Moon Burned (The Wolf Wars Book 1) Page 17

  Ares made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat, and met our eyes one by one. “So you guys are telling me that Wolf pups—pups slated to become Dogs, specifically—have been disappearing in the dozens for the past year from every Pack, and you have absolutely no interest in why that’s happening? Where they’re going? Who’s taking them?”

  The playfulness that had been in Oren’s expression a moment ago sobered away, and he met his friend’s gaze with deadly seriousness. “Those kinds of questions will get you killed,” Oren said, his voice equally quiet. He glanced around, making sure that no one in the tavern was paying our little group any particular attention. Then, he added, “If what you say is true, all we can hope is that whoever is taking the little bastards is caring for them properly, and that they’ll get to live better lives than this…” He gestured around us, as if to encompass everything. “That’s where my involvement in the matter ends.” Oren made sure to look at each of us. “If there are brains in those heads of yours, that’s where your involvement would end, too.”

  Ares held up a finger. “But not all the disappearances have been un-collared pups,” he said. “Some of them have been branded, collared… full grown Dogs.” His eyes darted around at all of us, looking as though he wasn’t sure we were hearing him. “Don’t you understand what that means? It means there must be a way to remove these damn collars, and to go beyond the reach of the Masters and Hounds.”

  Oren slammed his hand down atop the table between us hard enough to make Kalene, Ares, and myself jump an inch off our barstools. In fact, the whole tavern paused for a moment and looked in our direction. “There’s no way and no place,” Oren growled, baring his straight white teeth, his usually calm and handsome face twisting into something fearsome.

  The other tavern patrons around us went back to their own business as utter silence fell between the four of us. A lump had formed in my throat, and I took a swig of cheap moonshine in an attempt to wash it down. The subject dropped after that, though it was obvious that Ares let it do so begrudgingly.

  I understood both of the males’ positions, and what it came down to was this; Ares was a slave who still held hope that there was a better life awaiting him, while Oren was a slave whose only remaining hope was taking the cards he’d been dealt and making the best of them. As a slave myself, I couldn’t blame either for feeling their respective ways. Gods knew I’d fallen on both sides of that line at varying points in my existence. It was a hard life, and we dealt with it the best we could.

  Still, the tense exchange had managed to spoil the mood, and since we had to be at The Cliffs bright and early the next morning, our group left the tavern shortly after. But when Oren and Kalene split off to go to their respective sleeping quarters, Ares hung back a bit. I noticed that he’d been watching me closely tonight, and I tried to slip away to my cave, but he stopped me.

  “Hold up a minute, Rook,” Ares said, jogging to catch up with me. He was one of the very few who called me by my name, rather than Bear-killer, and I appreciated this… but I had a feeling that whatever he wanted to say, I didn’t really want to hear.

  Or maybe it was more that I was afraid to hear it. Afraid of what I might do with whatever information he was going to share with me.

  “I’m pretty beat, Ares,” I told him. “So make it quick.”

  His light brown eyes studied my face closely enough that I had to remind myself not to squirm. “It’s true, everything I said,” he began.

  I only looked at him, not sure what to say to that.

  In a whisper, Ares added, “Someone is freeing those Wolves, and that means there must be a place beyond the reach of the Hounds and Masters… And a way to remove these collars.”

  Still, I said nothing.

  Ares let out a puff of air, keeping his voice low with some effort. “The adult Dogs who went missing… it happened right here—in Marisol.” He gripped the black collar that hung around his muscular, light brown neck. “That means the answer to removing these could be here. All we have to do is find it.”

  When still I remained silent, Ares tossed up his hands.

  “Okay,” I said. “I hear you… but why are you telling me this? What am I supposed to do about it?”

  These were reasonable questions, and they served duel purposes. For one, I was curious as to why he’d continue this conversation with me, rather than Kalene, when I was pretty sure the two had been sleeping together. And, secondly, I needed to know if he somehow knew about my involvement in the disappearance of those six puppies a week ago; if he somehow knew my secrets.

