Mated To My Biggest Enemy

Asher's Point of View

"Did you catch that howl?" I asked Dad as we walked along the border of our property. "It didn't sound like the typical Silver Moon ones."

Dad's face darkened like storm clouds. His hand automatically touched the blade at his waist. "All Blackwood howls sound identical to me. Like death threats."

The morning air was still filled with the reverberation of something beautiful and untamed. My wolf had longed to answer that summons so desperately it hurt. I didn't know why.

"Maybe they were just greeting the morning," I said quietly. "Not everything has to be war."

Dad had slowed down so I was going to collide into him. His yellow flash of eyes for an instant meant that his wolf was close to the surface. When Dad's wolf came out, it hurt people.

"Not everything is about war?"

His voice was lethal and quiet. "Try telling that to my father, who died with Blackwood claws in his throat."

I'd heard it a thousand times, but it only became more difficult to hear. The old pain in Dad's eyes pained my chest. Certain days I questioned whether he'd forgotten how to feel anything but rage.

"I know what they did to Grandpa was wrong," I told him. "But it was fifty years ago. Perhaps it's time to try something new."

The backhand came so fast, I didn't see it. Dad cracked my lip with his knuckles and sent me reeling backward. Blood ran down my chin, and I tasted it, but I was too afraid to wipe it off.

"Different?" Dad's voice was a bellow. "You want to be different with the wolves who killed your grandfather?"

"I'd like to try not to die in a useless war." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "This vendetta has been burning for a hundred years, Dad. When does it end?"

Dad slapped his hand on my shirt and pulled me into him. His breath was hot in my face, and his eyes were completely wolf yellow. "It ends when all the Blackwoods are dead and in their graves."

"What if there's another way?"

"There is no other way!" Dad shoved me back. "The only good Blackwood is a dead Blackwood. Keep that in your mind when you're Alpha, or you'll not be Alpha for long."

He walked away toward the pack house, leaving me standing on the border by myself. I touched my split lip and tasted blood. Dad's way of teaching always hurt.

The wind passed by with that peculiar scent again, the one that makes my wolf stir uncomfortably inside me. It was from high in the mountains where the Silver Moon Pack lived. Wild and sweet and familiar.

I strolled along the boundary trail to my favorite spot, a boulder outcropping that stared up at Blackwood territory. The mountains rose up like giants' teeth against the blue expanse, beautiful and fatal. Somewhere up there, the next Alpha of our enemies was probably being trained to kill me.

My phone beeped as a text came through from my sister Maya. "Dad's wandering around the house breaking things. What did you do now?"

I wrote, "Asked the wrong questions."

"You need to stop pushing him. He's not going to change his mind about the feud."

Maya was probably right, but I couldn't help it. When I saw Dad's hatred consume him a little bit more each time I saw him, I yearned for another way. The anger was killing him on the inside.

Another howl drifted down from the mountains, soft and melancholy. I recognized this one as the same wolf from before. My wolf whimpered and fought against my control, wanting to howl back.

I let him go.

My howl sailed out over the valley, carrying all the desolation I stored in my heart. As it started to echo away, the mountains grew still like they were holding their breath. The birds stopped singing.

Then came a return call from above. Not angry or threatening like the usual Silver Moon howls. This one was. curious. Like whatever was in the air was questioning me too.

My heart started pounding for no reason. I'd never reacted like this around enemy wolves before. Usually they howled and made me angry or scared. This one made me feel something I couldn't place.

"Asher!" Dad's shout carried down the street from the direction of our house. "Get back here right now!"

I rolled my eyes and walked back toward home. Dad was going to chew me out about howling on Blackwood property. He said it gave away our positions and made us look weak.

I couldn't shake the answering howl from my thoughts, though. There had been something there that called to my wolf. Something that had felt like recognition.

My house was situated in the center of the valley, with our pack members' houses all over. Red rock and timber, built to last for generations. It should have been home but only seemed like a prison lately.

Dad crossed his arms on the porch. His lip was still curled, so I knew I was due for another lecture about pack loyalty and family honor.

"You howled at the enemy," he stated. Not a question. An accusation.

"I howled at the morning. Same as I do every day."

"Don't lie to me, boy. I heard what I heard." Dad advanced a step. "You responded to a Blackwood call. Why?"

I didn't know how to make him understand the pull I'd experienced. The way my wolf had insisted that we respond to that lonely sound. Dad would never experience the hungers like that.

"It was just instinct," I said. "My wolf needed to howl."

"Your wolf needs to learn good instincts." Dad's eyes narrowed. "The Blackwoods aren't our friends, Asher. They're not lonely or misunderstood or any other sentimental thing you may be thinking."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Because from where I was standing, it seemed like you were forgetting who the enemy was. Dad caught my shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Let me remind you."

He dragged me to the pack meeting hall where rusty old swords were on the walls. Swords and spears with blood centuries old. Dad stopped before a glass case where fabric was ripped.

"Your grandfather's shirt," Dad whispered. "The only thing left of him when the Blackwoods finished."

The shirt was splattered with old blood and full of holes created by teeth and claws. I'd seen it a hundred times, but it still sickened me. A man had been killed while wearing that shirt.

"This is what they do to us," Dad continued. "This is what they'll do to you if you let your guard down for a second."

I looked at the torn shirt and tried to feel the rage Dad had wanted me to feel. But all my brain could think about was the lonely howl and the way it had caused my wolf to hum.

"The Harvest Moon Festival is next week," Dad declared unexpectedly. "All the packs will come, including the Blackwoods."

My heart leaped. "Are we really going?"

"Old law requires it. But you stay away from them, Asher. Don't even look in their direction." Dad's fingers pressed deeper into my shoulder. "Promise me."

"I promise."

But even while I said it, I knew I wasn't telling the truth. Something was pulling me towards that festival, something I couldn't resist or defeat. The same something that had made me howl back at the mountains.

Dad released me and turned and went away, but I was still fixed on Grandpa's bloodied shirt. Questioning whether hatred was all that our families could pass on. Questioning whether somewhere in those mountains a Blackwood wolf was doing the same.

The wind shifted again, and with it was that wonderful wild scent. This one more pungent, as if whoever it was it belonged to was also taking up the thought of me. My wolf was fidgety, counting down until the festival.

Seven more days until I met my adversary in person. Seven more days to unravel why my wolf was singing with lust instead of howling for blood.

Something had me believing those seven days would turn everything around.