Pack of Wolves by Maggie Claire (read along books .TXT) 📕

“What do you want me to do? Offer myself as a Cadogan? Vow to stay and watch over these babies? Throw myself into this fight, damn the consequences?” Wren snarls in frustration, glaring at Suryc’s silhouette. “I’m sorry, but my promise to do no harm is the best that I can offer.” The sapphire and magenta Ddraig sidles up to him, turning its limpid green eyes on the dark figure as it trustingly crawls into his lap. Wren pets the creature like he would a beloved dog, fighting the tug on his heartstrings.

“Then I will hold you to this promise. I have no time left to argue. Put that baby back on the ground and sit still while I pick you up. We must catch up to my Cadogan,” Suryc commands, his claws wrapping around Wren like the iron bars of a prison as the Ddraig takes to the skies once more. “Wolf is moving him tonight!”

Chapter 11

A rough rocking motion jolts Cyrus awake, his head banging hard against a board overhead. “What? Where am I?” he mumbles, reaching for his face to assess the damages done. The same board that cracked his head now blocks his hand’s upward path. Cyrus pats his clumsy fingers along the barricade that holds him, his breathing growing shallow. A pine box prison. Did he bury me alive? He had to have drugged me. Surely I would have roused up when the nails were set in the wood!

“Help!” Cyrus screams, beating against the coffin’s lid until bits of splinters bite into his clenched fists. “Somebody, help!”

“Shut it!” a stranger’s voice cries as a boot clacks against the coffin’s side. Cyrus’s muffled, fear-ridden shout reverberates in the cramped space as the booted foot lashes out again. “Keep your mouth shut, you rotten bastard!”

I’m not in the dirt anyway, Cyrus realizes, numbing relief spreading through his limbs. Another hard jolt rattles him. We’re moving. I’m in a wagon or something like it. Wolf’s already traveling to the House of Piranhas.

In the coffin’s darkness that shrouds his eyes, faces lurk and sneer. Wolf’s Vibría appears first, his dark eyes gleaming and his mouth dripping blood. “Am I dead, Cyrus? Or am I here, forever a part of you? Will you ever shut your eyes and stop seeing me?”

The face blurs to become Iris once more, a fiendish turn in her smile as she leers. “Finally getting what you deserve, hmm?” As she speaks, her eyes slowly shrink from her face, blood tearing down her cheeks. Her shrieking laughter radiates through the coffin as her face slowly shifts to Falcon’s broken sneer. She does not speak, but her gruesome mask of decay is enough to send Cyrus over the edge.

“Please! Help me! They’re here with me! Make it all go away,” He pounds against the boards until the wood begins to groan and crack. A tiny ray of light bursts through the slats, though it offers little comfort to Cyrus’s terrorized mind. The shouts from the guards above him cannot quell the fear raging through his veins.

“Scream! Scream,” the Vibría’s ghost taunts. “No one cares, do they? How does it feel to be forgotten?”

Not real, not real. Cyrus clenches his eyes tight, but the haunting faces remain in his mind’s eye. Iris, Suryc, Siri, Warbler…. He chants their name like a pagan rite, a talisman against these creatures that might keep them from overpowering him.

“Why didn’t you help me?” Warbler’s voice echoes, her broken face joining the other specters that parade before Cyrus’s eyes. “Why didn’t you see that Creeper was a monster?” Cyrus jolts as her mangled fingers claw at him, and he is almost certain he feels her icy grip on his wrists. “You are useless! You are just as bad as Creeper!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cyrus bellows, pounding his head against the coffin. “Please! Someone help me!”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Hawk’s wistful voice echoes through the coffin. “Despite all our play acting in life, we find equality in death. You will join us soon, my son, and we all will know what your truest intentions were.”

Cyrus only ceases his screams when his vocal cords feel brittle in his throat. Exhaustion seeps into his bloody hands, and his head throbs with a pounding ache. The only comfort he finds is that in his fatigue, the faces and voices of the wronged ones disappear. Yet their silence soon brings a new torture to his mind.

Every second is an hour. Every heartbeat is a flood, and I will surely drown in my own juices before I reach the shore. The walls are too close, the airspace too cramped, and my lungs are tightening shut. One shuddering, rapid breath after another, Cyrus slips into a state of complete irrationality. Hyperventilating doesn’t help. I cannot stop. The walls…the walls. I’m trapped. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. Just get out. Get out. Get—

A crowbar jams into the wood near Cyrus’s eye. The nails squeal as they are wrenched from their pine beds, and full, blessed daylight burns away the shadows. Cyrus pushes weakly against the lid, hoping to rip it off completely.

“Not so fast.” Wolf’s eyes search through the large crack, wrinkling at the corners with delight when he sees his terrorized brother’s face. He presses against the coffin lid, holding it in place so that only the tiniest sliver of light can bleed through. “My men have informed me that you are causing a disruption. If you continue to shout, I will cut out your tongue.” Wolf flashes a sharp dagger through the opening, slicing Cyrus’s cheek.

“Please,” Cyrus begs, hating himself for groveling. “I’ll be good. Just leave the lid off.”

“Oh, I see! You’re claustrophobic,” Wolf muses, slamming the lid closed once more. Using the hilt of his dagger, he hammers the nails back snugly into place.

“Please,” Cyrus whimpers as the looming darkness threatens to slide down into his throat and strangle him from the inside out. “Wolf, please—”

“Who knew that a little box would be enough