  “Because,” Ares said, “you saw the way Oren reacted. I can’t talk to him about it, and Kalene… she doesn’t want to hear about it, either. She’s afraid I’ll just get myself killed.”

  I let out a short, humorless laugh. “So, what? Then you’d rather get us both killed?”

  Ares sighed and shook his head, staring off into the distance for a moment, as if he could see all the way to this magical, free land he seemed so keen to believe in. “I’m talking to you about it because you don’t strike me as a coward,” he said, and there was such earnestness in his tone that my throat tightened a little. “Seemed to me like you were someone who isn’t happy being complacent… Someone who still has hope. Someone who believes our lives were meant for more than… this.”

  With the next words that came out of my mouth, I felt something essential inside of me breaking. And, still, like the good little Dog that I was, I spoke them anyway.

  “Then I guess you were wrong,” I told him, and turned my back, heading toward the comfort of my dark, lonely cave.

  30

  Things were not the same between Ares and me after that, and I couldn’t really say I blamed him. Despite the fact that I would step into a steel cage and fight another Wolf to the death, I was a coward. Teeth, fangs, and bloodshed may not scare me, but the belief that things could be different, the thought of allowing such hope to permeate in my consciousness… that absolutely terrified me.

  A sense of melancholy fell over me as the days continued on, the end of summer and the beginning of The Games fast approaching. Beneath that enormous dome, where Oren and I had snuck in and enjoyed each other, the sounds of construction grew more and more frantic. A week before The Games were scheduled to start, those noises finally quieted.

  In fact, an eerie sort of silence fell over all of Marisol. Until all the people began arriving. And when they came, they seemed to do so in droves.

  Wolves, Vampires, and other various creatures began to flood into the city, filling up the inns, hostels, and hotels to capacity. Vendors selling every kind of item imaginable appeared as if from thin air, lining the streets with their carts, tables, and wagons. Musicians and artisans set up shop as well, wringing the influx of people for every bit of coin they could manage.

  Meanwhile, the Dogs grew more and more restless. Fights broke out amongst otherwise docile Wolves, and the amount of alcohol ingestion increased tenfold. In a small mercy, the training on The Cliffs was on hold so that the Dogs could store up their strength for The Games just around the corner.

  I found out where I was on the roster, the exact time and day of my first match up, when a Hound posted a flyer in the city square. So many people had flocked to see the lineups that the Dogs had to wait until all the others had cleared away in order to get a glimpse at our names on the list.

  My heartbeat pounded hard enough that I could feel its pulse in my throat as I approached the post on which the flyer had been hung. Kalene stood beside me, the two of us having agreed without words that we would gather the news together. Over the past three moon cycles, I had slowly grown fond of the dark-haired, almond-eyed female, and her presence had helped to sooth the sting that had been caused by the loss of Goldie. I wished that the two females could have the chance to meet, as I suspected the three of us would get along wonderfully, but knew this was just another unanswered prayer in a whole sea of them.

  The moon had
risen over Marisol, darkening the ocean endlessly lapping at the shore and casting a bluish glow over the city. The ornate, green lampposts cradling the blue Apollo-blessed flames had sprung to life hours earlier, while Kalene and I had smoked away our worries in a darkened, underground den. In a rare show of solidarity and affection, Kalene’s hand took hold of mine, and together, we read the words upon the flyer.

  Silence hung between us as we took in the lineups. I located my name first… Then Kalene’s, Oren’s, Ares… This was not something the others could do; Dogs were not taught to read, only to recognize the letter combination of their own names. The fact that I knew how to read was one of my most guarded secrets.

  For the first round, we’d each been matched up with Wolves from other Packs. Because I’d killed the Bear, who had been the West Coast Champion, my position was higher on the bracket, in a spot that would receive more publicity than some of the other fights.

