Bound by Honor (War of the Five Fangs Book 0) Read online

  Bound by Honor

  War of the Five Fangs 0

  Asher North

  Content Copyright © 2017 by Asher North

  Cover Design © 2017 by Asher North All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Light and dark, in union, gave birth to all;

  A holy marriage, in balance, above the Falls.

  Man and wolf, in harmony, built castles and halls; A destined dance, in rhythm, erecting great walls.

  Brick and mortar, in tandem, growing wide and tall; A bulwark fortress, in solitude, before the squall.

  But peace and war, like light and dark, at turns crawl; Only one can win and darkness is coming for us all.

  Pollux’s Prophecy

  Contents

  PART 1: DAWN

  1. Oberon

  2. Oberon

  3. Rohn

  4. Rohn

  PART 2: DUSK

  5. Oberon

  6. Rohn

  7. Oberon

  Bound by Fate: War of the Five Fangs 1

  PART 1: DAWN

  YEAR NINE IN THE WAR FOR THE LIGHT

  Oberon

  Oberon stepped through the cavernous den of the Gold Eye pack with a cautious eye. The dank smell of stagnant water invaded his nostrils as he worked his way further into the cave, whose entrance was oddly unguarded. Though his own eyes darted about to take in his surroundings and measure any threats, the eyes that followed him from the shadows were much more active. None of these Gold Eye wolves trusted him—why should they?—because as the leader of the Black Claw packs he was their enemy as far as they were concerned, the cause of all of their pain and loss.

  “Oberon Mooneye, the blackest of all Black Claws,” a wolf scoffed as he padded silently across the earthen cave floor to meet Oberon. True to their name, the Gold Eyes all had a piercing golden gaze, and this wolf was no exception. Oberon felt as if the coal-black wolf were looking into his soul.

  “And who are you?” Oberon asked as delicately as he could.

  “Noxis Blackriver,” the wolf answered. “Head of the Silent Shifters.” That gave Oberon no comfort. The Silent Shifters, assassins of the Gold Eyes, were legendary for their killing ability in the shadows. “Follow me, His Grace awaits you,” Noxis continued and Oberon obeyed.

  He might never have come here if it weren’t for the urging of Pollux Lunalis, an old friend and blind seershifter, who happened to be the pack leader of the Gold Eyes—and who also happened to be dying. Now, though, as he felt dozens of pairs of eyes following him and felt the hair standing up on the back of several wolves as he passed, he wondered if he’d been misguided in accepting Pollux’s invitation. He’d been in more battles than he could count, but he’d never felt fear like he felt it now.

  “This way,” the wolf grunted, snapping Oberon out of his thoughts. In his human form it’d been difficult to see the path in front if him, but he hadn’t dared enter the Gold Eye den in his wolf form; that mistake would surely have been taken as an invocation and gotten him killed on the spot.

  They rounded a corner and Oberon winced as the dozens of torch flames illuminating the cavern they’d entered overwhelmed his sight. When his eyes had adjusted, he squinted to find a massive bed on clawed, golden feet, its headboard adorned with intricately carved depictions of the sky and stars. A withered old man lay within it, his eyes milky and glazed. His breath was ragged and shook the entire bed with his exhales.

  “Your Grace, Oberon Mooneye of the Black Claws is here at your command,” the wolf called without stepping further.

  “Thank you, Noxis. Come, Oberon,” Pollux croaked, and Oberon did. Carefully, he sat beside Pollux on the bed. Though Pollux was blind, and had been for as long as Oberon had known him, his eyes flittered in their sockets to lock exactly where Oberon hovered over him.

  “It was good of you to come,” Pollux wheezed and a smile appeared on his face.

  “I would never have denied a summons from the great Pollux Lunalis,” Oberon said, and he meant it.

  “You look like you’re in good health. Possibly the best health you’ve ever been in,” Pollux said and Oberon hesitated. A breathy laugh leaked out of Pollux after a moment of silence. “You’re no doubt wondering how I know that. Even blind wolves can see,” he said.

