The Filthy Claws: Out for Blood (Exiled Book 2)

by J. K. Jones

  Michael nods stiffly, his dark skin ashen. “Rest assured, brother. We will have our day of retribution.”

  Micah watches the interaction carefully but not fully understanding what’s going on. His father holds his tiny hand as they walk from person to person. He’s tired. His feet are aching from standing all day. Normally his mother would’ve taken him into her arms and held him against her bosom. She’s gone.

  Poor boy, they all tut. The future Alpha is now a motherless child. Michael carries the weight of it on his back. The death of the pack’s Omega is hitting the clan hard.

  Alphas don’t cry. Was the first thing his father said after they received the news. At least not in public. Never show weakness. They’ll break you. Michael had hugged him tightly. Alone with me, you can cry all you want. That night they cried together, father and son. Micah tightens his hold on his father’s hand, eyes prickling. She’s gone.

  His heart hardens. The fact that someone would take her away is inconceivable. Micah hates them—the Filthy Claws. They’re disgusting, diseased rats that killed his mother because she stood up for herself, because she wouldn’t let them rob her. His father warned him to be prepared. The wars are coming, and they’ll bring vengeance upon those that slighted them.

  Michael picks him up then, hugging him as he moves from wolf to wolf in quick succession. Micah wraps his tiny legs around his waist, burrowing his face in his neck.

  I’m sorry, father.

  Micah cries then.

  -

  His grief comes in waves.

  Pulsating, grueling. It’s enough to rob him of his appetite and steal his sleep. Micah is numb. The world turns into shades of colorless gray. At nine years old, he finds out what it means to be truly alone. His father is quick to exact retribution. He holds nothing back as he wages war against the Filthy Claws clan. Without his father around, the council steps in to mold him and shape him. Their ideologies and ways become his. Micah doesn’t fight it; he takes it all in stride. Keeping his emotions minimal at best. They sense his power, his unrelenting command that could bring the strongest Alphas to their knees.

  A True Alpha.

  It starts with whispers in the dark, a legend of a powerful Alpha that speaks to all wolves, not just the ones within his pack. Micah doesn’t care. He’s too busy living each moment in torment. His mother was the only person who knew him, who cared about his wants and desires.

  Even now, he pictures her: long, cascading black hair, smooth skin, wide smile, and endless laughter. She’s gone.

  It dulls his visions, cripples his reason to go on. What’s there to live without her? Once whole, now completely shattered. Micah throws himself into training, into keeping his emotions tightly behind a brick wall that he builds higher, day by day, brick by brick. Bushido teaches that men should behave according to an absolute moral standard, one that transcends logic. He stills his movements, overcome by despair. In the Silvercrest Howlers courtyard, Micah doesn’t move as the rain slowly drenches his white kimono. He trembles. The downpour pelts his skin as his eyes blur again with tears.

  Micah grunts, attacking the Wing Chun dummy expertly. The dummy is made out of thick bamboo, with several long stick-like arms jutting out.

  Several servants stand off to the side, watching their Alpha kick and punch, violently practicing his formations and fighting style. His knuckles are bleeding. The wind howls as the storm rages around him.

  She’s gone. Her light, her laughter. Like a glass mirror, everything cracks and splinters around him. Micah finds no peace. Just echoes of everything he once loved.

  They killed her. He imagines the enemy, the Filthy Claws, the wolves that took everything from him.

  Micah screams, picturing killing them all with his bare hands.

  Left palm strike, front kick, back kick, leg thrust. Grind them all to dust. He fights against the wooden dummy until his arms and legs are bloodied and bruised. Until his kimono is drenched and sweat drips from his brow.

  She’s gone. Micah falls to his knees, crying harder than ever before. They took her. They killed her.

  Chapter 28

  Micah drowns in his grief. Wave after wave, it floods his mouth, fills his lungs, and chokes him to death. It doesn’t come at random moments, replacing feelings of normalcy with torrent tears. There’s no normalcy. He feels it constantly. A fog so thick and dank he can barely see his hands or feet. Micah spends hours lying on his mom’s bed, memorizing the scent of lavender, and screaming in anguish when it fades. She is with the gods now, they say.