  “These are the names of the Wolves we have to kill or be killed by,” mumbled Kalene.

  Quietly, in a voice so small I barely recognized it as my own, I admitted, “It never gets easier.”

  Kalene gave my hand a small squeeze. “No,” she agreed. “It does not.”

  “Maybe he was right,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.

  “Maybe who was right?”

  “Ares.”

  Surprising me, Kalene gripped both of my shoulders and turned me toward her. “Don’t talk like that, Rook,” she said. “If Ares is bound and determined to get strung up by the Hounds in the street, don’t let him drag you down with him. Everything he keeps going on and on about—it’s suicide.”

  I shook off her hold, gesturing at the flyer. “And this is better?” I hissed. “Killing our own kind for entertainment. That’s a better fate?”

  Kalene only looked at me, and though I knew it wasn’t really for her, I felt my anger rising. Before I could say something I didn’t mean, I turned away from her and stalked off up the street, not stopping until I found myself in an entirely different neighborhood.

  Overhead, the night sky was clotted with thick, gray clouds, and a silent electricity hanging in the air preluded a coming storm. The darkening weather felt like a reflection of my soul at the moment. I knew I would be apologizing to Kalene later, but right now, I felt on the edge of breaking down, and I wanted to make sure no one was around to see it.

  After all, no one bets on a Dog who mopes around as if depressed. Everyone knew that it was much more preferable, and certainly more profitable, for slaves to be wearing smiles.

  It made things more comfortable for everyone else that way.

  The ceremonies that preceded the start of The Games were as arduous as they were elaborate. The part I loathed the most was always the showings, where they would line the Dogs up so that the betters could ogle us before deciding whom to place their money on.

  It was the same process as before a regular fight, only the scales were ramped up by a thousand. There was so much preparation that I found myself growing angrier as I was shoved from one event to the next. Reagan Ramsey seem to love decorating all of his property, as could be gleaned from the various flowers, streamers, and garlands that now adorned the sloping streets of Marisol. The Dogs were included in this dressing up, and I was practically burning with ire when I was informed that Ramsey’s Dogs would have their bodies painted for the first showing.

  Painted, the same way I’d decided to have myself painted for the Midsummer Solstice. The difference was that on that occasion I had decided. This time, I would be forced to allow someone to paint me, and then made to parade that painting in front of everyone in Marisol.

  I’d never been to any of The Games in the previous years, because only the top fighters attended, but nothing could have prepared me for the chaos surrounding them. As the hours ticked forward, drawing me closer to my first match, I found myself replaying all the things I’d learned and heard recently. Until just then, I hadn’t fully realized all the ideas that had been subconsciously planted in my head.

  How would you rather die? Goldie had asked me. In The Ring, or in the attempt to commit a kindness?

  That means there has to be a way… a way to removed these collars, Ares had said. There must be a place beyond the reach of the Masters and Hounds…

  And my own words, too: Killing our own kind for entertainment. That’s a better fate?

  These were the things haunting my mind as I was ushered into one of the tents that had been erected near The Cliffs, where the Dogs that would be competing had been sent to be “prepped” for the first showing. These were the things that made my fists clench in anger as I was told by an ugly, sneering Hound to strip out of my clothes and ‘get my perky ass up on that stool,’ so that the artisan could paint me.

  The urge to rip his throat out with the flat edges of my teeth washed over me, and I was just barely able to resist. Instead, like a good little Dog, I removed my clothing, ignoring the leering way that the Hound looked at me, and climbed up on the squat stool so that the artist could start her work at my feet.

  With every swipe of her brush, I had to remind myself that killing her would be a pointless, wasteful action. This young female with dark eyes and paint-flecked clothing was not the one I hated. It was not her fault that I was here.

  And it was then, as the soft tip of the paintbrush licked at my body for the hundredth time, the paint now swirling up from my feet, all the way to my midsection, that a world-shifting thought struck me.

