Page 35 of The Red Moon

Tears fill my eyes, glossing over the image of my brother’s arms losing their fight and exhaustion setting in. The silver returns to the eye tilted in my direction. Viktor. It’s finally him and not the monster giving silent orders the way it did his whole life. He doesn’t struggle any more. No, he gives one last resigned huff.

It's your call, young Vost⁠—

I’ll do it, I cut him off and put up my guards. I use all of my strength to stretch the razor-sharp row of teeth apart further. Agonizing groans escape him as his claws uselessly scrape the cement. His face is about to be torn in half. He knows it but still can’t stop thrashing his weakened body to somehow gain the upper hand.

Submit, I chant in my head, hoping there’s a chance common sense hasn’t been rooted out of him by my father. More soldiers emerge from behind the hangar and stand in line with the rest, but none fire a single shot. The newly turned pack members watch instead, determined to see the outcome first. They followed Viktor here, after all. And with their alpha this close to death at the hands of a traitor, it’s no surprise they might want to see if maybe they bet on the wrong wolf. They did. And there’s only one thing I know my brother would despise more than death. Being seen as weak.

Jowls pried apart, the bones and cartilage begin to snap, bringing hollow whimpers from the large beast at my feet. Submit. He doesn’t, and Viktor’s consequence is the skin at the corners of his mouth splitting open. Blood spills down both sides of his face now, matting the black and gray fur on his chest and shoulders. He kicks his feet. His nails continue to grate the tarmac. But I don’t relent. I add another layer of pressure. Submit!

His terrified gaze moves from me to the armed wolves circling. There’s something different in his eyes now. Not the same disapproval I’ve grown accustomed to anytime he’d glance in my direction. It’s fear. No one is coming to save him, and for the first time in his life, my brother is afraid. He knows his ascension to alpha is about to be cut short and not a single fucking person will do anything about it. Not the pack. Not our father. He will die in a matter of seconds if he doesn’t do the one thing I want him to. The one thing that will spare his life. This is his last chance. I pin his head to the concrete with a steady grip and deliver the final warning.

I howl, unleashing a noise so powerful the hangars shudder. All of the soldiers take a tentative step back, some even readying their rifles in my direction. They’re the least of my concern. It’s Viktor I watch now, waiting for him to finally concede for once in his fucking life.

He’ll let you kill him before he or his wolf submits, the voice in my head breaks through the guards I put in place. It doesn’t matter what his last name is, if Viktor forfeits now, it’ll be a death sentence. My father might be willing to spare his favored son for showing weakness, but the rest of the pack won’t. Word travels fast among packs, and my brother would have more than a few ready to take his place. They would challenge him at every turn. Question any decision sent down the ranks. Maybe this is how I beat him without guilt gnawing away at my insides. A way to spare him and myself.

I stomp a clawed foot on his chest and dig my nails in, gaining a stronger leverage. He writhes now, and when I add the final inch of pressure to his cracked jaw, the monstrous form at my feet begins to twist unnaturally. Fur bleeds off him in tufts, giving way to the human skin taking hold. Each large gash I inflicted becomes strikingly clear and still days away from healing. He might have new scars, but it’s high time he has a reminder of his own failures, too.

Viktor shifts back to his human form, shriveling into something impossibly small beneath me, and as I let go of his mouth, my brother tilts his neck to the side, exposing it in surrender.

We’ve talked about mercy before, my wolf says. If you let him live, everything he does after this will be on your hands.

I peer down, taking in each potent whiff of fear radiating from him. Viktor doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t even bother glancing at the armed backup behind him. Some still cough up silver fragments, but none move for an attack. They won’t. Not when they’re afraid I’ll come for the rest of them next. They all watch, weapons stowed and apprehension evident on their faces.

I’ve taken everything away from him, I respond and turn for the helicopter, arms and legs shifting to a form I recognize. There’s a slight glisten in Natalia’s eyes when I approach, and gods, it’s her face keeping me upright despite the exhaustion setting in.

