Head Wolf

Chapter 15

Blenda POV

Can one ever be prepared for death?
Blenda’s heart thrashed in her chest as the hollow eyes of the barrels fired at them. She couldn’t discern the silent bullets in the darkness, but her flesh tore, and her paws gave up under her.

The combat boots stomped the ground as the soldiers marched towards the exit, raising puffs of dust and rage, and leaving nothing behind but death hovering over shallow breaths, and over wounds that might never heal.

Grunts and moans became language in that dark tunnel. A language that could mean salvation as it could mean demise. Even silence was unintelligible.

Blenda jolted up from her sleep, panting. The smell of chemicals was her first reminder that she was no longer in the tunnels, then the fluorescent light and the clean room with two occupied human beds. The dog bed next to hers was empty.

She took a deep breath that was cut short by a coughing fit. Her wound was stitched and healing, but the uncertainty of her friends’ destiny cut her chest open.

A sudden rumble of wheels and a tumult of people pushing a stretcher drew Blenda closer to the door left ajar, but she couldn’t see them as they were already gone. She squeezed her way out to a small lobby that was in itself a war zone. People lay on the chairs and on the floor while the short-handed medical staff raced against time and reason.

Bile rose in Blenda's muzzle. She ran outside and slumped against a pillar, whimpering. The bodies, the blood, the injustice of it all were too familiar. Are they still alive? Did they get help?

She now knew it was the mate bond that pulled her out of the tunnels. She didn’t know at the time why she left everyone behind.

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

Blenda dashed in the maze of corridors searching for something she couldn’t name, then an explosion went off. She ran into its direction until her mate's scent, tinged with blood, hit her. Dread clutched her body in a cold grip. With wide eyes and a dry mouth, she tiptoed behind the scent, but another explosion sent her beast into action. Despite the doubt, the confusion, and the broken trust, her race against time and reason began.

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

Growls rose over her memories. She jerked her head towards the courtyard while tremor rocked her body. A majestic black wolf launched at the man she had seen in the tunnel. His clothes were now torn. His stance was not as confident. His hair was matted with blood.

A light fog hung over the heads, concealing the scene from the oblivious world. The knights of the blue army, however, abandoned their tasks and stood in reverence as their king delivered his punishment. The glaring contrast between the unscathed black wolf and the man who fell in a heap of whimpers, made it laughable to call it a fight. Julius shifted into his stronger form. The wolf rose on his paws as steady as a dying beast could be. Not far from him, sat the last four soldiers of his army, chained.

Blenda couldn’t see their faces as she sneaked behind them, and she wouldn’t have cared if she could—she had an oath to honor.

Her belly graced the debris, when she crept as silent as the promises she kept repeating to her beast. A breeze brought the rogues’ scents to her, teasing her mind with images of the tunnels, but a gleam caught her gaze before she got lost in the memory.

Traitor.

She launched at the prisoner the moment his hand was out of his boots. Her teeth sunk into his arm, sending the silver dagger clattering. He shrieked and fell on his back like a snack. She smirked. What do you know? Unarmed and vulnerable was her favorite flavor. The snack tilted his head and surrendered, knowing he couldn’t beg for mercy from her. He had stolen it all when he pulled the trigger at her friends.

No mercy for traitors.

Her beast growled as the millstone of its wrath ground the four prisoners in the only manner justice could be served—souls for souls.

A howl shook the ground under Blenda, causing her own howl to erupt towards the sky as a last apology to her fallen friends and a last goodbye.

“…have done.” The king’s sombre voice cut through her eulogy. The words were lost on her, but the reprimand in them was easily guessed. She would proudly bear the consequences of her actions. With her head held high, she turned to the king and sat squarely like a soldier for his reward ceremony. What met her eyes was neither berating nor festive. It was eerie like a scene lost in a lapse of memory while the world kept spinning in its orbit. The sun didn’t shine, and the fog didn’t dissipate. Everything in the courtyard was a wreck including the people. Everyone was dead, even the ones who survived. Death, it appeared, could take many forms, not all of them caused breathing to cease.

Amidst it all, stood Arthur, towering over his kill, lofty, unapologetic—like she'd never seen him—with storms for eyes on an otherwise stoic face. His body spoke of victory, but his soul encased defeat.

With his eyes fixed on her, he whispered, “Omar is…dead.” His words were not directed at her, but the pain in them was.
And through the croak of his voice, she saw the boy she came to know, who wore his heart on his sleeves.

In the distance, the dented gate groaned when it was pushed shut. A corpse was dragged to the middle of the courtyard and was thrown on a pile of humans. Blenda didn’t break eye contact with Arthur, and the king didn’t seem to hear what was said.

“Meeting in the command room after sunset.” Was the king’s gruff reply as he gave them his back and sauntered away. “And bring that mate of yours with you.”