The Ashes Wake

Chapter 17: Romulus

ROMULUS
"This is the second Unregistered documented this year. The criminal is female, with entirely light features. Her hair is fine and flaxen and her skin radiates gold. Before capture, she had been involved with the Circle Reign, the filthy scum. Many believe the criminal to originate from Darkterra. I think she has come from somewhere else entirely."

Records Keeper of the Kingdom
4289 Year, Novus Season

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Rom felt sick. His packmates would never listen to him if he told them he'd taken on a Blood Pack shadow wolf by himself and lived. Even worse, he'd have to tell them that war was coming to the forest.

Rom needed to inform Armina but she was already out for his throat and it would give her the chance she wanted if he delivered the information to her. As thick blood ran from his underbelly, he couldn't even bring himself to laugh at the situation.

Damon had left him in the quiet of the forest to deliver the promise of war, and he could hardly move with his stomach streaked with claw marks. They weren't deep, but lancing pain jarred his body with the slightest movement. Rom growled and forced himself to get up. The missing nail on his right paw threw him slowly off balance, and he cursed the harsh frigus season that had taken it from him.

The past two days made him feel an outsider more than normal. Thoughts of his muddled past-the Ligna, a rickety house, and a different language-filled him with almost overwhelming despair. It was as if his own body and mind were against him, not allowing him to remember. He couldn't fit the pieces together. It was excruciating just to try.

Rom forced himself to think of other things.

A pup was missing from Blood Pack, and he was certain his own clan hadn't taken it, so who had? As the Elders said, their kind was valuable and sought after. To lose any, no matter the pack it belonged to, was a blow to the species. Rom couldn't even remember the last time something like this had happened. Perhaps it would be good to speak to the Elders again, but before that he'd have to tell Alpha Armina. He would never let the threat of war go unnoticed, even if that meant being alone with her.

Rom felt slight guilt at the ambush plan he had concocted for the only other pack in the forest-was it his fault they were so mad? So ferociously hungry for spilled blood? Would countless more shadow wolf deaths be on his conscious?

The questions stirred around in his head, and by the time he got back to camp his ears noticed too late the snarls coming from over the hill. He immediately thought that Blood Pack had already attacked, but that was impossible. Damon would've hardly made it back to his own territory so fast, and though Rom didn't know him that well, he sensed the other wolf wouldn't have done such a treacherous thing to warn him under a falsehood.

Rom pushed himself to move faster, the gashes in his stomach stretching wider. Blood spilled down, covering his hairless legs in a clammy wetness.

The snarls and yips heightened, and as he reached the crest of the hill that sat overlooking Shadow Pack camp, Rom's bone marrow chilled. It was as if all the ghosts of his past, all the bad memories were surfacing. In the middle of camp the shadow wolves had created a circle, surrounding two of their own in the middle, watching and waiting.

The last time Rom had seen such a thing was when Armina challenged Alpha Alaric to a death duel. It had been the middle of frigus and heavy, plush snow fell. When Armina had asked to fight her father, the pack wasn't surprised. Her hunger for Alpha was not a well-kept secret. But Alaric refused to attack his daughter, and even when she lunged for his throat, he'd made no movement. In the moment before Armina reached him, Alaric's eyes had sought out Rom's, who stood in the crowd of shadow wolves, tears streaking his face.