Dimitri takes me by the arm and pulls me inside. Alexey makes it a point to throw his uniform top in my direction and motions like he’s wrapping something around his waist. I cover up for his sake, fighting the dull pain shooting through each limb. Natalia loops her arm into mine and rests her cheek on my shoulder. I don’t think she realizes how scalding her touch is, a fire so hot it cools my freshly shifted skin. I’d give anything to stay here, suspended in time if it meant I had her to ease these burns. This pain.

Lev mutters something in his headset and rears the cyclic stick, bringing the aircraft airborne. We take off, flying into the wind before departing west, away from the city of Samara and the grounds the Vostik pack controls. None of my father’s army tries to stop us, not even the son he was so sure of. Viktor, my little brother, hasn’t moved at all.

TWENTY-THREE

NATALIE

We flew away from the airfield in silence, no one, not even Alexey daring to say a word. That was most surprising of all. Nik did little else than stare at his fingernails, each cuticle coated with the same brownish red. Viktor’s blood. He didn’t wipe it away, only looked at each finger in silent contemplation. And me, well, I stayed where I was the entire flight, nuzzled against his bare shoulder with a heat strong enough to melt iron burning through us both.

Nik beat him. He won a fight against the self-proclaimed alpha of the Vostik pack, yet the hard ridges of his face suggest something closer to a loss. Even after all of the horrible things his brother did, he didn’t want this. No, what happened today was history repeating itself. Siblings once again pitted against each other because of the real monster pulling strings. Vlad Vostik. His reputation didn’t disappoint. In Nik’s eyes, all I’ve ever seen is a hunger to help. In Viktor’s, an insatiable thirst for power. When I met their father at the den … all I saw was death.

We land outside a small town I can’t pronounce if I tried and are thrust back in the air within minutes, this time on a cargo plane complete with pallets in the hull and an overwhelming stench of metal. Military plane, judging by the markings on the side and soft gray exterior. The takeoff was rough, and I’m half-expecting the landing, wherever we’re going, will be worse. Alexey assured us his friend knew what he was doing, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sit a bit straighter in the small jump seat any time the plane tilted to one side.

I’m not alone. Dimitri’s face is on the verge of green, each sudden knock to the airframe adding a new concerning color to his cheeks.

“Relax, big man,” Alexey says and pats his thigh. “Just a little turbulence.”

I bite back a smile as Dimitri slaps away Alexey’s hand and strangles the armrests into submission. He might just break them off if he squeezes any harder.

“We’ll be there soon,” Nik says, earning a nod from the both of them in return. There. As in the den of some pack that wants him dead? From what he told me back at the hotel in Samara, getting help was the only way to stop his father, but now, I’m even questioning if this plan will work or get us killed before the blood moon. He never said what happened with this pack, only that they have some bone to pick with his family because of him. I stare at Nikolai, hoping he can sense my unease. For some reason, it feels like any time we have a conversation, I’m digging up some new, undiscovered fossil. Why do they want him dead? And more importantly, why does he seem so hesitant to give me an explanation?

It can’t be worse than him taking people from LA can it?

“I only brought enough for three silver mags, the other rounds will slow them down but won’t stop them if things go sour,” Alexey says, inspecting each magazine and tucking them away in his cargo pockets.

Nik shakes his head, long hair swaying. “No weapons.”

Dimitri and Alexey exchange glances. Finally, Alexey scoffs and slams the last magazine down on the empty seat next to him. “Are you crazy? You want us to waltz into den of wolves unarmed? Yebat’, Nikolai.”

Fuck is the same thing I’m thinking. I guess I have Alexey to thank for learning a new word in Russian, especially when he says it frequently.

“Clément Duval isn’t known for his patience. If we go in armed, we will be killed on the spot. My presence alone will be considered a threat to his pack. No weapons.”