We Walk As Wolves

Chapter 29

Cass

Cass woke to a soft grunt, followed by a few quiet whimpers.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking away the blurriness that came with dreams, then turned toward the boy lying in the cot next to him. Dells's face was contorted, the bunched blankets damp beneath his fists.

Nightmare.

Cass rose from the cot on silent feet, debated if it was wise to move any closer. Dells was a hunter; he slept lightly with a knife beneath his pillow. Maybe three. If he startled, Cass knew it wouldn't matter who's skin it was when the blade sank in.

But his body moved before he had the chance to make a proper decision, and he lightly stroked the damp hair from Dells's forehead, the way he used to do with Bella back in London's cold alleyways. He pulled his fingers away and held his breath, but Dells never woke. Instead, his features softened under Cass's touch, his head sinking deeper into the pillow.

He still slept with his back to the wall, his body rigid, like he'd have to snap awake and fight an entire army alone, but he was sleeping. Cass was satisfied with that.

Until the grunt came again.

Cass studied Dells's face, waited for a crinkle in his skin, a twitch in his mouth, but Cass's touch had eased him deeper into sleep, lips parted, slow breaths trailing out with each rise of his chest.

A deep sound, like something clearing its throat, slipped through the walls of the hutch. Cass turned away from Dells, sliding the sword into his palm with a careful sweep of his fingers. His pulse thrummed wildly against the cold pommel.

Then came the scream. A child's scream.

Howls erupted from the tree, and within moments the village rocked and pulsed like a breathing beast as the pulleys whirred to life. Panicked voices drowned out the sound of Dells's soft breathing.

"Hurry!"

"Where is he?"

"They dragged him off that way!"

Cass raced to the small window, tilting his body out of it until his head spun. The boys raced down the tree, one after another like ants on a log, dropping to the ground with the tips of their spears raised to the dark sky.

Cass jumped back as River landed on the window's sill, a dirty white rope clenched tight in his muddy hands. "Get down here, now. Both of you."

"What -"

"No time," the child interrupted, shaking his head. "Hurry. And bring anything with a sharp end."

With a snap of the rope, the child dropped off the edge of the window. Cass whirled around, digging his feet into the boots by the edge of his bed. "Dells," he called, pulling on a shirt. "Dells, wake up. We have to go."

The boy in the other cot didn't stir, and Cass cursed himself for swapping the drinks. He hurried over to him, patting the bare skin on Dells's shoulder. "Come on, buddy." Another scream. Cass recognized the curse that followed behind. Reed's. "Dells, we have to move now."

Dells moaned, but sank deeper into the pillow, wrapping his arms around it in a tightening embrace. With a quick breath and a desperate prayer that he wouldn't get himself shot, Cass lowered the tip of his sword and sliced Dells's forearm.

Dells lurched upright, a knife in both hands before his feet hit the floor, eyes glossy and still so lost in whatever world he'd been dreaming of. The broken wheezes spilling from his lips told Cass it hadn't been a pleasant one.

He held up his hands, backing toward the door leading out of the hutch. "Dells, its me. It's Cass."

He stared at him blankly, like he'd never seen him before. "Cass?"

"It's just me."

Cass watched as he looked around him, gaping at the tree, then at the cut on his arm. Time they didn't have. Cass pushed open the door with his heel. "Buddy, we gotta go."

Another piercing scream echoed through the village. Cass watched as the Dells he knew slipped back into his body at the sound that followed after - a deep, guttural growl that came from the throat of only one beast on the island. Without another glance at Cass, Dells was out the door.

"How many are there?" he called out as they swung themselves down the tree branch by trembling branch.

"No idea," Cass answered a few steps behind.

"Just as helpful as always, aren't you, Cassy?" Dells snarled as he released his hold on the branch and plunged down the last six feet.

The moment their boots hit the forest floor, Poe was at their side. Blood, drool, and the smell of wolves coated his skin like expired cologne. In his hand, he held his broken spear.

"What's going on?" Cass asked him as Dells handed over one of his knives.

Poe threw aside the split spear and took the blade. Hidden behind the thick trunk of the tree, Cass saw nothing but his two friends, but he could hear the rest, their loud shrieks from the other side. "It's hell out there. Wolves, an entire pack of them."

Something slipped over Dells's eyes, a thick mask that hid any humanity Cass had ever found in him. He looked like a war-ridden solider, a man who had fought desperately before and had no intention of losing again. "How many down?"

Poe shook his head. "We lost Bodhi, but the rest are holding. For how much longer, I don't know."

"Finch?" Cass asked. "Cedar? Bear?"

"Safe. For now," Poe said. "They're still up in the tree. Fig's with them."

Without another word, Dells stepped toward the screams. "Poe, grab the smaller boys and help the wounded. Get them as far up into the tree as you can." With a nod, he disappeared. Cass marched after Dells, sticking close to his side, grip tight on the sword. "Cass, you and me - shoulder to shoulder and back to back. We don't let anything close or through."

Cass winced at the next scream, then found Dells's foreign eyes. They steadied something in him, and he raised his sword, watching the moon's crimson light skitter across the blade. "We don't let anything live."

With a wide smile, Dells clapped him on the shoulder. "I think I see a bit of Equal in you after all."

Though his legs moved steady beneath him, his spine ramrod straight, Cass's heart still stumbled as they walked out onto the battlefield. Chaos had claimed the village. The boys were fighting, screaming and bleeding, and the wolves were still pooling out from the surrounding forest. Already, they were up against two dozen.

"Swords up, boys!" Dells shouted as he marched onto the battlefield, and Cass caught the way the Lost Ones' eyes brightened at the sound of his voice, the relief in their faces when they saw him join the fight. "Let's show these bastards why we came."

Cass walked beside him, shoulder to shoulder, readying his sword. He tightened his hand around the hilt, to keep the courage and the bravery he'd fought so desperately for from slipping through his fingers.

You're ready.

Cass jumped and whirled, searching for who the whisper had belonged to. But the only things he found were the stings from a sharp gust of wind that had swept through his hair. Was he ready?

He was thin, fragile, soft-boned. Would always rather fix a problem than draw blood from it.

Comity does not equate weakness.

When it came to Bella, to the boys, to Dells - for them, his soft hands could easily become fists. His selfless devotion could become shields. Not a hero, not quite - the island had no place for that - but a warrior for certain. Someone who did not succumb to hatred and violence and revenge, but stood somewhere between all that and those they loved.

Cass turned back to the wolves. Their thick dark coats rendered them nearly invisible in the blanket of night, but their eyes were beacons, glowing like white lights against their rich black frames. When he looked closer, he recognized the resemblance between their eyes and the moon. His moon. London's moon.

Something about it sent a current of calm through his veins. Cass had been raised on nightmares. Had been taught how to fight by a boy who knew nothing but bloodshed and treachery and war. Had survived alone on London's streets.

He was ready.