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Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

T he scent of blood rode heavy on the wind and the sound of metal clashing rang out in the distance. The deeper into the forest they traveled, the more intense the stench and noises became, reminding Astrid that they were about to enter a war.

When they came upon the cage on the outskirts of Jerrick’s camp, they stopped. The grunts of man and ferocious snarls of wolf echoed over the drumming rain. Angry shadows flashed just beyond the trees.

The power of the shift pushed through her muscles again, and within seconds, she stood on two feet. Erec dropped the pile of clothing by her feet, and she dressed quickly. After pulling on her boots, she tied her mass of red hair away from her face.

Still a golden wolf, Erec pressed against her legs and stared at her. She guessed this was his way of telling her he would be going into battle in this form since he couldn’t speak, and having seen his raw power and skill while fighting Claus as a wolf, it was a good idea. As for her, she was more comfortable with her spear in her hand.

She picked up her weapon and looked over the staff’s intricate carvings and beautiful stone tip. Was she ready to finally face the man who had killed so many innocent people and was responsible for what had been done to her brother? Was she ready to willingly walk into the fire and risk her life to stop the monster who had almost destroyed her and Erec’s lives?

She gritted her teeth, the answer to her questions coming in the forms of fierce determination and certainty. Not fear. Not worry. She’d been through too much in these last few weeks not to be ready now. Death had been a close reality for her only minutes ago.

Jerrick didn’t scare her anymore. He couldn’t.

Astrid gripped her spear. This ended right here. Tonight.

“Let’s finish this,” she said confidently, and gave Erec a stiff nod.

He snorted in agreement, then bounded through the trees, toward the commotion ahead. She followed close to his heels, heart pounding.

The second they burst into the campsite, they were thrown into mass chaos. Men, women, and wolves fought with fists, blades, and teeth. There were cries of pain, shouts of victory, and the constant pound of rain against the ground.

And blood. So much blood.

It painted whatever was left of the snow a dark red. Here, the air was so thick with the scent of it, Astrid tasted the metallic tang on her tongue strong enough to make her gag.

Erec wasted no time and leaped onto another wolf’s back, tearing into his neck. More blood spurted, and Astrid choked back bile. Henrick was close by, yelling a battle cry and swiping his sword at two more fearsome-looking beasts who were trying to close in on him.

She tried to find her father among the brawling warriors, but the rain was falling too hard to see anything beyond a few feet besides shadowy figures. She attempted to reach out across the pack bond, but the connection was congested with the overwhelming emotions of her fellow fighters. Pain, fear, rage, delight—she felt it all. But none specific to her father’s aura.

An unseen force struck her from the side so swiftly and suddenly, she was flying off her feet before she realized what had happened. She hit the ground with an audible thud, her shoulder getting the brunt of the fall. All the breath left her lungs, and she grunted as pain shot through her arm. A flash of silver caught her eye, and she rolled just as the blade of an axe struck the wood of a stump dangerously close to her head. Pulse thundering against her eardrums, she stared at her distorted reflection in the weapon’s shiny face.

She scrambled up to see a round, grubby-looking man about to reach for the axe’s handle again. Kicking out, the sole of her boot met the cap of his knee. There was a gross popping sound, and he collapsed, clasping his leg and cursing her loudly. Taking the opportunity to jump to her feet, she grasped her spear and stabbed him in the center of the chest. The blade pierced the skin, muscle, and bone too easily, like a heated branding stake slicing through ice. It was equally as effortless pulling it out as well.

She shivered.

Movement zipped past her left. She jerked around as a silver blur charged her. The wolf leaped into the air, jaws aimed for her throat. She threw herself sideways, twisting and spinning her weapon. The tip sliced through skin and tissue midair, and when the beast hit the ground, its momentum sent it forward still, launching it into the base of a tree. White bone peeked through the slash down its chest, and crimson blood poured.

The bright spark of lightning ignited the camp in white light, momentarily breaking the blueness from the moon. Soon after, thunder cracked strong enough to shake the ground at her feet. The rain was relentless. It soaked every inch of her, but adrenaline raced through her bloodstream, shaking off the cold.

She rushed into a crowd of brawling figures, dodging blows and dirty, reaching fingers and slashing the spear at anyone who came close. At the center of the mass was Dana and another woman warrior from the prisoner group with a mess of brown hair. One of Dana’s eyes was badly blackened and the other had blood sliding down her arm from a severed finger, but both females were fighting with everything they had. And from the look of the number of dead foes at their feet, both wolf and human, they had been holding well for themselves for quite a while.