  It was my fault.

  The way things were, the life I was living, the things that had happened. I had allowed it. All of it. I’d been what Ares had called me—a complacent coward. Too busy blaming the world to notice my own share of the blame.

  I decided instantly that I needed to talk to Ares.

  I was done being afraid.

  31

  I was immediately ushered into a line of Dogs who were climbing into the back of a barred wagon, waiting to be transported to the center of the city, where all of Marisol and its visitors had gathered to get a gander at the performers.

  Oren was also climbing into the same wagon I’d been directed to, but Ares and Kalene had been sent elsewhere. From the way Oren had reacted to the subject in the bar the previous night, I knew better than to bring up my most recent impulse with him.

  The usually jaunty male was as reserved as the rest of us today, anyway. Oren’s dark brows were pulled down low over his eyes, his hands resting on his knees as he rode alongside the others and me. Ramsey had not had the male Dogs painted, but instead, had dressed them in warrior’s garb, complete with swords and shields, despite the fact that most of them would likely be fighting in Wolf form, and would have no need for such items.

  There were seven males and three females in the wagon… and because the gods seemed to enjoy laughing at me, one of those females was Peni—the Dog who’d tried to knock me off The Cliffs that first day, and whom I had subsequently beaten the shit out of.

  Peni’s long blond hair had been braided in a thick crown around her head, her body painted in a shade of blue that matched her eyes. She stared daggers at me when our gazes met, but I rolled my eyes and ignored her dumb ass. I didn’t need to posture. I’d already whooped her once.

  And as the barred wagon trundled closer to the center of Marisol, every Dog inside shifted their attention outward. The sounds and smells of the gathered crowds hit before the sight did, but even so, I was not prepared for what I saw.

  There were more Werewolves, Vamps, and other various creatures here than I’d ever seen gathered in one place in all my life. I looked down at the ridiculous way my nearly naked body (I’d been allowed a small, stringy pair of underwear, and stickers that covered the centers of my painted breasts) and clenched my hands into fists hard enough to ache.

  Then Hounds were yanking us out of the back of the wagon. Whips hung uncoiled at their sides, the handles gripped in their clenched fists, ever ready to strike a Dog who dared step
out of line. To add even more insult to injury, two other Hounds waited outside the wagon with heavy iron shackles.

  They barked at us to extend our wrists, and then clapped on the metal shackles. One set went around our wrists, and another around our ankles. With the amount of skin I was exposing, it was an effort not to knee the leering Hound who locked on the ankle restraints right in the face. He’d licked his lips while his gleaming eyes stared intently below my trim waist.

  If I had not been shoved toward another line of Dogs a heartbeat later, I really might have killed the bastard right then and there.

  I needed to get a hold of myself, before I did something really stupid.

  The ankle chains made walking more difficult, and they were heavy enough that they chaffed the skin of my bare ankles. Of course, the shackles were entirely for show (which only served to piss me off more) as there were hundreds of Hounds present and magical black collars around all of our necks.

  It seemed the rumors about Reagan Ramsey being a showman were correct. The scene in the city center was nothing if not a spectacle. A large wooden platform had been erected in the middle of a green park, and spectators were gathered around it in a ring of people that stretched on as far as I could see. People were hanging from tree branches, out of building windows, and sitting atop each other’s shoulders in order to get a better view of the stage.

  The Hounds who’d been shoving us from behind a moment ago pushed their way to the front and now had to clear the way so that the Dogs could make it to our end of the platform. Hounds lined the entire wooden structure, some of them gripping batons, and others leather, metal-tipped whips. The people gathered all around shouted and shoved, many shitfaced drunk despite the fact that noontime was still a couple hours off.

  Filthy bunch of animals, I thought, as I stood at the bottom of the stairs at the end of the platform, waiting for my name to be called so that I could step right up and be presented like a sideshow attraction.