  “How much time do you have?”

  “As much time as I need. I’ve known my whole life this day would come,” Pollux said.

  “Of course you did, you know everything,” Oberon said and Pollux laughed, which turned into a wheezing cough that lifted his wisps of white hair from his face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make you laugh.”

  “No need to apologize. Death need not be such a serious affair,” Pollux said a few moments later when he’d regained his breath.

  “Why did you summon me here?” Oberon asked.

  “It shouldn’t take a seer to deduce that,” Pollux said and Oberon chuckled.

  “You’ve had another vision?”

  “Yes, many of them. Of war and peace, of blood and tears, of joy and sorrow.”

  “What is it you’d ask of me?” Oberon asked. He’d known all along that Pollux had summoned him for a reason, but he hadn’t been able to determine what it was. Pollux smirked.

  “You are possibly the greatest warrior that shifter kind has ever known. You’ve fought and conquered in battles that no one thought possible to win,” he said. “But war with ourselves is not sustainable and shifter kind needs you now more than we ever have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nine years ago I delivered my vision of the War for the Light to all of the great pack leaders. Each of them laughed at me and each of them are now dead—except for you,” Pollux said and a chill rippled down Oberon’s spine. It was true. All of the pack leaders at the time thought Pollux was a raving fool—and possibly insane—but Oberon had believed him and nine years later he learned how right he’d been to do so.

  The war had come, suddenly and violently, just as Pollux had predicted it would. It started with Rion’s Rebellion, when Rion Silverstar and his Blue Moon pack had risen up against their long-time allies, the Red Mountains. It expanded rapidly from there, with each pack taking sides and making alliances, until Aurora Falls, the sacred birthplace of all of shifter kind, ran red with blood. Now there were no sides, no winners and losers, just constant war and bloodshed.

  “What did you see?” Oberon asked.

  “I saw you, standing against the tide, and finally bringing an end to this war,” Pollux said.

  “How? I’m only one wolf, how could I possibly stop the hundreds of the rest of them from tearing each other apart?” Oberon said.

  “You’ve been fighting—courageously and greatly, no doubt—but fighting nonetheless. If you want to stop this war, as I believe you do, the only way is to treaty with the other packs,” Pollux said.

  “And be barred from my own as a result?” Oberon asked.

  “If that is what it requires, then yes,” Pollux said. “Only you and the pack you lead can put an end to this. You must make the move toward peace before there are no wolves left with which to barter it.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible,” Oberon said.

  “You believed me all of those years ago when no one else would. Why won’t you believe me now?” Pollux asked. A heavy silence fell between the two of them, ruptured only by Pollux’s ragged breathing. It wasn’t that Oberon doubted Pollux, quite the opposite, it was
more so that he feared Pollux was right. Battle and bloodshed were things Oberon knew well, perhaps too well, and he feared that without them he might not know who or what he was as a wolf.

  “Other things have come to me about you as well,” Pollux said, breaking the silence. Oberon searched his face, hoping to find some sort of comfort or reassurance there.

  “What else?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “A mate. A child,” Pollux said, and a smile appeared on his face, a smile laced with a warmth that Oberon doubted Pollux had felt in years. His heart skipped a beat. Of course, he’d felt pressure from his pack to find a mate and conceive an heir, but thus far he’d been too focused on battle to even entertain the idea of settling down.

  “Truly?” Oberon asked, his pulse quickening.

  “Truly,” Pollux answered as his claw of a hand snaked across the sheets to entangle itself with Oberon’s. Pollux’s skin was like ice against Oberon’s own. “You would want that child to know peace, would you not?” he asked.

  “I would,” Oberon agreed.

  “Then make it so. You must,” Pollux said.

  “How?”

  “Meet with the Grey Fangs. I’ve already spoken with Aris Greyborn, their leader. He’s awaiting your arrival,” Pollux said.

