Early the next morning, I wake up in a mass of tangled blankets and ruffled pillows. Besides myself, the bed is otherwise empty. The spot where Riot's body used to lay is bare.
Where could he have gone this early? There's barely even a slither of daylight outside and his pillow has long gone cold.
Whatever. He's not my responsibility. He can take care of himself.
After a long, satisfying stretch, I get up with a yawn. My shoulder is sore where Riot's teeth had sank into it and my shirt is encrusted with brown, dried blood. I probably should have changed before going to bed, but I didn't have the energy to even think about it.
I peel it off, discard it to the floor, and replace it with another long sleeve one with blue arms and shoulders and a white body.
While my shirt was off, I caught sight of the mark in the corner of my eye. Scabby, red, and with a few areas still oozing blood. It'll scar over soon enough and become the mark that it's intended to be: a symbol that ties me to Riot. And his will do exactly the same.
Downstairs there's still no sign of him. His scent lingers faintly throughout the cabin, more than enough for me to track through the living room, down the hallway and out the back door.
Against the wall by the door I find my favorite tall grey boots, the ones I was wearing when Riot took me from my pack. It seems like it happened eons ago, a distant memory that I remember vividly.
I slip them on and head out the door, my sense of smell guiding me. Riot's scent trails off into the forest, in a direction I've never bothering going before. I've always been in the woods in front of and to the right of the cabin. Now I'm heading diagonally behind it, with only my nose to lead me.
Dead leaves crunch under my boots, the towering trees looking naked without them. The sky is just beginning to turn a bright blue, although the whole world looks a bit dim with the sun barely peaking over the horizon. There's an autumn chill in the crisp air with a rejuvenating bite to it.
After a little while, not having even walked that terribly far from the cabin, I spot Riot ahead. His back is to me and he's sitting on a stump in a small little clearing among the trees. I notice his shoulders and head hanging lowly, dejectedly. He seems focused on something in front of him.
He hears my footsteps as I approach, his back muscles tensing. But he doesn't raise his head, nor show any blatant sign or acknowledgement of my arrival. When I'm close enough to see over his shoulder, my heart drops at what's holding his attention.
Two graves, side by side.
They're covered in a blanket of red, orange, and yellow leaves, just like the rest of the forest. The only aspect that's recognizable as a gravesite are the duel rounded headstones sticking up. They're both a beautiful obsidian black, an exact match to a dire descendent's eyes. Engraved into them are two names, one for each stone.
Raines Sydney and Searna Dela
Carved into the stone below each of the names is a symbol I've seen before, and one that if I move my eyes a few inches to the left I can see in the living, breathing flesh. The same stigma that's branded into the back of Riot's neck: the snarling head of a dire wolf encased within a bold pentagon.
A mere three feet in front of me and six feet down lie Riot Sydney's parents.
Not only is he a dire descendent, but one with double the dose from both his mother and his father. Meaning he's more closely related to the original and now extinct species than I had thought.
The venomous words he said to Senya at the Citadel flash in my mind. "They killed our parents! Maybe if you weren't so far up his ass you'd see that."
YOU ARE READING
The Exiled Alpha | ✓
Werewolf"It's like he's a different breed of werewolf. Something... beyond us." • • • Adrienne Gage has spent her entire life being shunned and punished for her mouthy attitude, and being loyal to a pack which doesn't deserve her loyalty. It's been a year...
