THE ROGUE WOLF

by Klaire London

  Josh nods, but his body stiffens under my touch. Silences swarms the air, heavy and suffocating. The man's chest expands before he speaks once more. "What happens if I forget her face?" He questions. The enquiry shocks me. It's true that with time, you forget people's faces. I can barely remember my parents' faces, but Azra's and her crystal blue eyes remain as clear as day. "What happens when I'm fifty, and I can't remember her?"

  I'm shocked into silence. It takes everything within me to find the right words to say, but even then they might be the worst kind of words I could say.

  "You won't," I pry my eyes open only to find Josh's scrutinising stare studying me. His deep mocha eyes remain as beautiful as they have always been. "You- We will never forget her. What she did-" I pause. "She saved us. She saved me. I will never forget that. I will never forget her."

  Josh nods, stepping out of the hug. He uses the crook of his elbow to dry his tears, the grey material of his shirt saturated with salt and water.

  They say that the sheer agony of losing someone - that the pain of letting someone slip through your fingers, powerless to their fate - healed over time. With years, the scars would scab over and dissipate, but never truly fade. But sometimes, the ache would only get worse with each passing second. I fear that Josh's scrutiny will only deteriorate, as will mine. How could I live with myself when someone else had died in my place?

  "She deserved so much better," I continue, taking Josh's hands again and refusing to let go. My thumb runs along his smooth skin in a bid to take away some of his pain, but I know that there is nothing I can do to ease the war raging inside him. "And you need to remember that I'll always be here for you, I promise," I mutter. It's something I can't truly promise, but some part of me hopes that he believes it.

  Josh jerks his hands out of mine, as though my touch is toxic. I have no time to feel hurt before the words leave his mouth. "But you're not her."

  The words sting, but I don't let them go deeper than the façade of my skin. He is in a dark place, and part of me wishes that he doesn't mean those words at all.

  Yet again, I find myself stepping towards him as he takes a step back to give himself space. In response, he just shakes his head, warning me not to come any closer. I halt, crushing my hands into fists.

  "You know what happened the day Azra's mother died?" Josh asks, practically shouting the question. I shudder at the sudden shift in his tone. He constantly moves the position of his legs, waving a hand in the air, clearly agitated. "She came to me, knowing that she was about to be executed. Not to Azra. To me."

  "I didn't know why at first, but after she started weeping in my arms, it made sense," He continues. "She knew that it would make it so much harder for Azra to see her like that.

  "But that wasn't the worst part," Josh pauses, licking his pastel lips. "The worst part was the promise she forced me to make. I promised her that I would do everything I could to protect Azra. I knew I would do that anyway, but I broke that promise, Aurora." He glares at me, his jaw taut and clenched in fury. "I don't break promises. And now she's gone!"

  I can't stop his next actions. His trembling hands gather up a vase on the side of my old bedside table. His muscles flex as he throws it at the far wall, the expensive sapphire and white china shattering into one thousand tiny fragments; irreparable like my heart.

  Josh glances down at his hands, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion. His disorientated expression makes my stomach churn.

  I'm too slow to react as his legs stumble backwards and he lands on what used to be Azra's bed. Despite the solid piece of furniture below him, he still wavers like the sea during a tormenting storm. He brings his knees into his chest, burying his face into his legs.

  I move towards him immediately, sitting beside him. My teeth brush my lips as I hold back yet another stream of ongoing tears. My heart was once uncorrupted. Now it's teaming with demons. I place my arm around his back. He relaxes under my touch this time, leaning into my chest as I hug him closer. I was am never going to let him go. Josh is my only friend, and I'm not going to let him suffer more than he needs to.

  "I loved her, Aurora," Josh mutters. The sound is muffled, but still clear as day. "I loved her."

  I cradle his head with my hand, his tresses soft to the touch. "I know," is all I can say. "She's in a better place now."

  "I knew her for ten years," Josh exhales into my chest. The tone of his voice threatens to tear me apart. He stammers, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "I remember the first time we met and I couldn't even lift a sword. She- she knew that she wasn't supposed to talk to me - to her, I am an omega; nothing - but she didn't care. She always accepted me for who I was. A crazy, fucked up boy with no sense of direction.

  "And now that she's gone, it feels..." He pauses to find the right words. It's as if I can hear his brain clicking and whirring as he thinks. "It's feels like that part of me no longer exists. Like there's a hole in my soul, which I will never be able to fill."

  Josh bows his head, submerging into silence. My lips purse open, but my voice box has seemingly vanished.

  Josh's sobbing continues, and we stay like that for what seems like hours. The daylight intensifies as Josh's relentless sobs die down. Dust motes float in the air like ghosts, refracting the luminescent light like one thousand miniature stars. And all I can think about it the weight on my chest that will never be lifted.

  Finally, Josh's muttering slices the silence apart like a knife. "She was my home," he states. This time, it's my turn to be confused. "She was- she was-"

  Josh continues to mumble, abruptly sitting up and rifling a hand through his hair. He prides himself from the bed, glancing around the room with jerky movements. I watch in envy as he gathers up a random top from the floor before scooping down to collect another item of clothing. It takes me a minute to figure out what he's doing.