The brunette dropped to the ground and shifted shape, her clothes ripping at the seams. Covered in brown fur, she snarled and ripped into the hind leg of an enemy wolf that had been getting too close to Dana’s back.

As Astrid plunged her spear into an unsuspecting man’s side, teeth sank into her left calf. Pain erupted through every nerve ending. She yelped, crumbling to her knees. When she glanced over her shoulder, piercing yellow eyes stared back at her. She remembered those eyes. And the light gray shade of its coat.

It was the same wolf that had chased her away from Erec’s cave. The one who had bit into her leg. Just like this.

Red glistened on its muzzle and the tongue hanging from its mouth. Her blood.

Again.

Rage flared in her chest. “Back for more?” She spun the spear’s staff in her hand. “Didn’t learn last time, did you?”

It growled in answer, its upper lip curling over razor-sharp canines. Then, it came at her.

Astrid rushed to stand, but her wounded leg gave out. Powerful jaws clamped down on her arm, and instinctively, she dropped her spear. White-hot pain zigzagged from her elbow to her fingertips. Her vision blurred from the strength of it.

Reflexively, she punched at its massive head, but the wolf didn’t let go; it only locked eyes with her, challenging her, mocking her, and bit down even harder.

Bones snapped, and she cried out, the shock of agony threatening to make her faint.

Her uninjured hand raked the ground for something close to help her. Anything. When her fingertips brushed something solid—wood—a handle, she praised her luck and clutched it. A small knife.

As she lifted it, ready to strike, the icy nails of absolute dread raked along her insides, forcing her to hesitate. Tremors slid across her skin, and the hair at the back of her neck rose in warning.

She felt the tight pull of fear in her stomach.

Something had happened.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

With her brother.

The gray wolf’s foul-smelling breath filled her nose, snapping her back to the danger at hand. Not wasting another second, she rammed the knife into the wolf’s skull. It released an earsplitting wail and threw itself backward, dragging its teeth across the tender flesh along her arm before letting go fully.

Snatching her spear, she climbed to her feet. The pain in her calf was bad, but it was nothing compared to the mess the creature had made of her arm. Her muscles were shredded, the bones undoubtably broken, too. There was nothing she could do but let it hang awkwardly at her side. Even with her fast healing abilities, who knew if it would ever be the same again.

If only it hadn’t been her dominate arm. Using her weapon with her left hand was going to be a challenge. Not to mention her leg was going to be slowing her down, too.

The wind was knocked out of her in the next instant. Like someone had socked her full on in the stomach. She crouched over, her mind fogging. Then the tears came rushing forward. Along with the shuddering of uncontrollable sorrow.

Astrid stumbled forward, panting, gasping as she tried to suck air into her lungs. When her palm brushed against the roughness of bark, she threw her back against the tree before she lost her footing completely.

Then, as quickly as the sensations had hit, they left and there was only emptiness. Complete and utter emptiness.

No. No. No. No!

Filip is dead.

The words echoed in her head as clear and as loud as a drum. He’s dead.

But she knew it was true. She knew it. The tie that had bound them as siblings had been severed.

Unable to move, she peered up at the moon’s blue glow. The rain washed away the tears from her cheeks. She didn’t care if one of Jerrick’s men came by at that very moment to finish her off. All she could think about was how she hadn’t seen this coming. How could she let it happen?

Guilt slammed into her. Filip’s injury had been bad, but he had said himself he would be fine. She’d thought he was getting better. She had just seen him!

And Mila had been taking care of him. She knew how to treat any wound. She was the best.

But then Astrid remembered the grave look on Mila’s face when she had first entered their tent. She must have known something was off from the start. And Filip sending her out on those missions… Had he known his time alive was short? Had he known he wasn’t going to survive past tonight?

Her body trembled. Why didn’t you tell me?

But she knew her brother. He wouldn’t have wanted her to know how serious the situation was and risk keeping her from Erec and the Blue Moon. He was always protecting her. Always.

She should have seen it; she should have known. Astrid cursed herself for being so stupid.

Maybe I didn’t want to see it…

Lightning flashed again, charging the air with electricity. Thunder boomed.

Something snapped inside her. The sadness that had whipped through her so fast and so sudden became a tornado of pure, untamable fury as powerful as the storm raging around her.

Wiping away her damp cheeks with a swipe of her hand, she pushed herself off the tree. Her wolf rose up, wanting more blood to be spilled. Wanting revenge. The need was so great, her body shook from the force of it.

No longer feeling the pain in her leg or shredded right arm, she clasped her spear with both hands and scanned the war scene before her.

It was time for her to find Jerrick.

She was going to make him pay.

