Hidden Away

Thirty-Three: The Fallen

"The Bloodmoon pack is under attack."

My head snaps to Levi. I want to ask, what, but I know what I heard. I couldn't mistake it for anything else. I look at Bennett next, and the look on his face tells me to go. But I'm not asking him for permission. I want to know if he heard the same thing I did. His expression tells me he did. I don't waste another second. I don't even wait for anyone to follow. In moments, I'm running past Levi and Bennett and down the hallway we came through. The guard by the door opens it for me. I can hear multiple pairs of footsteps behind me. I don't bother to check who has decided to follow as I'm sure everyone has, but it's the least of my worries. It's their people under attack as much as it is mine.

Dread has never filled me in the way it is filling me now. Nothing was ever of as much importance as losing the family and pack I was only just returned to. I don't care to look for who might be staring at me in my frantic state as I run down every hall Bennett brought us through when we initially got here. I don't think I would have remembered which hallways we tracked at any other time, but right now, it is as if I've been down this path millions of times. I don't care who might be looking my way. Nothing else is as important to me as getting to my pack —our pack— as soon as I can.

Running out the front gates of the palace and down the concrete steps we tracked, I race past the car we came in. I know I'm faster than any car if I push myself enough. I feel Rowan catching up to me. His footsteps are closer than all the others. He doesn't say a word. All he can focus on is getting us back home before we're too late. The others aren't fast enough to keep up with us. We've already left them behind.

My hair, which I left down this morning, snaps around in the drift. I'm catching up with how fast I'm going. I don't care to hiss at all the times certain strands painfully slap across my cheeks. I don't pay attention to all the branches and discarded things along the ground scratching at my feet and pulling at my clothes. I'm too busy dodging tree roots that have grown over the dirt in the forest. I even collide with a branch, but that doesn't stop me. No obstacle in my way causes me to falter. The time it takes us to get back home feels like a dreadful eternity. Though it only takes us not even an hour — more like half an hour, it feels longer than the initial trip to the palace.

I hope we're not too late. I hope the pack has everything under control. I hope I haven't lost everything just as I've gotten it back.

My heart pounds against my ribcage as I run, feeling as if I can't push my legs to go any faster. I'm so desperate to get to my family that I don't even feel tired. My lungs burn and my abdomen feels tight, but I feel like I could run for hours more. So long as I get to my destination on time. My legs don't falter at all and I start to feel like maybe I'll get there in time to save everyone.

Just maybe.

But it isn't until I make it over a hill and close enough to the pack where I should be able to hear something. Anything. Any sound of commotion so I know that I'm not too late.

I can't hear anything. Why can't I hear anything? Not fighting. Not yelling. Nothing.

No.

Rubble. Ruin. It's everywhere. I see it from the top of the hill. Dread overcomes my being. Tears prick at my eyes as I run closer and closer to the pack. Closer and closer, yet it feels so far away.

I can't be too late. I can't. Please don't be too late.

I learn way too quickly this isn't going how I want. As I run into the pack and past the first few houses. I stop in my tracks as I see the first sign of a fight. My heart sinks into my stomach. Ice is everywhere along with smoke coming from burnt grass and the ashes of what's left of some of the buildings. Ice and smoke which I know hasn't come from neither me nor Rowan. The sign of struggle is here, present like a thick, suffocating fog, but the sign of victory is nowhere to be found. I don't know what's worse; the deafening silence, or the sight of nothing through the destruction.