Pack of Wolves - Maggie Claire (most popular novels of all time .TXT) 📗

You have a visitor,” Wolf coos as he tugs at the last binding around Cyrus’s swollen left ankle. He carefully swings his brother’s legs over the side of the table, gently pulling him up to a standing position. Wolf has to keep his hands tightly wrapped around Cyrus’s middle, supporting the bulk of the ailing man’s weight as they prepare to walk toward the kitchen.

Dread builds in Cyrus as he stares into Wolf’s almost giddy expression. There’s an unnatural lightness in his smile, a bright gleam in his eyes that stands like a lighthouse on a stormy sea, warning wayward ships to stay away. Something’s wrong, Suryc. “Who is my visitor, Wolf?” Suryc! Did he get Iris and Siri? What is he up to?

I don’t know, Suryc declares warily, helplessly watching from the fringes of the forest for any signs of movement. Besides Wolf, no one’s come inside that I’ve seen. I’ll keep watching.

“Do you want to continue to barrage me with questions, or do you want to clean up before you see your guest?” Wolf whispers playfully, unaware of Cyrus’s conversation with his Ddraig. “Aren’t you ready for some food and a bath, brother?”

The strangeness in Wolf’s new attitude sends a shiver down Cyrus’s spine. Still, the thought of a bath is too generous a gift to refuse. “Lead on,” Cyrus answers reluctantly, stumbling as his feet scuff the rough floor boards. Weakness keeps Cyrus’s limbs from obeying his commands. Wolf practically has to carry his brother downstairs, barking orders at Lynx as he tries to turn his head as far away from Cyrus as possible, hoping to stay downwind of the smell.

One blessed hour later, after a cold bath and a meal that would have been inedible if he wasn’t starving, Cyrus sits across from Wolf, strapped into a rickety old dining chair with wobbly, uneven legs. The brothers assess each other calmly, each seeking signs of the other’s weaknesses. With Cyrus’s belly full and body clean, he can barely keep his eyes open.

After fifteen minutes of awkward silence, Wolf grins widely, his attention drawn to some unseen signal from the doorway. His face is a terrible, murderous grimace that leaves Cyrus clenching his teeth to keep from screaming in fright. “Are you ready, brother mine?”

“For what?” Cyrus questions skeptically, eyeing the door. I don’t see any anyone, Suryc.

I don’t either! Suryc shouts through their mental connection, fear radiating through their bond.

“It’s time to meet your guest of honor, of course,” Wolf scoffs, rising in anticipation. “Come in, please! You are most welcome here.”

The creature that enters the room is no larger than a child at the age of thirteen. At first glance, Cyrus assumes it is a young boy that has barely found any hairs on his chest.

“Am I supposed to know you?” Cyrus questions, searching for any signs of recognition in the boy’s face. He is pale and thin, with dirty blond hair and delicate features.

The boy does not respond immediately. Only his eyes lift to bore into Cyrus’s very soul. The depth of his stare is unnerving, Cyrus notes as he considers the child’s expression. And his pupils are like slits! What is he, Suryc? As Cyrus watches, the boy’s eyes begin to glow unnaturally bright, their green gold irises glittering like miniature suns.

Suryc suddenly howls outside, his voice carrying through Cyrus’s mind so loudly that he fears his eardrums will burst. GET AWAY FROM IT, CYRUS! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!

“Hello, Cyrus,” the creature says, and in his voice, Cyrus hears a myriad of terrifying tones. It’s as though a thousand different insects buzz to fashion the boy’s pitch, and the sound makes Cyrus’s bowels turn watery. “You asked if you should know me. Not yet. But I already know you very well.”

Cyrus stares as the creature moves closer, his body changing shape with every step. “What are you?” he wheezes, recoiling as the child’s form elongates until it is a tall, wiry man. This isn’t possible! Suryc? What is he?

Suryc does not answer these questions; he simply continues to roar and cower in the shadows, reiterating his pleas. JUST GET AWAY FROM IT, CYRUS! NOW!

“Oh, dear!” The strange voice chides as the newly formed shape drifts closer. Its movements are so smooth that it doesn’t appear to touch the ground. “You don’t get to ask me questions, Cyrus. That’s my job, I’m afraid.” The creature cocks its head to the side, clicking its tongue as it adds, “And you don’t need to talk to your Ddraig right now.”

Cyrus grimaces as what feels like a weighted blanket shutters the connection in his mind with Suryc. Suryc? SURYC! He shouts, but no reply comes from his Ddraig.

“But how did you—?” A high-pitched wail radiates in the air, and Cyrus’s muscles tighten and stretch as the sound builds. Within minutes, his body is floating over the chair that once held him captive, his arms and legs pulled in all different directions. Every joint burns as they threaten to pop out of their sockets. The agony is so unbearable that Cyrus feels himself lose control, a telling warmth spreading down his leg. “Wolf, what—?” A new pain bursts to life in his chest. The front of Cyrus’s shirt pools with blood from an unseen injury.

“Naughty boy! I said no questions,” the creature reminds, its body now turning distinctly female. Its hair fades to shock white, its features twisting until they become painfully familiar. “Now then, how do we punish such disobedience?”

It even sounds like Iris now. Cyrus whimpers as he watches the being propel itself close enough to brush his chest. It stands directly in front of Cyrus to give him a complete view of the woman that haunts his dreams. Then, as quickly as an eye’s wink, the Iris imitator twists its own neck, falling to the floor like a broken doll. The unnatural angle of the creature’s head turns so that Cyrus can stare into Iris’s pain-ridden expression. Her ice blue eyes accuse