Bloodlines {Book One: The Last Kill}

Chapter One

"Finn, take Violet and London to the Eastern Wing. The Owls will escort you towards the Southerner's camp border." Ivan growled, his gaze not shifting from the dead wolf in front of him. It was no other than Elvira, his heavily pregnant mate. And now she and the pups were gone from existence. As Finn nodded silently, he couldn't help but feel pity for the powerful leader. His world revolved around the once beautiful Queen. She had the finest fur; silvery grey with tints of black. Her eyes were as blue as an iceberg and her cheery attitude could bring even the poorest soul into higher spirits. Ivan had been so happy when the news was announced: Finn remembered that moment as if it had happened yesterday. They were feasting on a newly-caught caribou and celebrating the beginning of Spring when she had given the big speech. But as of today, that speech was just another conversation between two fish in the ponds that were placed around camp.

London followed behind Violet, her bright green eyes now dull in raw grief. A trickle of rage warped her expression. Her eyes narrowed to angry slits. Finn and Violet talked to each other quietly. Now, London began to notice how Finn's fur was becoming gray and how he walked with a bit of a limp. Maybe it was time for the brave old wolf to retire. Just maybe....if he did retire, London could take the role of Secondary Spy. London shook her head, clearing the flurry of thoughts she had just endured. Looking above her, the shadow of two large owls loomed. "Halt," One swooped down to the ground, fluffing up it's feathers. "Are you of the Northern Savages?"

Violet nodded. "Ivan has requested an escort to the Southern border." She replied, motioning for London to stand next to her. The young wolf did as told, but her eyes held a defiance that screamed, 'I will not be bossed around by some mindless twat!'. The owl blinked. "Alright. Follow me." It elevated off the ground, flying slowly to the Southern border. "Is there a problem, Finn?"  The owl squawked. He, too has gray feathers.

Finn sighed. "Elvira was assassinated near the river." He replied dryly. "Ivan was not pleased. Do you have any information on who could have doe it?" The old owl shook his head, stopping at a vast line of pine trees. He settled down on the ground. "I'm sorry, Finn, but I'm afraid not. Do tell Ivan that I am sorry for his loss. Elvira was a precious one. I will keep a lookout. And..." He paused. "...here we are." The three wolves watched as the bird resumed his flight back to his position.

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Ivan had Thundere bring his deceased mate back to camp for burial. He disappeared into his den, throwing himself down onto his bed, which was a bundle of leaves and thick reeds that were fished from the river. "Why?" He mumbled to himself. "Why her?" The beige wolf closed his eyes and drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

When he woke up, Finn's muzzle was poking into the den. "Finn, come in." Ivan said, sitting up. "What news have you brought?"

Finn padded into the den, sitting across from his leader. "The Southerners have not let any information on Elvira's death come out of their mouths." He replied. "But, Ivan, I think it is time that I retired."

"That would be best," A feminine voice spoke before Ivan could.