  She is in a happy place. They don’t know what they’re talking about.

  Michael takes him to visit an older friend on the council. He wants Micah to keep quiet while he attends to some important business. Micah is used to this by now. He usually sits in the corner, face plain and neutral, as his father speaks to members of their pack.

  He watches closely, mimicking his father’s tone of voice or gestures, knowing that he will one day have to step into his shoes. Councilman Darnold herds him toward his backyard, pointing him to his third son, Trmon, and leaving them to play together.

  Micah keeps his distance from other wolves. Mostly because one word from him will have them on their knees, quaking and screaming in anguish. He hasn’t learned how to control his wolf yet, to regain the beast in tightly so that he doesn’t cripple his companions.

  Trmon regards him stiffly. He stands beside a waterfall, surrounded by natural guardian stones. Micah recognizes several shrines nearby, most of them for Ehros. He bows graciously, clasping his hands behind his back.

  “Alpha.” Trmon offers a small smile.

  Micah gives him a dismissive once-over. He’s too tired to pretend to care about other kids his age. Not when there’s a gaping hole in his chest.

  “Do you want to shift? I can do some neat tricks in my wolf form.”

  He’s excitable. Micah frowns. Like all the other wolves, he looks to please his Alpha. It’s exhausting. Micah doesn’t want to run around like an idiot all over the yard. He wants to lie in his mother’s scent, conjure her image before it fades.

  “Not now.”

  “Oh. How about we read the new book I got? Papa says we have the whole afternoon together.” Trmon barrels on, not easily deterred, it seems. Trmon isn’t very tall for his age. He looks like a small shrimp, skinny and dark-skinned, gazing at him like he hangs the moon.

  Micah wants quiet. He wants to be alone.

  “No.”

  “That’s okay. We can always eat candies and talk about the greatest warriors in the Silvercrest history. Mine is obviously Dario—”

  “Get lost.”

  Trmon looks shocked. His eyes widen as Micah glares at him. “What?”

  “Get lost.”

  Trmon stares at him, then scans around the garden. “Impossible.”

  The audacity. Not only did he disregard his Alpha’s command, but he also had the gall to talk back to him. Micah clenches his fist, ready to call his father and have Trmon punished for his insolence.

  “I live here,” Trmon responds easily. “I can’t get lost in my own house.”

  Micah gapes at him, lips twitching at the ridiculousness of that statement. He looks so serious as if he thought Micah meant what he said literally. It’s kind of funny. Though he doesn’t laugh, Trmon is smiling. A joke.

  “Come on.” Trmon beckons him. “You can’t brood forever.”

  For some reason, Micah follows him. The pain is still in his heart, but he finds that Trmon makes it slightly easier to bear. He doesn’t talk much. He barely offers anything to the conversation, but Trmon does most of the talking for both of them. As time passes, Micah finds this place to be a safe haven during the storm.

  -

  Compassion is a rarity.

  Especially from someone so young, but Trmon is as passionate as he is devoted to their friendship. He’s Micah’s most trusted friend, mostly because his emotions come from the soul, a gentle kindness that can break throug
h even the toughest armor.

  They’re inseparable. Micah wouldn’t have it any other way. You will be Alpha soon; you need to surround yourself with people you trust. Micah tightly holds on to his father’s words.

  Then the Blackfang Hounds come. They tear through their clan, killing women. Micah hides away while his father and the other wolves fight viciously against them. Blackfang Hounds Commander Wulfrun pillages until he finds the councilman responsible for defiling his Omega wife. After Michael declares war on the Blackfang Hounds, Micah is permanently kept away from the public, locked behind several armed guards as he lives out his life in seclusion. Only when Wulfrun is dead, his wolf body torn to shreds, do they finally call for a truce. The number of motherless children is enormous, and the grief is so profound it nearly shatters their clan. Omegas center the clan, bringing forth vitality and life to the otherwise savage Alphas. Without their nurturing spirits, many wolves are lost.

  Micah watches his father shake hands with the Thunder Hunters. They talk of packs and treaties, things he doesn’t understand. They push a small child forward. He looks young and strong, with blazing blue eyes and a haughty expression. Deryn, a young Delta, his family brought from the Thunder Hunters.