  “The Grey Fangs? Is this a joke?” Oberon asked, barely containing his ridicule. “They’d sooner string me up by my tail than treaty with the Black Claws.”

  “That is not how Aris tells it,” Pollux said. “Oberon, listen to me, and listen well: the Grey Fangs control the second largest army behind your own. If the two packs were to align, and if the Gold Eyes pledged our support to the union, there would be no war left to fight.”

  “And what will become of me? Do you think my Black Claw brethren will allow me to betray them without punishment?”

  “Peace has never come free, Oberon,” Pollux said. “Is your pride worth more to you than that?” The words were the sharpest of claws raking across Oberon’s face, tilling his skin like freshly-watered soil.

  “And you believe that Aris means to keep his word, that he doesn’t mean to kill me as soon as he lays eyes on me?” Oberon asked.

  “I believe nothing. I know everything,” Pollux said, a wry smile on his face. “Aris will keep his word, but you must keep yours as well.”

  “I haven’t given any word,” Oberon said.

  “You will,” Pollux said, squeezing Oberon’s hand. For a moment, Oberon had forgotten they’d even been linked. “Even if the Black Claws banish you, which I have no doubt they will, they will fall apart absent of your leadership—and the war will fall apart with them.” Oberon let out a sigh as Pollux’s words echoed in his mind. He knew that Pollux was right, that no one wolf would have as much influence over the outcome of the war as he himself could, but that gave him no comfort. Still, even Oberon had grown weary of warfare, and the prospect of peace, however slight, was too tempting.

  “I will meet with Aris,” he said at last. “You have my word.”

  “As I knew I would,” Pollux said with a smile. “He’s waiting for you in the Whisperwood. Noxis will escort you at once.”

  “I need no escort,” Oberon said and Pollux smirked.

  “The stars say otherwise,” he said and again a chill cascaded down Oberon’s back. “As we Gold Eyes say: life, death, balance. Be well, Oberon Mooneye.”

  “And you, Your Grace,” Oberon answered, a term he would never use for anyone but a good friend. He stood and made his way back from whence he’d come, knowing this would be the last time he saw Pollux Lunalis in his mortal form. Noxis appeared from the shadows, startling Oberon.

  “Rohn,” Pollux called.

  “Your Grace?” Oberon answered, turning on his heel.

  “Your future mate. His name is Rohn,” Pollux said. “And he will try to tame you, Oberon. Do let him.”

  Oberon left the cave with a smile on his face.

  Oberon

  Unlike Oberon, who was built for battle, Noxis was like night itself as he waded through the brush of the Whisperwood, the dense stretch of forest that formed a ring around Aurora Falls. Through the gaps in the trees and branches, the crashing of the water from the falls carried into Oberon’s ears, the only thing he heard for miles. Not even the crickets stirred this evening, so tense was the air. They’d traveled from the Gold Eye den far west of the falls for nearly an hour before the forest swallowed them.

  “Are you frightened, Black Claw?” Noxis asked as he came to a sudden halt, causing Oberon to nearly crash into him from behind.

  “Shouldn’t I be?” Oberon answered honestly. Noxis smirked, his molten gold eyes gleaming in the slivers of moonlight that pierced through the thick canopy overhead.

  “Maybe you have the right of it,” Noxis said and set off again. Oberon had no idea where they were heading, but it seemed to him as if they’d been walking in circles for nearly an hour without making any real progress. The Whisperwood had a way of disorienting its invaders and more wolves than Oberon cared to admit had gone mad or perished here when they’d been foolish enough to wander it alone.

  Oberon had never met Aris Greyborn, though his prowess on the battlefield was well known. He’d been the leader of the Grey Fangs since Oberon was a young wolf still incapable of shifting into his human form. The Grey Fangs and the Black Claws had been enemies for the entirety of the war, with the Grey Fangs supporting the Red Mountains and their allies and the Black Claws supporting the Blue Moons and theirs.