B ack in his human form, Erec withdrew his sword from the man’s chest he’d been sparring with and tried to make sense of the odd sensation stretching across the pack bond. He couldn’t describe it as anything other than death—the cold, dark touch of death.

Filip. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. And as he glanced at the many confused and distressed faces of the other west-side pack warriors, he was certain they had sensed it, too. They had lost their alpha.

They were a pack without a leader.

Erec’s next thought was Astrid. He needed to find her. With one last glance at the man bleeding to death by his feet, he trudged forward, searching the crowd for her red hair. He felt her first—her hot-blooded rage—before spotting her across the camp.

Her sweater had been torn at the elbow and blood flowed from the jagged lacerations down her arm. His chest squeezed with worry, but she seemed oblivious to any pain. Her anger was driving her forward. Even limping, there was a fierce determination in her step.

When lightning struck again and the forest lit up, he realized who it was she had set her sights on.

Jerrick. And Boden. The two massive men were locked in a heated battle, the old warrior’s two axes clashing with Jerrick’s broadsword. From the maniacal laughter tumbling from Jerrick’s lips and Boden’s more sluggish blocks, Boden was losing the fight.

Erec’s stomach knotted with terror. Astrid had no idea what she was getting herself into.

He was off and running with his next breath, but the route to her was blocked by the swarm of battle. He was too far away. Pushing through the throng, he was careful to sidestep any swinging blows and keep away any encroaching enemies. Images of Jerrick snapping Mikel’s neck as if it were a mere twig flooded his mind. He knew the extent of Jerrick’s madness, his strength, his brutality; he’d seen it for himself. Right before his eyes. There was no way Astrid would be able to take him out on her own. He would kill her without even flinching.

“Come on, old man!” Jerrick mocked, his voice as loud and booming as the thunder. “I asked for Boden the Warrior. And who did I get?” His laughter rumbled, the same callous and terrifying sound from Erec’s memory. “Is this some kind of joke? There is no warrior here!”

Exhaustion weighed on Boden’s brow, and his breathing was labored. He blocked another of Jerrick’s blows, but when Jerrick put all his weight forward, pushing the sword’s blade dangerously close to Boden’s face, the old alpha’s arms shook as he struggled.

Jerrick grinned.

Erec ducked as someone chucked a dagger his way. When its owner rushed at him, he swiped out his legs and sliced his throat as he fell.

Breathing hard, he looked up again, searching for Astrid. His temples pounded. He had to get to her before—

The sight of her spear soaring through the air made his heart skip a beat. Its trajectory was on target to hit Jerrick square in between the shoulder blades, but in one swift motion, he jerked his sword upward, disarming Boden of his axes, and spun just in time for her weapon to miss. It landed in the mud feet away.

She froze.

“Astrid, no!” Boden yelled, his eyes wide with horror.

Slowly and as gracefully as a feline, Jerrick turned. When his gaze rested on her, his eyes blazed with a deadly mixture of amusement and irritation. Then, he whirled around and kicked Boden in the gut hard enough to send him spiraling backward. He crashed into the charred remains of a firepit, groaning.

“Father!” Astrid charged toward the murderous alpha, and for a moment, Erec stopped breathing. As Jerrick’s blade cut through the air, she crouched low, sliding across the mud and slush, before popping up on the other side of him with her father behind her back and her spear back in her hand again. Before Jerrick could even register what had happened, she whacked him hard on the side of the face with the blunt end of the staff. Blood spouted from the new gash across his cheek.

He stepped back, stunned, and touched a finger to the wound. When he saw the blood, his delight quickly transformed into utter disgust.

“Bitch!” Jerrick spat, lifting his broadsword high. He closed the distance between them in two giant steps. Astrid shifted back closer to her father and held out her spear to block the coming hit.

Come on! Come on! Almost there! Erec continued to shove and fight his way through the mayhem. He was close now. Only feet away.

As the sword came down on her, Erec leaped forward, pinning himself between his new family and his blood father. His blade crossed with Jerrick’s, stopping it mid-blow.

Surprise flashed across the alpha’s face again but only briefly. “Step aside, son,” he growled out through a clenched jaw. His black eyes glowed eerily iridescent in the night’s blue light. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

Erec winced at the word “son,” hating the way it sounded coming from the monster’s lips. Not only that, but Astrid had heard it as well. He could feel her confusion fluttering across the bond between them.

Now she knew what he was—the son to a killer. A madman.

He’d been hoping to keep that part of him a secret for a long time. He didn’t want anyone knowing the truth about the blood running through his veins. Especially her. Who knew what she would think of him now? A mate related to the murderous alpha, the man responsible for the death of her brother? How could she ever see him as anything else? How could she love him?

