1: Zorin
The pack’s communal den is a shattered pile of rubble scattered among clusters of starship wreckage from the recent battle against the Nebulous Empire and their puppets, the Denarso. Little Rhysan whimpers in my arms, his silver and white fur dusty and stained with his mother’s blood. Agonizing emptiness consumes me.
He’s far too young to lose her.Even as I think it, I know my brother and I weren’t much older than him when we lost our parents.
This has to end. We are dying off.
My brother cries out and rocks as he clutches the body of his cold mate amid the fractured beams and broken concrete. Jezza once told me that pups could sense our emotions better than grown Shifters, so I do my best to stifle my urge to howl with my brother and bury my pain beneath my love for my nephew.
“Hush, Rhysan. I am here. Uncle Zorin is here.” But my heart throbs when I rest a hand to Azrim’s back. His body trembles with rage and shock. I know he’s torn between shredding what’s left of her pack, and carrying her into the woods and shifting into his Night Stalker form. Likely both. I know I am. Because I know Scarnis, Jezza’s pack leader and the one we have reported to since Jezza and Azrim’s bonding, is going to want to take Rhysan from us.
Over my dead body.
The Nebulous Empire came for our resources. Humans, Drathious, and Amphirans helped defend our world and the Thorians’ planet, Alpha Prime. But we still took damage from gunfire and crashing ships. Now, there are rumors of portalling soldiers. As if battle wasn't hard enough, returning home to findJezza buried under the collapsed building, frantically digging for her, and finding her light had darkened, has ripped us both apart.
Azrim sobs until he grows still and quiet. His face remains pressed to hers for a long time before he lifts his howl skyward again.
My peaceable nature, the side of me that once tried to mend alliances between packs like Jezza’s traditional one, and what’s left of our modern one, disintegrates.
I am sorry, Rhysan.
I tilt my head back and join Azrim in mourning.
Rhysan is only six months old, and he has lost his mother because her pack did not heed our warnings. He joins us with his high-pitched whine.
Stone and beams rustle behind us. I twist and look back.
Kinross is a tall, pale blue Morrawyn who always follows the rules. “Let us carry her to the afterlife.”
Azrim snarls at him in the most violent way.
Kinross doesn’t flinch. He is used to submitting to the orders of Scarnis. But the Morrawyn Range Pack Council presides over all our district packs. And they report to Mindoran Alliance of Packs, which handles our intergalactic relationship with the federation. Kinross’ request is not simply honorary.
It is mandated by MAP that we burn the deceased so that the Nebulous Empire and its cohorts—Denarso, bounty hunters, Novarks, Talhuskins, and others—cannot dig them up and take them. It has happened in the past.
Azrim needs more time.
I get to my feet and clutch Rhysan close. Crushed stone and splintered wood rain from my body. “Please, give us a moment.”
I slide a glare to our pack leader, who is stalking the obliterated shelters in his wolf form. Tahliel, his second incommand, digs through houses with the rest of the pack and reports what he finds.
“Let him grieve,” I reply. “Let them all. There is no rush. The empire has left the system.”
Kinross sighs. “It is not your place to counter Scarnis’ orders.”
I scowl at him. “We fought for Mindor. Where the fuck were you? Where was Scarnis, Tahliel, the others? Why did you not take everyone below, into the bunker we carved for your pack toprotectyou?”
His eyes brighten to a cold dull blue. A defensive ripple passes over his gray-blue body. He wants to shift. He doesn’t because he’s an obedient twit. “We didn’t get enough warning.”
“Theburning skiesweren’t enough?” I snarl.
Rhysan squirms in my arms. He won’t calm down. Jezza curled herself around him as the building collapsed. He is alive because she gave her life for his, and Kinross is treating all this destruction like just another day.
The hatch in the floor rattles. I look over to see Azrim break off a lock and look at it. He scours the area around him and Jezza. “You never even opened it! She tried to pry it open! Jezza would be alive if you had listened to us!”
Azrim’s muscles bulge as he crushes the lock in his hand. He stalks toward Kinross, grabs him by the throat and squeezes. “Shall I shatter you like you did to my mate?”
“You two are from another pack,” Hoskar, a camp perimeter guard remarks, shifting upright. “Drop him.”
