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

bones and toast it for my dinner. You’ll be screaming for death…and then I’ll let Mynah take a turn.”

Cyrus wails as Wolf’s fingers crush into his neck, attempting to close off the artery in his throat. The attack makes Cyrus’s blood begin to pulse, throbbing uncontrollably and painfully into his ears. He feels his face grow warm as his breathing begins to get shallow. Writhing is futile as he strains his neck in an effort to get away from Wolf’s touch. “Please—”

“You’ll die a hundred different ways before I allow your final sleep! I know your true name, remember? I will recreate the binds in our minds, giving you my healing and strength just so I can break you a thousand times over,” Wolf exclaims as dark spots threaten to overtake Cyrus’s vision. Wolf releases him right before he passes out, clapping in time with his brother’s hacking coughs. “I think I’ll leave you for now; let the carrion eaters have their way with you tonight.”

Lancing pains pulse through Cyrus’s head with every heartbeat, accompanied by flashes of green and yellow in his vision. He barely hears his brother’s words as his breathing slowly returns to normal. As he calms down, the view of the empty gravel road reappears in Cyrus’s sight.

Say the word, and I will get you free.

Tilting his head toward his left shoulder, Cyrus can barely glimpse the woods and their hidden depths. The long cast shadows are a small mercy in the fading light, yet Cyrus can still find his Ddraig in a matter of seconds. Suryc’s gleaming eyes draw his attention immediately, his elongated teeth shining as if they catch the last whispers of breath from the dying light.

Let me help you, Cadogan.

Cyrus does not answer, and instead drops his head against his chest. The smell of Falcon’s decay overwhelms him. Shadows circle lower, some of the braver scavengers landing on the ground and hopping over to Falcon’s exposed feet. A moan escapes Cyrus’s lips at the sound of the vultures’ beaks digging into her body. The hollow clack of them against her bones nearly drives Cyrus mad with revulsion. Howls of coyotes in the fields behind the house alert him to other predators that will soon come to claim a fresh, easy meal. Wolf can’t torture me if I’m dead, Cyrus repeats to himself even as he struggles against the binds. Maybe the coyotes and vultures are preferable. One slow death or a hundred times over? Maybe I should just let the beasts finish me off now.

Iris’s face drifts through his mind’s eye, a frown pulling at her lips as she reprimands him. Are you so weak, so foolish, and so pitiful that you’d give up your life at the first whisper of trouble? Grow a pair, Cyrus! Fight back!

“Go on! Get out of here!” A familiar voice hisses as a darkly clad phantom approaches from the forest’s edge. Swiping a large branch at the vultures, the figure soon clears Falcon’s body of any scavengers. “What kind of fool are you, Condor? Why would you come back here?” the man demands, his clever eyes boring into his former leader’s face.

“Wren! My gods, am I glad to see you,” Cyrus cries in relief, a pounding headache replacing the stars in his sight. Yet as Wren begins to unfasten the binds around his wrists, Cyrus commands him to stop.

“You can’t be serious, Condor! Let me get you free!” Wren protests, his fingers slipping on the traitor binds.

“Move Falcon’s body instead, Wren. Most of the animals will be drawn to her rotten scent. Get her away from me, and that will remove the worst of the danger,” Cyrus explains his wishes, his voice quivering. “I need to stay here with Wolf, as crazy as that sounds.” I can be strong, Cyrus declares to the mental representation of Iris still swimming in his thoughts. For Iris, I can do anything. I owe her for all the hell I put her through in the House of Vultures.

“What on earth could possibly be so important that you would choose to stay here?” Wren’s voice trails off as he scans the porch of the dilapidated house, his eyes constantly roving through his surroundings just to make certain that he is safe. He focuses on Cyrus’s grimly set jaw and realizes that his arguments are futile. Wren’s voice is a whispered resignation as he questions, “You know what he’s going to do to you, right?”

“I do,” Cyrus admits, his body already revolting at the thought of the horrors he will face at Wolf’s hand. “But if I am here, then I can keep an eye on his movements. I can still try to convince him that following the Ddraigs offers us the best chance of protecting ourselves against Déchets.”

“You’re still trying to protect Mynah, aren’t you?” Wren surmises, nodding to himself when Cyrus’s mouth falls open. “You’ve always had a soft spot for that one.”

“What makes you think I ever cared for her?” Even as Cyrus speaks the words, he hears his half-hearted attempt at deception. Rather than insult Wren by continuing to protest what he already knows, Cyrus confesses, “As a leader, I was a complete and utter fool. I truly believed that I could keep Mynah safe and free. I thought that by taking control over the house, I could shield Mynah from a little of the harshness of this life. Instead, I think I poisoned her, Wren. Everything that happened—it’s all my fault!”

“You take too much credit for the actions of others, Condor,” Wren offers his advice sagely, shaking his head as he emphasizes his claims. “Hard as you might try, you cannot control what everyone else does or the consequences that follow. Surely you—and Mynah for that matter—can see that!”

Cyrus bows his head low under the weight of his own guilt. “Despite everything that happened, Mynah needs my help now. I will not fail her again.” Trying not to thrash against the traitor bonds, Cyrus stifles