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

away the memories of his father’s screams. He was a cruel, wicked man to me, but even he doesn’t deserve this. Another crack of the whip forces Cyrus to shrink away.

Hawk wails as another lash tears open on his chest, a bloody mark that eerily resembles the scar Cyrus hides under his own shirt. “I know I was weak, and I know that I did wrong. Please, just stop this! Please, don’t hurt me anymore.” Blood bursts from his nose as an invisible hand breaks it. Hawk’s head falls back at an unnatural angle, turning so that his eyes can bore into Cyrus’s tortured soul. “Did you hate me this much? Really?” Hawk whimpers, his jaw covered with purplish bruises and clicking unnaturally as he cries. “Why are you letting them hurt me? Why don’t you care?”

Every detail is painstakingly accurate, Cyrus notices as Hawk’s form thrashes under another pummeling blow. The sound of his voice becomes like a giant hand, gripping hard on Cyrus’s spine. Hawk’s wails are physically painful to him with each gut-wrenching plea.

“Son, I always loved you,” Hawk whines, a broken hand reaching up as though Cyrus can offer mercy or reprieve. “You were always so special to me.” He screams as his fingers arch backward until they break. “Please! You were always my favorite!”

Cyrus closes his eyes, but the hand clenching his spine seems to rake its nails over his nerves, forcing him to endure every moment fully awake and aware. Even worse, nothing can blot out the sounds of Hawk’s final moments. An invisible knife rips across Hawk’s throat, blood drenching Cyrus’s knees. The horrible, guttural final sigh of death, the dilated pupils, the clammy skin that slowly fades to ashen gray. Cyrus feels his mentality quivering as his memories play out before him once more. He accuses me, even in death! I see him crying, wondering why I’d abandon him to this pain.

Cyrus! It’s not Hawk! You know this! Remember— Suryc’s voice breaks into his Cadogan’s mind. Cyrus can feel the pressure of his Ddraig’s words. It’s like an iron door has been built between them, and Suryc’s just thrown all his weight onto it, budging the heavy frame just enough to whisper a few comforting lines before it slams back into place. As quickly as Suryc’s presence comes, it is gone.

Was it even real? Did I hear Suryc’s voice, or was it all in my head? Wishful thinking or reality? Cyrus debates as he eyes the ground. Hawk’s body changes immediately, this time becoming a fourteen-year-old version of Iris. She was beautiful then, even in her mask. She was pure as the snowy-white hairs on her head. And those piercing eyes that always seemed to shift from sparkling sapphires to the palest of blues. She was as turbulent as the skies, and I loved her even then.

Iris’s eyes grow wide, her hands suddenly stained with blood. She hyperventilates, her shoulders shaking as she cries, “I didn’t want to kill him, Condor! Why did you have to do this? You wanted power or revenge or whatever so badly—but why did I have to be the one? Why did you make me have to kill Hawk?” Her voice, so shrill with her emotions, manages to strike a blow to Cyrus’s heart that’s far deeper than any he’s endured on his flesh. Tears pour down his cheeks as he watches her grief. “I loved him, Condor! He was like a father to me!”

“I’m sorry,” Cyrus replies, his voice cracking. I did this—I stole my beautiful Iris’s purity. She’s broken and stained because of me. An image appears in Cyrus’s thoughts so quickly he cannot tell if it originated in his own nightmares. A delicate iris blossom falls to the ground, its silky lavender petals coated in mud. Then, Cyrus’s boot heel slams into the bloom, crushing and grinding it under his toe. When he lifts his foot, Iris’s mangled body lies there in the mud, her mouth popping open in anguish. My delicate flower. I’m so sorry I’ve ruined you.

“You stole what little innocence I still had; do you know that?” Iris confirms his deepest fears as she slinks closer, wrapping her hands tightly around Cyrus’s throat. “First Hawk, then Creeper! Every heartless, cruel thing I have done is directly connected to you!”

“I know,” Cyrus chokes on the words as she squeezes. His head throbs in desperation, his lungs begging him to breathe. Just do it, Cyrus begs, staring into Iris’s furious, beautiful face. Save yourself any more pain and end it all. Yet even as he thinks the words, Cyrus feels guilt festering in the scars of his previous hurts. It’ll only cause her to lose more of herself if she kills me. In the end, the guilt of my death would not release her; it would only cripple her further. I’d be another face that would forever haunt her dreams. She doesn’t deserve that! “Iris, don’t do it!” Cyrus gasps, hoping his words stay her hands. “Please—”

“If I kill you now, it only adds to my record of unforgivable sins,” Iris sneers, pressing her fingernails into Cyrus’s skin until they draw blood. “But I could handle it, I think. It might even be seen as vengeance, payment for the hell you’ve put me through.”

“Don’t do it,” Cyrus wheezes, clenching his eyes tight as he waits, accepting whatever fate she chooses for him.

She chose her name because she liked the uniqueness of the iris flower. Suryc’s voice filters through the Vibría’s hateful words filling Cyrus’s mind. They are an anchor to his soul, a tiny gasp of air that brings stillness and clarity. Only the voice of his Ddraig manages to calm the trembling of Cyrus’s nerves. She’s afraid of the water, but she’s never told anyone that. Crossing the River Sangre to get to the Pith was one of the hardest trials she’s had to endure. She told Siri that the only reason she made it across was because she made that