Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
IAN
I can still taste you on my tongue. I have refused to eat or drink since last night, not wishing to rid myself of the taste of your release.
I know my thirst or hunger will get the best of me soon, but know that I hate myself for letting such base needs control me.
We will have to meet again soon so I can remember.
-Handwritten letter from Leon Ocon to Ian Martín, date unknown
The night rang with cheers, and drunken songs shouted across fires.
Ian had been drinking at the same pace as the rest, but couldn’t quite find the energy to fake joviality.
He hadn’t gone on the mission to raid the dragons’ nesting grounds.
He and a few dozen men had remained behind to watch the prisoners and the camp.
So, when the men returned days later, cheering and covered in blood, he was left wondering who had died and who had survived of the resistance.
He couldn’t exactly ask.
Harlow wasn’t celebrating fully, his smile not quite meeting his eyes.
So Ian knew Fox and Sofia were likely alive, but that left so many more friends who might have been killed at the hands of his fellow soldiers.
And here he was, sitting by the fire as they celebrated their deaths.
The moment they got too drunk to notice, he grabbed one of the nearly full bottles of whisky and left the fires.
The night was bitter, but the liquor warmed his blood.
It was a false sense of safety, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He gazed out into the dark trees that surrounded the camp, shadows shifting as creatures prowled just beyond the light.
Or perhaps it was just the wind. He wondered how far he’d make it if he just left.
If he packed a bag and started walking. Not to the resistance, but away.
He could walk until he made it to the ocean—maybe wave down a passing merchant’s vessel.
Anything to get away from the fight he’d been waging for sun cycles.
He was tired. He was tired of watching everyone around him die as he broke bread with his enemies.
The rising pitch of the revelers just beyond the tents drew his attention.
The din had shifted, the air seeming to sour with something bitter and angry.
Ian pulled himself up reluctantly. He tucked the bottle against the tree so he could come back for it later, and he stumbled forward, running a hand over his face, as if he could wipe away the drunkenness.
“Those things have half a dozen elk just waiting to rot, and what do we have? Beans seasoned with stones!” The soldier was standing on a log, body swaying precariously as he gave his speech. But no one cared as he drew cheers from the others who circled him.
The man wasn’t wrong. Any food they’d packed for the trip had dwindled, and Harlow had only resupplied the alcohol and weapon stores when he’d come.
The seasonings were gone, along with the vegetables and meat.
There’d been attempts at hunting, but the animals avoided the camp, and when they’d sent a small group out to hunt, only one had returned alive, ranting about monsters in the trees.
“They’re animals!” a voice shouted from the gathered crowd. “They think they can take advantage of our goodwill and generosity.”
“We partner with them, give them weapons and drink, and what do they give back?”
“Nothing!”
“I say,” the soldier cried, stepping off his log with a dramatic bow, “we go over and ask nicely for some gratitude.”
The newly formed mob was moving before Ian’s mind had caught up to what they were doing. He wasn’t sure what these soldiers thought they’d given to the wolfshifters. They were children playing at war.
He followed, staying far enough away not to get caught up in the frenzy. He knew he should find Harlow or Luna, but another voice in the back of his mind told him not to bother. If the army killed itself off trying to fight against its supposed allies, who was he to intervene?
As the group came to the short fence that separated the human camp from the wolfshifter camp, they didn’t stop, moving through the two small gates that connected them.
The wolfshifters were already there, drawn by the noise, and Ian could see they’d been partaking in their own celebration.
Nearly all of them were covered in blood.
It ran from their snarling mouths down their chests and across their groins.
Harlow had asked them to wear loincloths while in the presence of the soldiers, but none of them had listened.
“We deserve some of the meat you’ve hunted,” the man said quickly, as if he might lose his wit if he spent any time waiting. “You can’t possibly need so much.”
Ian was almost impressed with him, standing at least two feet shorter than the wolfshifter he confronted. Or perhaps he was simply that drunk.
The crowd’s cheer of agreement was quieter now, more hesitant, but no less vitriolic.
“You deserve our food?” the wolfshifter asked, sneering.
“We’re allies, no? Allies share resources!” the man said. His voice had the slightest waver to it. The wolfshifter heard it immediately, his grin turning feral and hungry.
“Okay,” he said, his tongue flickering out to lick the blood from his lips. “Reggi, bring this man some food.”
A soft snicker reverberated through the wolfshifters as a dark-haired one grabbed an elk carcass with one hand and pulled it forward, throwing it down on the ground in front of the soldier. It landed with a heavy, resounding thud.
“Now eat,” the first wolfshifter said.
“That’s not how we…” the soldier started, his chin no longer held quite so high. “We’re not animals. We cook our meat.”
The wolfshifter’s grin turned cold, teeth bared. “Eat. It.”
Both groups were silent, the night falling still as everyone waited to see what would happen next. Any anger from the small mob had drained away, and Ian could see the fear permeating the air. He could only imagine that the wolfshifters could smell it.
They were watching with hungry eyes.
Before the soldier could decide what to do, the wolfshifter made the choice for him, grabbing him by the back of his neck and shoving him down to his knees.
He pressed his face into the carcass. Ian couldn’t tell if the soldier wasn’t resisting or if the wolfshifter was so strong it didn’t matter.
Either way, he held him there for over a minute until he was satisfied.
The wolfshifter shoved him back, the soldier falling back on his ass, gagging and shaking.
“You’re going to fucking pay for this,” he snarled, but his words were that of a rabbit in a jaguar’s jaws.
“Don’t touch what isn’t yours,” the shifter said, crouching over the man. He stood, shoulders straightening. “Take them both back to your little camp. I don’t eat meat that rot’s touched.”
The soldiers’ friends emerged from the crowd, snatching him from where he sat, still shaking. Ian expected them to leave the elk corpse, but a few men stepped from the group and grabbed it—hunger winning over shame.
Only after the group began to disperse, tails between their legs, did Ian see Harlow across the way tucked in the darkness between two trees.
He didn’t know how long he’d been watching the exchange.
The man’s black eyes met his own, and Ian swallowed, heart in his throat.
There was no slinking away into the shadows.
He waited until the wolfshifters had lost interest before crossing the field to where Harlow waited, eyes expectant.
“Junior Major,” he said.
“Chief Commander, sir.”
“You saw all of that.”
“I did—I was waiting to see if I’d need to call you,” he said, throat tight. “I should have known you’d have heard the commotion.”
“The men were being foolish,” he said.
“They were,” Ian agreed, careful to keep his tone neutral.
“The beasts resisted killing anyone.”
“They appeared content with humiliation,” Ian said slowly. “This time.”
“They might again.”
“No,” Ian said. “I don’t think they will be content with that next time.”
Harlow nodded, staring into the darkness where the wolfshifters had disappeared, retreating farther from the camp. “You’ll keep an eye on the tension, then?”
“Yes, sir,” Ian said, straightening his shoulders. Even drunk, the deference was built into his bones at the sound of an order.
Harlow strode away, leaving Ian staring at the wolfshifters’ camp. When he finally turned around to leave, he saw Harlow paused, watching him from the trees, expression unreadable.
Ian kept his head down as he retreated to the other side of camp, where his tent was waiting.