The ex-Elders may have been able to hear Paul's howl, but they had no idea what was coming for them.
***
We cut through the night, a wolf pack of enormous proportions. There wasn't a man, woman, or child belonging to the pack who wasn't among us. All those who hadn't attended the naming ceremony joined the herd as we ran by their homes and through pack lands.
No one had wanted to spend time wondering what our parents had planned for the children. Why they'd taken them in the first place. Or how long they'd had this plan tucked away in case of an emergency.
With them, it was always greed or power. And a blessed child would bring them both. They had five of them.
Though it would have been easy to fall apart, once the chase started, Hollister and the mates funneled everything they were feeling into a single driving purpose. We never slowed. Our direction never wavered. With Nana at the lead and the spirits leading her, there was no doubt that we were on the right path.
The forest split before our might. Growling barks, baying, and howls echoed in the air around us. Our parents would know we were coming. They would know, and they would be afraid.
All claws, teeth, and murderous rage, we'd become a nightmare, the thing that people feared when they searched the darkness. Our pack had been stolen from, the treasure we cared about most ripped from our arms. Perhaps our parents had assumed only the Walkers and their mates would care and that we'd be easily manipulated. The idea that other people would care for children that were not their own had never occurred to them.
Whatever force drove a person to do the right thing, even when no one watched, didn't exist in them.
They didn't understand devotion or unity. But they would see it. And soon.
Ahead, the forest thinned around a small log cabin. At Paul's yelp, the pack split in two, the right funneling around the front of the cabin while the left circled around to the back side. A dim glow shone from the front window, and there was movement, shadows flitting behind the thin curtains.
I shifted, joining Nana, Paul, and the other Walkers at the front of the howling horde.
"They know we're here," Paul said dryly.
"Good," Nash snarled.
"You are surrounded," Paul yelled. "Release the blessed children, and we may show you mercy."
The curtain moved, but that was the only indication we got that they'd heard us. Perhaps they knew what we all did. After what they'd done, it didn't matter how they groveled. Mercy was not on the menu.
"Are you ready for what has to be done?" Branson asked me. There wasn't judgment in his question as there might have been a few weeks ago, but he needn't have worried.
"Absolutely." My growl was joined by Hollister's.
I didn't want Hollister in there. Not because I thought he couldn't handle himself, but because we would not walk away from this with clean hands. I'd carry the stain of parricide for the rest of my life. And I didn't want that darkness spilling over onto him.
I angled to face him, but he already scowled.
"No, you can't keep me out," he snarled.
I knew his anger wasn't meant for me. I just stood in the way.
"Pet, I will bring you our daughter. I swear it. But you are not going inside. I won't make you bear this burden. It isn't meant for your shoulders."
The others were explaining the same thing to their mates, each as equally adamant as Hollister that they be allowed in.
"Look, someone's standing there," Tyrone said, gesturing toward the curtained window.
My mother. I caught her scent but would have known her silhouette without it. We were well off pack lands, on the southern edge of the island. Perhaps their plan had been to hide here, believing our search wouldn't take us this far before they were able to secure a private boat off-island. Or maybe they didn't have an exit plan at all. It was possible I gave them too much credit.
Their town car was parked out front, the tires slashed. It wasn't like they could use the car to get away. This was an island. There was no place to run. Wherever they went, we would follow, and they likely had come to that same conclusion.
Branson faced the mates. "If any of them slips by us—"
"They won't have their arms for long," Kansas snarled, spinning to face his mate. "Wyatt, let me drain them. I can do it. I'll drain them dry." He sounded like a man who had been pushed to his limits, but instead of falling, he pushed back.
"No, love. I don't want any of them inside you. Not even if you drain and release. Besides…" Wyatt's smile held no humor. "My father has had this coming for a long time."
"We'll kill them!" my mother suddenly shrieked from inside. "This moment. Starting with the littlest. I will kill every last one of—" She let out a bloodcurdling scream, and the four of us surged forward.
Paul, Tyrone, and Nana nipped at our heels as the pack closed the circle behind us. Branson took the lead. He jumped, feet first, and shifted in midair. When his paws hit the rickety door, it croaked open under his weight and slammed against the inside wall with a loud thud.
Directly ahead, there was a hallway, but my mother stood in the living room area to the left. She scurried toward the corner, clutching a bloody hand to her bosom.
The children were on the ground behind her. Autumn and Calvin whimpered, laying on their backs with their blankets open, doing nothing to fight the chill in the air. They weren't crying, but I wished they were. I'd never forget the sound of their soft, helpless whimpers. Bran, Madison, and Patrick crouched before the younger two, each snarling at Clarice's backside as she stumbled away from us.
Bran let out a sharp barking sound, his teeth still bloody from where he'd bit my mother. That must have been why Clarice had screamed.
From down the dark hallway came the sounds of a scuffle. There was grunting and cursing, and then the back door slammed shut.
"They're everywhere! John has abandoned us!" Glendon screamed, running into the front room and skidding to a terrified stop when he saw me standing with the others. "Son, I told John not to do this."
"Silence." The word could hardly be called that, but, for once, Glendon shut his mouth. "For once in your life, stop lying."
Nana had broken off to walk around the couch. She approached Clarice slowly with her hands stretched out in front of her. "My child, this doesn't have to be your path. Are you truly willing to hurt children? Babies?"
"Shut up, you old hag!" Clarice snarled, as unhinged as I'd ever seen her. "Our lives would've been perfect without you. You gave our son a place to stay. You allowed him to leave the pack. If it wasn't for you—"
Bran lunged forward with a swiftness I'd never seen from him before. His teeth found my mother's ankle, and he bit down, blood spurting from the wound. She shook her leg, screaming as she dislodged Bran, sending him back to the other two. They patted him as if telling him he'd done as much as he could.
Branson snarled and stomped forward, driving Clarice back. At the mouth of the hallway, Glendon stood frozen until John, driven back inside by the pack waiting outside, slammed into his backside.
"This was an idiotic plan. I should've done as Delia asked and killed you both along with Alpha Walker."
"Killed us?" Glendon howled back. "We allowed you to live. Your weakness brought us down. Imagine it, a man unable to keep a single woman in line." My father wasn't winning any husband-of-the-year awards, but the two men fought with each other anyway, seemingly oblivious to the death sentence that stood before them.