  “I can smell your nerves, like blood in the water,” Noxis said. “Best get that in check before we meet Aris. He doesn’t take well to cowards.”

  “Says the wolf who deals in secrets and shadows, the very profile of courage,” Oberon scoffed.

  “Guard your tongue, Black Claw, if you’d like to keep it,” Noxis said, whirling on Oberon. His fangs were bared and his eyes were nothing more than golden crescents in the night.

  “I suppose Pollux and the elders of the Gold Eyes would enjoy hearing you attempt to explain how it came to be that you murdered their only hope at peace,” Oberon fired back. Noxis growled. “I am not your enemy,” Oberon continued.

  “Then prove it,” Noxis spat and tore off into the woods. Oberon bounded behind him, honing in on Noxis’s faint but nevertheless present scent. Noxis was fast, no doubt about it, and he was as silent as he was quick, but Oberon was smarter—this was a trap. Breaking from Noxis’s scent, he crashed toward the middle of the wood and emerged into a clearing seconds before Noxis did—and came face to face with two other wolves, their coats grey like melted snow. A low growl rumbled out of the larger of the two as it crouched into a defensive stance while the smaller wolf retreated behind him.

  A new and unfamiliar scent wafted into Oberon’s snout, and for a moment, a blisteringly brief moment, he lost himself in its sweetness, his pulse pounding and his stomach fluttering. All of his senses seemed to be heightened; the faint sound of the water rushing in the Falls now crashed through Oberon’s ears like a hammer to his skull. He shook his head to clear it and felt dizzy, almost as if he’d downed a gallon of Wolf’s Bane, the drink that made wolves do the most ill-advised things.

  “Aris Greyborn,” Oberon said, recognizing the large, battle-worn wolf that loomed before him at once. Oberon was a large wolf himself, but Aris made him look like a common dog by comparison. His haunches were taut with muscle and his fangs extended from his snout like sabers.

  “You are the Black Claw,” Aris growled, his stance shifting ever so slightly to one more relaxed, though the fur at his neck still bristled.

  “I am. Oberon of the House Mooneye,” Oberon answered.

  “And you’ve brought a Silent Shifter dog along with you. I’d heard you were a braver wolf than that,” Aris said. Noxis growled from behind Aris.

  “Pollux warned me I wouldn’t be safe alone,” Oberon said.

  “He was right,” Aris said. “We are not the only things alive in the fores
t this night,” he continued and the fur at the base of Oberon’s skull rippled when the smaller wolf at Aris’s side whimpered. “Are you certain the shadow dog is the only company you brought?” Oberon glanced around the clearing and found nothing but darkness and bramble. He’d taken every precaution to cover his tracks so that no Black Claw could have known he’d be meeting Pollux, much less that he’d be meeting Aris… Or had he?

  “It seems I am not the only wolf who brought company,” Oberon said, gesturing to the smaller wolf beside Aris with his snout.

  “There is strength in company.”

  “Indeed. Now, let us speak while we still have the opportunity,” Oberon said.

  “If you betray me, Black Claw, trust you will not live to regret it,” Aris said.

  “Trust is what we’ve gathered to build, is it not?” Oberon asked, though his heart fluttered. He was not a wolf of words, he was a wolf of war. Diplomacy had never been his strong suit, but he knew that against a beast like Aris, not even he would have stood a chance in battle.

  “It is,” Aris growled.

  “Then honor me with the name of your company,” Oberon said. Aris turned to the smaller wolf, who cowered.

  “Step forward,” Aris commanded the small wolf. When the wolf didn’t obey, Aris roared, a sound that shook the forest and sent fallen pine needles scrambling across the ground. Meekly, the wolf stepped forward, and again Oberon was hit with a scent that threw his senses into chaos.

  “Who are you?” Oberon asked, his mouth watering. He realized then what he was looking at and what the wolf was doing to him. The wolf was an Omega, and an Omega in heat, no less, whose scent triggered something primal and instinctive in Oberon.