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

Despite the protests rising around him, Cyrus barks, “No! I’ve done enough damage to you all. I will not be the reason you cannot find freedom. Get out of here while you can; leave me to my fate.”

***

A lump grows in my throat, threatening to choke the air out of my lungs as we approach the dilapidated House of Vultures. The second story is completely wiped away, and most of the first floor’s charred, broken walls are holey. The house looks like it could blow over if I breathed a single breath over the right support beam. And despite all the horrors I faced in this place, sorrow wells in my heart to see my old home in such disrepair.

“It’s not home, Iris. It’s a house. Don’t romanticize it,” Siri grumbles, circling overhead as she scans the ground for any signs of danger.

“I know,” I choke, wiping a tear off my cheek. “But this awful house is also the last place where Warbler and Hawk’s footsteps echoed through the halls. I can still smell her cooking deer stew, and if I close my eyes, I almost can make out the details of the pheasant feather arrangement she placed over the kitchen door. The tune she’d hum while she worked still haunts my ears, Siri. And Hawk…. Oh…!” My words die as grief rips through my insides so strongly I fear I will vomit. “How do I move on from their memories, Siri?”

“By focusing on the task at hand. We’re here for Cyrus; that’s all,” Suryc demands, slamming hard into the ground as if the jerking motion can somehow knock reason back into my mind. “But we’re too late.”

“What do you mean?” I demand, startled to find myself apprehensive as I await her response. “Cyrus? Is he dead?” Shouldn’t I feel relief? Why does the thought of his demise fill me with regret?

“No, they’ve just moved on,” Siri replies, sniffing the ground in a manner that reminds me of an old bloodhound that used to come begging at our door. He’d pawed a hole in the screen one evening when his hunger had overpowered his fears. Hawk took pity on the poor beast and fed him every evening until he stopped showing up. I never realized how much I missed that dog until now, I admit, trying to keep my chin from wobbling and betraying my weakness to my Ddraig. Judging by her brusque behavior toward me, Siri would not handle more of my tears well.

“Been a while since the pack left, I think.” Siri straightens once more, one claw extended toward the door. If she saw glimpses of the ghosts that haunt me through our mental connection, she does not comment about it. “Go into the living room in there and tell me what you see.”

“Why?” I wonder, hesitating to move until Siri explains. “If they’re not here, shouldn’t we get going and try to find them as soon as possible? If Cyrus is in as much trouble as you say, then—”

“You need to see what Cyrus has endured in his efforts to follow your orders. And you need to realize that your Wolf allowed it all to happen.” Siri pauses, leaning down to my eye level. “I’m sorry. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s necessary. You’ve got to understand that Wolf is not your ally anymore, and you’ve got to prepare yourself for what you’ll find when we reach Cyrus.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with Cyrus?” I demand, fear freezing my feet in place as I wait for a response.

“He…he’s losing himself,” Siri confesses, turning her reproachful, judgmental eyes on me. “His mind is breaking under the tortures he’s faced. You need to understand that the Cyrus you remember is fading away.”

“And you want me to take responsibility for that too, right? I mean, it’s all my fault. That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it?” My throat dries up with Siri’s silence, and I know my words were truth.

My feet are filled with lead as I trudge up the broken staircase, dodging splintered, rotten boards that are barely able to hold my weight. They creak and screech with every step I take, the sounds almost like groans of delight. An original, elite member of the House of Vultures has returned, the place seems to whisper. A chill raises gooseflesh on my arms as I step inside.

There is blood everywhere, splattering the walls and what’s left of the ceiling, staining the floors, and pooling on the exposed fluff in the couch cushions. “All of this cannot have come from Cyrus; he’d be dead ten times over by now,” I exclaim, feeling my stomach gurgling in revulsion. A dark, viscous puddle oozes on the floor, and I swear I almost can see it shivering, like it’s unsuccessfully trying to take a solid shape. “The whole place smells of death.”

“The Vibría took many shapes. Some of this blood is from that monster’s magic, and some is indeed Cyrus’s. He was forced to watch you, Hawk, and many others he cares about die over and over again, in addition to the torture his own body faced,” Siri explains gently from her place outside. “Suryc kept me appraised of his situation, and I’ve tried to shelter you from it as much as I can.”

His mind must be tattered to ribbons. I’ll be amazed if there is anything recognizable in his spirit and soul at all. Regret paws its way into my heart, clawing and gouging my feelings like a dog relentlessly digging up an old bone. I caused him this pain. I’m the one who sent him here. It’s all my fault! “How did he survive this?” I wonder, my blood chilling in my veins.

“He thought of you,” Siri replies, her voice soft and small to my ears. “Only you.”

Siri’s words shatter the few remaining shreds of my resolve as she pours a few of her shared memories with Suryc into my