  The boy opens his chest of draws, pulling out a dilapidated navy bag. It's empty, the sides caving in a he chucks it onto his bed. He once left it empty to come and share mine. that moment seems like a century ago; as though the comfort he brought me that night doesn't belong in the aftermath of Azra's demise.

  "Josh?" I enquire, squatting down next to him as he empties the contents of the drawer into his bag. His hands work fast, flinging in the garments of clothing and the odd hunting knife without even batting an eyelash to think twice. "What're you doing?"

  Josh bites his lip, finally zipping up the full human-made bag. The only item he keeps out of the confined material, and in his hands instead, is a picture. I gasp when I notice him and Azra standing beside a woman with the same soft features as Josh, but with short cropped blonde hair and piercing hazel eyes. His mum. I don't know how he got the picture in the first place, but I don't pry for an answer.

  He stands up, completely ignoring my question. I follow his action.

  My hand scrapes against his upper arm, pulling him to face me. "Josh!" I shout, snapping him back to reality. "What're you doing?"

  The boy doesn't blink. "I need to get out of here," he sighs, placing the blue bag firmly on his shoulder.

  I shake my head furiously. "No," I say. "No. You're not leaving me."

  Josh's chest heaves once more. This time, he's the one to place his empty hand in mine. He squeezes it tightly. "I have to," Josh whispers, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. It's a friendly gesture, nothing more. "Everything about this place reminds me of her. This room. The bright tapestries. Even you, Aura. And I don't know how I'll be able to cope if I'm always thinking about her."

  My feet take a step towards him. "You will be able to cope, I promise. I'm here for you," I say, my voice coming out as a whine. "Just please stay. Please. We need you."

  "Azra needed me." Josh nods glumly. "And I wasn't there for her."

  He begins to turn away, his fingers slipping out of mine. I fasten my hold, pulling him back before he can slip from my life altogether.

  "I need you," I utter quietly, widening my eyes. I want
him - need him - to see how much I care for him, but he's grieving, and all of my emotions are lost to him. I understand why he wants to pack up and disappear, but that would just leave me with Damien. As much as I love him, he doesn't understand me like Josh does.

  Josh shakes his head once more. "No you don't, Aura," he replies, our eye contact so dangerous and invigorating I can hardly keep my focus on him. This might be the last time I see those perfect brown orbs. "You don't need anyone. You're strong, and don't you dare forget that."

  I exhale, a tear escaping my eye for the last time. "Just- just promise me you'll come back," I stutter.

  Josh presses my hand for the last time. "I promise."

  And with that, he slips his fingers out of my hand, the skin burning like fire until his touch is no longer present on my fingertips. Without his warming contact, I feel empty, dead, unloved - the list goes on - inside.

  I watch him disappear out of the door, catching my last glimpse of his brunette tresses as they catch the sunlight, dazzling like stars, and whisper under my breath, "May we meet again."

  24 | End

  ❝After all we've done, do we even deserve to survive?❞

  I've stood in the throne room overlooking the onslaught of the rogue war for at least an hour, although time has once again slipped through my hands. Without Josh, the only place I can find sanctuary is here, where everything reminds me of Damien. My fingernails scrape at my fingernails in an attempt to rid all of the blood hidden beneath the ivory. I washed my hands earlier - vigorously, and with enough anger to beat Hunter over again - but faint scarlet lines still blemish my murdering fingers. They're an ugly sight, but I pinch myself to stop my train of thought. My fingers were scarred, just like everyone else's. I was no different to any other werewolf who had fought in the war, I was just more recognised. And I hated it. Once upon a time, I had been confident, but the war had stripped that away from me as easily as the snow had been smudged into crimson. Attention made my skin crawl.

  The creaking of a floorboard is the only sound I have heard - aside from the constant moans of pain slithering into my ears unwillingly from the hall beneath my feet - in the past hour. I turn around, abruptly curious.

  My eyes wander over two females, one figure half the size of the other standing next to her. I can't control my mouth as it falls open in shock. Not only is the younger girl standing: she's alive.

  "Harper?" My legs stagger forward, stumbling over each other as I battle against the urge to sprint towards her and grab her up in my arms. I do it anyway. Without her consent, I fall onto my knees and pull her into an embrace.

  My hand cradles the back of her head as it rests on my shoulder, unable to comprehend what is happening. She had distinctly been cut by the wolf's bane sword, even if the dosage was low. She should be dead. "Oh my God," I sigh, the scent of stagnant blood and poison infiltrating my nostrils. My stomach threatens to empty at the strong odour, but luckily I haven't eaten enough to do so. I think that I have finally grown accustomed to the stench.

  I flicker my eyes from Harper, to Iris, to the throne situated at my side. My arms squeeze the girl's miniature frame, just to ensure that this isn't a dream. I squeeze her again, until she releases a belated gasp from her mouth.

