Head Wolf

Chapter 17

Arthur POV:

As the untimely darkness concealed my surroundings, I was defenceless against my memories. The sun was yet to set, but the clouds covered the sky, anticipating the end of the day. They weren’t alone. I wished this day never happened, too.

How will I face the families who lost their fathers and sons? How can we celebrate our triumph when it was at the cost of their loss? I wish the war ends when it ends. I wish victory doesn't load down a person this much?

We lost men today. I didn’t know how many, but soon I would know the exact number, and their names, and their faces. I would remember their quirks and every single detail that made their loss more painful and them irreplaceable. I’d carry them with me like every war scar I had, and I’d remember their stories and how they ended up on me. I was not the type to forget.

I tightened my hold on Blenda, burrowing my nose in her hair, seeking a home I never had.

My little spoon fits perfectly in my arms.

The fragrance of my shampoo on her soothed my wolf, causing a whine to escape my lips. Her breathing was soft. It set the rhythm for my heart to slow down, and for me to forget—or to pretend to forget. In that moment, everything was perfect like a haven in the middle of hell.

The darkness failed to take everything away. A faint light saved the outlines of the furniture, and my memory gave it definition. Unlike Blenda’s outline. Her details were mysteries that I would love to unravel one at a time. But I wasn’t raised like that. Omar would turn in his grave if I acted on my impulse. So, no. I would go to Blenda's pack and prove myself to her and to her people as per the werewolves' tradition.

I’ll make you proud, Blenda...If I survive, that is.

The Kämpfer pack didn’t get their reputation from braiding flower crowns. Their wolves were almost feral. Their people, almost savage. My wolf stirred at the thought. How did a savage pack produce such refined flower? I wouldn’t describe Blenda as savage, not even wild. She was more grounded than I was with an incredible self discipline. Different, that was how I'd describe her. Her pack, though....

They fought human governments, endangering the treaty we had with them. They cut all ties with not only the palace, but with the civilization as a whole.

Rumor had it that they lived in wolf form eversince. Some said they went extinct. Some said they never existed. Myths were made about them: A Kämpfer wolf, not like any wolf we knew, had followed a little girl in a red riding hood to her grandmother's house, and alone he ate her, her grandmother, and the whole village of hunters.

A shiver passed through Blenda’s body, bringing my attention back to her. I pulled the comforter up to her shoulders. It was colder in my office than down in the fort.
Through the small windows, red tainted the clouds like splashes of blood, hinting at the clandestine fight, but the world didn't understand the language of signs. Unlike me. I knew nothing would be the same after this day. The real war had started when the last bullet was shot and the last person hit the ground.

But first, I pulled Blenda impossibly close. One more minute.

Soon, they’d call us to the command room. Soon, Blenda would wake up, and I'd have to be strong for her, for my king, for my nation. I heaved a long sigh as a weight pressed on my chest. She stirred, and I realized how hard I was squeezing her. I relaxed my hold, and she turned in my arms, looking at me with droopy eyes. Her hair had escaped the braid she confined it in. I brushed my fingers through it, releasing the remaining strands. They reached the middle of her back, framing her body like a halo, and I promised myself. Just one minute.