Atticus
Atticus had a lot to thank the Red Ripper pack for. Their ingenuity, for one. He liked a lot of their ideas, and their bravery, and their boldness. He hated them for it too, of course – but he couldn’t help but admire them either.
Compared to the White Oak pack, their evil paled. His father had to physically restrain him when they’d come to gloat, saying they should never have fought them over a bit of woodland. He would have killed them all, one by one, their thick-skulled Alpha first, had it not been for his dad.
He’d had to begrudgingly thank him for his foresight when White Oak had laid down the real reason behind their visit: to offer them enough basic crop to survive. They hadn’t wanted to hurt them; just to make a point. Atticus had nearly refused them on principle, but it was a windfall he knew wouldn’t land in his lap again.
But, he thought, striding through the open, grassy plains between packs, his own marching behind him, he really had to thank Red Ripper for destroying the age-old code between werewolves. Why fight during a full moon when they could wage war whenever they wanted?
Of course, his wolves were starving. He’d had to use the last shreds of his reputation to keep the local mutts from descending in their time of weakness. His Omegas had grown as much as they could, and his Warrior Wolves had become hunters; paired with White Oak’s meagre supplies, they’d muddled through a long, dry two and a half months. With no clear end in sight, he’d had to come up with a plan.
A plan, he had to admit, would not have been possible in normal times. Without Red Ripper’s disruption, to even attempt what he had in mind would mean death for him, his Beta, and his Gamma – and maybe the rest of his pack as well.
But now? Atticus grinned to himself. Now, he could do as he wished.
It was perfect. It would fix his need for food. It would fix his desire to claim more land; his empire would expand. He would be afforded a new position from which to fight and destroy and conquer. White Oak had wanted to make a point. All they’d made was a stronger enemy. The most vicious dogs became only more feral when backed into a corner. And Atticus was no dog.
He was a wolf.
* * *
“I don’t like this, son,” his father had said to him before they’d left. “I’d seen a change in you, a real change, after Wild Ravine and White Oak. A change for the better. There is no honour in blind violence, Att. Power must go hand in hand with the responsibility to wield it wisely.”
He had wanted to change. He had.
But travelling to their allied packs had drained him. He’d wanted to be better – for her. When none of them would offer Blood Moon food, he’d returned home, bitter and angry. He had changed, just not in the way he’d expected.
Atticus would save his pack – by whatever means necessary. Which was why they were marching on the Sea Pine pack, a pack that was so pointless it had flown under his radar for years. He knew where it was, and he knew the Alpha there, Elijah Pine, was generally uninterested in gaining power. He’d never been a threat to Atticus, and his land was too far for him to bother using Sea Pine to make a point.
Then Atticus had learned where Lily was. Suddenly, Alpha Elijah Egon Pine and his useless pack were of a great deal of interest to him. A great deal indeed, he thought, relishing in the spring of grass beneath his booted feet and the whip of wind through his honeyed hair.
He had the power to change his pack’s lives. He would march on Sea Pine, and he would kill every last one of them if he had to. Their land would become his, their homes going to his pack members instead. They had food, and steady crop, and a wealth of resources. All of that would be his. And Alpha Elijah, the man who had stolen his mate, would be left with nothing. With smug satisfaction, Atticus cracked his knuckles and turned his face up to the sun. His golden skin glowed.
He was going to get his girl back.
His heart raced at the thought of seeing Lily again. He'd tried to patch up the wound, to fill the hole she'd left behind with fighting and running and an endless littany of distractions. He'd taken a lover, even, but she had only made him feel emptier than he had before. He'd sobbed after that night, having awoken to black hair instead of dark blonde, green eyes instead of brown.
The morning after, he'd sprinted out into the woods and pummelled tree after tree until his knuckles had bled and his bones had splintered. Bruises bloomed in reds and purples and blues across the backs of his hands, but he hardly felt the pain. It was but the spark of a match compared to the roaring fire eating away at his heart.
Nothing could compare to his one true mate, but he no longer hated himself for his mistake.
Instead, his hatred had boiled down into something harder, coarser. It nestled beneath his heart, and urged him to keep trying, to do anything, to get Lily back.
“Alpha?” Marley had to jog to keep up with his long strides.
Atticus clapped Marley on the back, nearly knocking him over in the process. “Young Medic Marley. Everyone in good shape?”
“As good as they can be.” His eyes darted around the barren landscape. There was no game to hunt, and few plants that weren’t tall, swaying grasses that were so dry from the heat of the sun that they scraped against their bare legs.
Marley had changed, too. His mother had died, but unlike Lily, the loss had made him stronger. He’d studied his parents’ notes and, when his father had returned from the battle against Wild Ravine, he’d shadowed him. It seemed to have done them both a world of good, and they were by his side always, eager to fight, to take their revenge by becoming stronger, mentally and physically.
Atticus thought Marley would be good for Lily, when he got her back. He would rescue her from Alpha Elijah’s clutches, and then he would show her how to be a wolf. A real wolf, one that craved power and dominance above all else.
“How long will the supplies last?” Atticus asked.
“A week, at best. We’ll have to hunt along the way, when the opportunity to do so presents itself.”
They’d packed up everything they had. Not one wolf had been left behind at Blood Moon. For this to work, they needed everyone present – and prepared to fight for what would soon be theirs. The Omegas shouldered the load, and they ate and drank as infrequently as they could manage.
Atticus nodded. “Of course. Now, what did you wish to speak with me about?”
“There’s been news.”
Excitement swelled in Atticus’s belly. Butterflies churned beneath his skin. He caught Marley’s elbow and pulled him aside, nodding to Ralphin and Trove to keep the pack moving.
“What have you heard?”
Marley brushed a hand through his textured brown hair. “Griffin sent word – about Red Ripper. They’re moving south down the coast.”
“Shit,” Atticus breathed. He snapped his fingers at one of the trailing Omegas towards the rear of the pack. “Give me a map. Now!”
“They have attacked three packs within the last month alone,” Marley muttered, keeping his voice low as the Omegas moved on. “Black Ride, Moon Range, and Ocean Wolf. They’re drawing closer to Sea Pine with each one.”
Even as Atticus admired his decision to take Marley under his wing, allowing him the honour of running messages for his Alpha, an edge of panic set in.
“Looks like it’ll be Goldtail next,” Atticus murmured, tracing the rough line Red Ripper were following. “Or Oak Runner. Either way, they aren’t far off.”
The Sea Pine pack would be of no use to him if Red Ripper had already destroyed it.