  Afraid that I've hurt her, I let go, only to reveal that her skin is much paler than I remember. Sweat still beads her forehead like stars, but she's ok. She's ok. As she licks her chapped lips, and runs a hand subconsciously down her burned right arm, I exhale inwardly. I hadn't even thought to check on her when I dashed after Josh, but at that point, I had already presumed her fate. I will never make the same mistake again. The cut on her face has vanished, a thin white scar the only thing claiming that it was once there.

  My quadriceps ache as I stand firmly, locking my knees into place with a familiar click. My eyes come level with Iris's, hers puffy and red just like mine. Blood runs down the side of her cheek, most likely from Harper's cut when she was unconscious.

  "What happened?" I ask immediately, too awestruck to embrace Iris. I divert my eyes to check that Harper is real one last time before jerking my head back into the correct position.

  Iris opens her mouth, but a whine comes out as she shakes her head. "We-" she pauses, swallowing. "We came to say goodbye."

  I wince as my claws abruptly break through my skin. I don't know Iris well, but she feels like family, particularly after I rescued Harper from the fire. That day, an unbreakable bond was forged between us, and I wasn't about to let that melt away into ashes. The memories of that day haunt me, more so than the time when I was trapped in the rogue encampment, forced to talk one to one with monster. The image of a man burning has been engraved into my head, and I doubt it will go away. It is permanent, like a tattoo. I hardly have time to even comprehend that she ignored my question, but I know what her answer would be.

  My heart aches. They're leaving as well? I didn't have many friends, or any family, but they were part of me. Iris and Harper leaving felt like part of my soul dethatching itself involuntarily.

  "What?" Disbelief lines my voice.

  Iris gulps once more, as though she's afraid of me. The thought is enough to set my brain alight with anxiety. "I don't want this life for her," Iris bows towards Harper. The young girl slides her hand into her mother's, gazing upwards with beady eyes.

  I slowly nod, my action delayed. I run my tongue along the bottom of my lip for no reason, but it somewhat calms me. Damien kissed these lips.

  "I understand," I state, but my eyebrows are creased. Wherever they went, the overhanging threat of death and destruction would loom over them like the moon haunted all of us at night. My hand takes Iris's upper arm, clenching it. "Take care of her."

  Iris smiles faintly. It's a gesture I've never seen her do. "I will," she replies, shrugging off my hold. "You take care as well. I can never thank you enough for what you did, Aurora."

  The last tear I will allow to slip out of my drying eyes runs down my face as I pull Iris into a hug before letting go. "Where will you go?" I enquire, intrigued.

  Iris exhales, pulling Harper closer towards her legs. I could never be a mother. "There's a human town I visited once when our pack was on the move. Crescent Peak." I rattle my head for memories linked with the town name, but nothing sparks to life. I have never been to the human world, and I don't plan to go anytime soon. "There's currently no pack claiming the town, so we should be able to keep a low profile. Live a normal life." A human life, I want to correct her. The thought of hiding my wolf stirs my stomach on their behaves, but I know that this is the right decision for them. It was away from all of the tragedy, and all of the death.

  "Sounds nice," I lower the volume of my speech, the reason unknown. I shrug my shoulders. "I guess this is goodbye."

  Iris nods. "Goodbye, Aurora," the woman says, glaring down at Harper in a bid to day her farewells. The young girl decides to hide behind her mother's back instead, tugging at her hand.

  I smile as Iris shoots me a sympathetic smile, stepping back towards the unguarded door. But before she can disappear, I suddenly remember the remaining knife in my belt. I didn't trust myself with the weapon, and had no desire for it anymore; giving it to Harper meant that a piece of me could always be with her, protecting her.

  I draw out the steel blade. My father had given it to me once, and although it was one of the only pieces I had left of him, it wasn't permanent like his face. I rub the metal on my top to try and get it to shine more, but the difference isn't notable.

  "Here," I state, handing the dagger to Harper handle first. She cautiously raises a hand before taking it. After all, she was twelve and knew how to handle a weapon. She had proved that when she stood up to Hunter and stabbed him in the back. To my surprise, Iris doesn't interject. The gift of a weapon to a young werewolf was common, and not among the abnormal. "This used to be my father's," I explain. The girl attempts to hand it back, thrusting it in my face, but I wave my hands frantically to tell her no. "I want you to have
it." I pause, making sure that her dark mocha eyes are focused on my plain hazel ones. "Whenever you're in trouble, use it to protect yourself. I don't want you getting hurt."

  The girl nods as Iris's smile grows, her cheeks bulging and making her face appear square. At first, I'm worried that it's a smile of distaste, but I soon realise that it's a smile of admiration.

  "Thank you," she murmurs. The woman stretches out an inviting hand towards Harper, but the child hugs the dagger close to her chest and shakes her head, refusing to give up the weapon. Harper then steps back, tucking the blade into the waistband of her leggings. "I hope to see you again someday."