This must have been Jerrick’s plan all along. He knew what he had said; he’d chosen his words with a purpose. He wanted to rile Erec up. He wanted to cause doubt between him and the pack he was fighting to protect. He wanted him to lose his composure.

A whirlwind of anger and hatred for the man rolled inside him and his inner wolf snarled viciously, wanting out, but Erec wasn’t going to give Jerrick that satisfaction. If he was going to beat this lunatic, it had to be at his own game. Like with the surprise attack, he had to use his tricks against him.

He didn’t know much about this man, but what he did know for sure was that Jerrick didn’t like being challenged. Why else would he want to take down all other alphas? He’d struck Eva when she went against his word. He’d abandoned his own son when he was defiant.

Jerrick wanted to eliminate any possible interference first, get rid of anyone or anything standing in his way. So what did that mean? Erec was going to have to do just that—become the threat.

Using all his strength, he shoved against his and Jerrick’s intersected swords, forcing him to step back. He did it again, even harder, pushing him back a few more feet.

Jerrick’s gaze narrowed on him and a growl rumbled from his throat. “You’re playing with fire, Erec,” he warned. “Step aside. This isn’t your fight.”

“It became my fight the moment you killed Mikel. And threatened the west-side pack.” He swung his sword, and this time, when Jerrick blocked, disbelief ran across the alpha’s expression.

The sound of metal striking metal reverberated against his eardrums. Every time Erec whirled the blade, Jerrick met his jab. And with each strike, his confusion became more evident, as if he had been expecting Erec to withdraw or admit a joke, but neither came.

The sharp edge of Jerrick’s weapon caught Erec’s knuckles, slicing deep—a warning for him to stop—and although the pain of it was quick and momentarily stunning, he wouldn’t let it slow him down.

Why was Jerrick giving him so many chances to back down from the fight? Especially when he’d been ruthless in killing and hurting so many others? Why? It didn’t make sense.

Their swords clashed again.

“You’re stronger than I thought,” Jerrick said, a slippery smile capturing his thin lips. “You survived all these years on your own. You escaped the cage. And you can fight. I’m impressed.”

Blood ran down Erec’s hand, making his palm slippery and his grip on the sword looser. He kept the pain of the wound off his face and stabbed at him again.

Jerrick dodged with ease. “Everything I did for you was to make you strong. Resilient. Like me,” he said, and Erec got the answer he’d been waiting for. He still wanted his son to rule by his side. Maybe even take over his legacy when he was gone, so that all his victories could be kept in his bloodline.

No way.

Jerrick twisted the sword as if it weighed nothing. “You must know that if this continues, it can only end one way.”

“Yes,” he growled, “with you dead.”

Jerrick laughed hard, throwing his head back—that terrible, nerve-grating laugh Erec hated. Then, he stopped abruptly, and something primal sparked in his eyes. His voice dropped dangerously low. “We’ll see.”

The moment those words left his mouth, he leaped at Erec, his swipes unpredictable and incredibly fast. No more warnings. Jerrick was out for blood now.

With every block, Erec’s bones rattled underneath his skin. It took everything he had to keep the blade from meeting its targets—his shoulder, neck, hip.

Swerving to escape another of Jerrick’s stabs, he was too slow and the cool metal pierced him between the ribs. He stumbled, agony propelling through him. But as he tried to regain his composure, a punch connected with his jaw. His vision blurred, and the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth.

Jerrick’s laughter exploded against his eardrums. It blared over all other sounds, even the crescendo of thunder and rain.

As Erec struggled to stand upright again and lift his sword, a whoosh of air blew past his ear. Jerrick’s resounding chortles stopped aburptly, and when he looked up, he saw the spear jutting out of the alpha’s chest, just shy of his heart. He staggered, dropping his sword, his eyes wide with horror.

Someone seized Erec’s arm, and he turned to see Astrid standing there, her cheeks flushed from fear. One of her father’s axes was in her hand now. “He’s too quick!” she gasped, trying to pull Erec back. “I missed!”

Jerrick roared with fury. He tried to yank the spear out of his flesh, but the tip was embedded too deep. Instead, he tore at his clothes, ripping them off just as black fur sprouted out of every pore. Bones cracked and muscles bunched and reformed. His face lengthened into a snout and massive jaws. He lurched forward on all four legs, and the spear’s staff snapped in two, sending wood flying. With its ears pinned back, it snarled, revealing rows of sharp yellow fangs.

Jerrick the man was no more. They were staring into the menacing onyx eyes of a savage two-hundred-pound beast.

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