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4
The ideaof marching headlong to meet the werewolves satisfied the wolf within Anders. He wasn’t a coward by any means, but the thought that the Shadowed Stars and the Red Nightwalkers might unite to force back the tide of Wild Shades had occurred to him. While he didn’t think that likely—any alliance between the two packs would be short-lived and bloody—still, he had to tell someone his concern.
Not Kastner or his whelp. They would laugh at him, degrade him, make him feel smaller and even more worthless than they already did. Well, Kastner would. That one hates both our former packs. He was almost looking for an excuse to attack. Talon, if he was being honest, didn’t seem too bad, actually. He didn’t quite lord it above Anders that he had Misti, and he didn’t act like he owned her like some werewolves who had arranged marriages did. Ever so often, he’d sneer at Anders, but considering Anders was glowering back, he couldn’t fault the werewolf for that.
Golden, the third in command, was an ass.
Which left David Youngless, the second in command.
While Kastner, Talon, and Misti headed the front of the march, both Golden and Youngless brought up the rear, and Anders slowed his pace to fall back. The Wild Shades marched in uniform, even lines, impressive and numerous. Maybe there were one hundred of them, one hundred fifty. A decent-sized pack made all the more impressive by their unity and precision. Yes, they certainly looked the part of soldiers and warriors. They’ll be tested soon enough. I hope it’s not just an act.
He locked gazes with Youngless, who said something to Golden. The smug werewolf moved up slightly, sniffing as he bypassed Anders.
“How are you?” Youngless asked as Anders fell into step beside him.
“You remember how the packs are.”
“Yes.”
“The only time they ever united before was to drive your pack back.”
With eyes that seemed able to see everything, Youngless stared straight ahead. “You think they might do the same now.”
“I don’t know.” Anders ran his fingers through his hair. He was almost completely healed by now, well, other than his heart, but nothing except for maybe time would help with that.
“Being cautious and wary helped the Wild Shades in the past.”
“You think your pack would have been destroyed if you stayed too long,” he realized.
“That is how our previous alpha felt, yes, and I can’t say I disagree with him.”
The sly, slight smirk the second in command wore had Anders assuming, “You wore this second too. You were the one who convinced him to leave.”
“Yes on both counts.”
“And now you feel differently?”
“We have never stopped watching over those packs, never stopped wishing for a time to return. A better opportunity might not ever arise. We either have to march or forfeit any chance of regaining the mountain.”
Anders nodded. The mountain. Every night during his exile, he had dreams of it, the freedom it offered, the chance to be one with his wolf with no fear from humans. Yes, there had been danger there from the Red Nightwalkers, but the roaming, the hunting, it had been so worth it.
“The mountain will be ours again,” Youngless said in a low voice.
“I like a little confidence.”
“It is not confidence or hubris. It is fact. The mountain will be ours again, or it will not belong to any of the other packs.”
A chill ran down Anders’s spine at the finality of the other’s tone. “I hope we’re on the winning side,” he muttered.
“You have doubts?”
Did he? If he did—which he wasn’t certain that was the case—it didn’t matter. There weren’t any other options available to him or Misti.
Youngless walked behind the easternmost corner of the rear line, Anders out of line and even farther east. A flash of fur caught his eye, and he broke off, racing through the trees, his eyes now his wolves to better see through the shadows the tall bushy branches cast.
After a moment, he also shifted his nose, and he easily caught the scent. He bound through the trees. A tall wolf snarled down at him from up a slight incline. Without warning, he charged.
Anders sidestepped the attack and threw himself onto the werewolf’s back. His hands clenched the fur, yanking backward. Trying to throw Anders, the werewolf shook violently. When that didn’t work, the werewolf tried to slam him against a tree.
