atticus gritted his teeth. There was no use thinking on it for even a second longer. The deed was done, and it was irreversible.
It only made his course of action abundantly clear: he needed to get Lily back, and soon.
Until that happened, though, something had to change. Atticus watched Marley walk, his small steps slowing as they neared the medical centre. That was his home, and yet he seemed almost afraid to approach it. Atticus knew that feeling all too well. Here, there were expectations placed upon him. He couldn’t just… be.
“Marley?”
“Yes, Alpha?”
Atticus gently pulled him to one side. “Before we go in, there’s something I’d like to speak to you about.”
Marley bowed his head in acknowledgement and respect. Atticus opened his mouth, only to close it again.
He’d never had to do this before. A family member had always passed on the news. In the three short years that Atticus had been the Alpha, he’d lost scarcely twenty wolves to full moon fights. They were numbers, statistics – a deficit in his army, rather than mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers.
“It’s about your parents.”
Marley’s entire body stiffened. He nodded once, the movement a rapid jerk that Atticus feared might snap his neck.
“Your mother…” Atticus stumbled over the words, struggling to compose himself as he knew he must. “I’m afraid your mother is gone.”
Marley’s throat bobbed. “And my father?” Tears began to trickle down his face, quickly turning into streams as he waited for his Alpha’s reply.
“Is alive and well. But he is suffering; the severing of the mate bond is no easy thing to go through. I am unsure of when, exactly, he will return.”
Marley blinked furiously. His lips curled and trembled. Atticus continued regardless. He had to explain why.
“There is a bad pack on the rise, Marley. A bad pack made up of very bad wolves. Your mother wanted to fight with me, with the rest of Blood Moon, to show the bad wolves that they cannot hurt us. That we are powerful.
“She died honourably. She died fighting for something that mattered.” As he said it, Atticus wondered if it were true. Though they had beaten Wild Ravine, though they had battered them into submission, they had lost so much more.
Atticus could remember, although only vaguely, the day that Maveln had returned home after his mate – her name, he couldn’t remember – had been lost to a battle. He couldn’t remember what the fight had been over, or how she had died.
He did remember the way Lily had looked at him. Like he was a monster. Like it was his fault she was dead.
He remembered the way she’d walked around for months – years, if he were to be honest with himself – after that battle. One battle; two lives, irrevocably changed. The shadows beneath her eyes had been permanent, her frown carved into her flesh and the droop of her shoulders sculpted into her bones.
He’d wanted to shake her, to scream at her that it was easier not to care. If you didn’t care, nothing could ever hurt you.
But he never did, and so she kept looking at him with those cruel, beautiful eyes that labelled him a murderer.
He waited for Marley to look at him like that.
“I understand,” he said eventually, his voice wobbling. His arms hugged himself, and his legs trembled so hard Atticus thought he might fall. “May I be excused, A-Alpha?”
“You may,” Atticus said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder before Marley ran into the medic’s cabin.
Marley didn’t hold it against him. Marley – a child – understood. So why didn’t Lily?
* * *
Alvaro was silent as he appraised the smashed glass littering the vegetable gardens. All that remained of the myriad greenhouses were the wood and metal work that had held their structures in place. Peas and asparagus and new potatoes and rhubarb were strewn across the soil, fruits and vegetables from inside the greenhouses and the open fields mixed and trodden into the ground, torn and chewed until they became inedible.
The first Omegas to return were picking through the fields, hoping to find any unsoiled crop. Atticus was certain they wouldn’t find anything worth saving.
It would be impossible to re-plant and re-grow everything quickly enough to feed the pack. Balling his hands into fists, Atticus turned away from the destroyed vegetable gardens.
“It will be okay, son.”
Atticus sighed. “I don’t see how.”
“Don’t let your anger, your need for revenge, cloud your better judgement. Think, Atticus.”
“I am thinking,” he spat.
“No, you aren’t.” Alvaro placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. Atticus shook it off. “Work through your options.”
“I have none.”
Alvaro grabbed his arm. “This is not the time to behave immaturely. There are lives at stake, Att. There are always options.”
Taking a deep breath, Atticus opened his eyes and stared resolutely out at the fields. Even if the Omegas found a handful of salvageable crops, it would be nowhere near enough to feed even a tenth of his wolves. He crossed that off his mental list and was left with only one other option.
“We need to trade,” he said, turning to face his father. “We must go to other packs for support.”
It could turn out to be a hopeless solution. But perhaps, in their time of dire need, their allies would offer trade as a way out. They had an abundance of wood, and skilled wolves that could be sent elsewhere in exchange for food. Maybe some would offer their assistance eagerly, expecting nothing in return other than Atticus's favour in the future. Blood Moon's reputation had cost them during the full moon, but it could be the thing that saved his pack from starvation.
He would consider anything. For now, all Atticus could do was hold onto that one small, glowing spark of hope. He would blow on it, cup it between his hands, encouraging the flame. Pressing his hands to his heart, he breathed deeply.
Alvaro smiled at his son with tired eyes. “I think that’s a wise idea.”
“I’ll get the Omegas to clear the fields and plant as much as they can as fast as they can,” Atticus said, beginning to pace. “In the meantime, I will travel to our allied packs and ask for their aid.”
He did not mention that doing so provided an opportunity to search the continent for Lily. Atticus saw two routes for his pack’s salvation: one was food, and the other was his mate.