  Micah later learns that he was supposed to marry Deryn’s sister, Mina, who was killed by the Blackfang Hounds. It doesn’t faze him in the least. The council is always trying to set up meaningless suitors for him.

  “Who’s that?” Trmon asks one day in training, gazing at the wayward Delta in a blue kimono, beating savagely at a Wing Chun dummy.

  “Deryn from the Thunder Hunters,” Micah says, although he can feel the hostility rolling off him in waves.

  “Oh.” Trmon looks and looks at him and doesn’t stop.

  Deryn whips around sharply, icy blue eyes nearly feral. “What the fucking hell are you looking at?”

  -

  Deryn isn’t kind.

  He’s rude, brash, belligerent. He behaves slovenly, as if coming from the richest clan is something to boast about. However, the Silvercrest Howlers value humility, grace, and prestige above all else. Micah notices the glint in Trmon’s eyes, as if bringing the wild Delta to heel will be his greatest accomplishment.

  Deryn questions endlessly. At first, Micah is turned off by it. Why should he have to answer to anyone? Yet Micah realizes the questions force him to provide a thought-provoking answer. Trmon seems enthralled. They constantly banter about nothing and everything. Micah knows that behind the crude and spiteful words, Deryn understands his pain, his rage. They often share looks, ones where he can tell they’re cut from the same cloth. Deryn is openly angry, mad at the world and everything in it for taking his family from him. Micah is silent; however, their pain is like a mirror, and he finds Deryn’s random outbursts almost cathartic.

  The trio becomes fast friends. Micah trusts Deryn and Trmon with his life.

  Chapter 29

  At age fourteen, Micah is feared and revered. The wolves know to steer clear, only acknowledging him with the deepest respect. He doesn’t laugh or smile. He keeps his expression cold and neutral.

  He is the fiercest fighter anyone has ever seen. A True Alpha. With one word, he can command legions. Micah knows this, doesn’t bat an eye when people flutter around him, offering him gifts and unnecessary praise. Michael is proud of him, however, distracted he may be with the mounting tension between the Silvercrest Howlers and the Filthy Claws.

  Micah continues his training, far advanced than anyone in his age group. Sometimes, he even trains against the adults. If Sensei Musashi allows it.

  He is the head of the Silvercrest Howlers regiment; thus he must be the pillar of leadership and strength. His father tells him that today they’ll be visiting an old friend, someone who he deeply admires and respects. They get in the car and drive toward their destination.

  Micah keeps his mouth shut, looking out the window while his father talks nonstop about Alhazred’s father. Micah hates Alhazred. He is a weasel, always groveling and whining like a fool. He lacks honor and discipline. Micah knows he would humiliate their regiment. However, since he’s from a prominent family, Micah doesn’t comment. He knows his father will make the right choice, and once the wolves are trained, they’ll be able to fight for the Silvercrest Howlers clan.

  Their visit is uneventful.

  Dinner is bland. The food tastes like cardboard in his mouth, but he eats it quietly, answering when asked and speaking only when spoken to. Micah would rather be in the courtyard, training.

  “My youngest, Ryu…”

  He tunes them out, wondering how long it will take before he can leave. They retire to the living room. Alhazred’s mood turns bitter. Amaya speaks nonstop about her Omega child—a child he’s never heard of until now.

  “Ryu. Come here,” she calls to him, and in flounces a small dirty child.

  Micah is repulsed. A Filthy Claw. His stomach clenches.

  Amaya smiles wildly and opens her arms. Ryu steps over to her shyly. He tries to bow, but she pulls him into a tight hug.

  “Mother.” Alhazred looks aghast, his face twisting like he ate a lemon. “Your dress.”

  She laughs it off. The sound is like a spike to his chest. She’s gone.

  “Nonsense.” Amaya runs her fingers through the child’s hair.

  “This is him?” Michael grins. “He’ll grow up to be a very handsome Omega.”

  “My Ryu is a bit shy.” Amaya touches his cheek lovingly. “But he’s a hard worker.”

  “I can tell,” Michael says. “Is this what you truly wish?”

