Alpha King's Mate

60. Begin

Zachary's POV
Four Weeks Later

I dragged myself up to my feet from the pit of mud and entrails, covered in their residue.

     War was not a pretty thing.

     People in the distance were screaming, crying. Medics were attending to the injured, and the uninsured were attending to the dead. Around me there were hundreds and hundreds of bodies, both wolves and men, bloodied and broken. I kept my eyes on the wet, sloppy dirt beneath my feet and made my way from the scene. 

     My heart was pounding in my chest. I had nearly died today. This was not a duel or a sparring exercise, it was real life. I had been facing off with an uninflected rogue, claws bared, digging into flesh and fur. It had me pinned to the floor, teeth bared and desperately advancing to any appendage that could be torn, and as it reached for my leg I ripped the rogue's throat out and was sprayed with its blood.

     My wolf howled in victory, meaning to encourage my men, but it proved to be a near-fatal mistake. Sensing who I was from my howl, every rogue around me turned, and advanced. Their objective the entire battle had been to kill as many of us as possible, but the second they knew who I was, their objective changed, almost as if they each had been equipped with an ear-piece, giving them orders in tandem.  They all came at me in an instant and if I had been alone, I wouldn't have made it. No wonder our scouts never stood a chance.

     Our base was a series of tents arranged in an open field just outside of the battleground, the first few rows were in the process of being rebuilt as I walked between them. Some of the men stopped building and bowed their heads as I passed. I waived a hand at them to signal they could continue their work, but everyone I passed reacted similarly. I huffed.

     I marched toward my tent at the center of camp. It was the largest, with not only sleeping quarters, but also meeting space for my generals and I. I swatted the linen it was made of aside as I entered only to be met with those generals. Some of them looked like I did, dirty and war-torn, the others not as much.

     Everyone stood up and bowed their heads, giving the usual muttering of "Your Grace", "My King", "Your Highness". But, what struck me was my best friend and Beta, Griffin, standing by my seat at the head of the table, his hand draped over a map we had all been surveying before the battle began. His head was also bowed in submission, but he looked clean. I growled and strode toward him. "Get enough sleep, pretty boy?"

     He looked up, his brow furrowed. "Your Highness?"

     I tugged at his pristine white button-down, which looked as if it had been freshly ironed. "Spotless. You're completely spotless. Did you or did you not sleep through the battle? In your warm tent while hundreds of men gave their lives outside? Was it cozy?"

     His gaze sunk but his back straightened. "I bathed after the battle, Sire."

    I scoffed, looking him up and down. Must have been some bath. I ran a hand across my face roughly and pulled it back to examine. It was covered in dirt and a surprising  amount of fresh, red blood. My face must have been scratched, and the pain combined with all of my other injuries. I was in a lot of it, everywhere, but I couldn't let anyone see it, not until this was all over.

     I showed him my hand. "I should have thought of that while I was digging General Presley's body out from the ditch the rogues threw her in."

     He flinched, but said nothing. Smart.

     I pushed past him and sunk into my chair with a huff, my tired muscles grateful for the rest.

     "Tell me," I told them all, and they took their seats, Griffin at my right hand, looking like a shameful child, which matched his made-up appearance.