  Amaya nods. “It is. I wish nothing else but to have my two boys taught and trained by the greatest sensei. If Alhazred is to join the Silvercrest regiment, then Ryu must as well. I won’t have it any other way.”

  Micah looks at Ryu.

  He’s small, delicate almost, with fine pale skin and wide gray eyes. He smiles eagerly, as if he just received the greatest gift in the world. Micah looks and looks, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He’s hot and cold all at once.

  Ryu. His hair is like silk—ebony, beautiful, and flowing unbound down his back. His lips are wide, inviting, and his scent—freesia.

  No. What’s he so happy about? Micah wants to sneer.

  The boy’s smile is too wide, too bright. He wants to wipe it clean off. Damn Filthy Claws. He will see the clan razed to the ground.

  -

  It’s not natural.

  The way he looks—as if he’s a fallen angel, sent down from the gods. It makes no sense. Micah doesn’t look at him; he can’t. If he does, he’ll never stop. Which is crazy, preposterous even. Ryu is a Filthy Claw, a part of the same clan that killed his mother. Micah will never forget, nor will he ever forgive. It’s the first day of the Silvercrest Howlers regiment training, and everything is all wrong.

  At five in the morning, the kids sit straight, faces expressionless as they wait for Sensei Musashi's instructions. The training room is large. Floral greens and blues, browns, and red mosaic paintings adorn the walls. The ceilings are high with vaulted wood beams. He sits front and center, his face serene, the perfect picture of beauty and radiance. His clothes are made of pure white silk. His traditional kamishimo is the same one Sensei Musashi wears, but better.

  They recite the Seven Virtues of Bushido while Sensei Musashi listens carefully for any mistakes. Most of it is very simple, a moral code concerning Samurai attitudes, behavior, and lifestyles. The Silvercrest Howlers live their lives around these principles, formalizing moral values, ethical codes of conduct, often stressing a combination of sincerity, frugality, loyalty, martial arts mastery, and honor until death.

  Ryu’s scent wafts toward him, tantalizing, alluring. It makes his head spin with something strange and enticing. He’s distracted. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t listen to Sensei Musashi. Instead, he chases the smell, the unrelenting sweet aroma of freesia.

  No. Micah grits his teeth, fisting the fine silk until his fingertips f
eel raw. He will not succumb. He thinks about his mother, imagining her shock and horror when she’s killed by the Filthy Claws clan. He forces himself to listen, to disregard the chant and jeers. He is the Alpha after all. He must remain impartial above all else.

  When class is over, he leaves immediately, his head spinning.

  “Do you smell that shit?” Deryn asks, his curly hair touching the back of his neck. For a Delta, he’s extremely argumentative. “I could barely hear what Sensei Musashi was saying. It’s too distracting.”

  Trmon looks at him pensively, his dark skin shining in the light. “I didn’t think Deltas were that affected by Omega smells.”

  “I’m not,” Deryn spits. “He just stinks. Filthy Claws always smell bad. I can’t wait until we kill them all.”

  Micah keeps quiet. His mother wasn’t the only one killed in the Filthy Claw raid. They also managed to kill several councilmen and Deryn’s older brother.

  “You’re just jealous your hair isn’t that long.” Trmon laughs as he sidesteps Deryn’s kick.

  “Shut up.” Deryn blushes as he chases Trmon around.

  Micah doesn’t comment. He walks calmly to his next class. His friends are used to his brooding silence, knowing when to address him and when to keep quiet. Trmon looks at him several times but doesn’t say anything. What’s there to say anyway?

  Ryu’s scent is nice. Micah sits down on the training mats. It’s the aroma of roses, between the neat beds of fuchsia and mauve, like lavender.

  Chapter 30

  Micah’s stomach turns when the other kids bully Ryu. He watches Ryu fall, and his heart lurches. What does that mean?

  He deserves it anyway. At least that’s what the council says. The Filthy Claws are a stain against the wolf community. Their poverty and lawlessness give them all a bad name. His father is going to put an end to it. Micah is confident his father will show them the right path, educate the uneducated, civilize the uncivilized. It’s the way of the world.