Zio sighed and pulled his hands from the river. “Whatever it is, just say it. I’ve better shit to be doing than dealing with you silently judging my every move.”
Michael stretched his legs out in front of him, turning his face to the night sky. “I’m not judging anything, but I don’t think you’re being fair.”
“Fair to who? The hordes of southern wolves that were sent to kill us, or Devan?”
“Both. We were trying to kill them as much as they were us, and you’ve ordered Devan to go against everything he is, despite him offering a sensible alternative.”
“Taking prisoners?”
Michael shrugged. “We’ve never done it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t. We don’t know who those wolves are—they could be grunts, or conscripts, or maybe even betas. Given our current situation, we’d be fools to let that kind of intelligence die.”
“Our current situation?”
“We’re against the ropes, man,” Michael said. “And we only came out on top today because Devan was with us. Even if you don’t agree with him, at least hear him out and check in with Varian before you make an enemy of the only healer we’ve got.”
“We don’t take prisoners.”
“Uh-huh.”
Michael lay back on the riverbank and closed his eyes, apparently oblivious to Zio’s deepening glare. He was the most perceptive of Zio’s unit. The only subordinate wolf who would ever challenge him so freely... and so damn reasonably that Zio wanted to throttle him.
He huffed out another sigh and got to his feet. In the distance, northern campfires burnt, overtly defending the weakest points in the border, the message to the enemy clear—we’re here, come and get us. The fires were guarded, the sleeping areas too, watch teams changing every few hours. Zio’s gaze didn’t linger on them, instead drawn to the dimly lit area where northern wolves were burying both their own dead and those from the other side, as human public health laws dictated. To the side of the death circle, a lone figure sat where Zio had left him, keeping vigil over the dying wolves of the enemy pack.
Devan.
The tug in Zio’s chest was impossible to ignore. He threw Michael a last scowl and jogged to the scene he’d been hoping to leave behind until morning.
Devan heard him coming, naturally, but didn’t turn around. “The male died an hour ago. Your clean-up crew is coming back for him.”
“They’re not my clean-up crew. They’re burying their family.”
“And someone else’s. Is this how you’d want your brothers to be treated?”
“The southern packs have done far worse to my brothers,” Zio snapped. “And my sisters.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“Never said it did.”
Devan turned to face Zio, shadows obscuring most of his face. “What if the enemy had found Emma injured and let her live?”
“They didn’t find her. I did, and she died in my arms.”
“Because you couldn’t heal her.”
“No one could’ve healed her, Devan. She was... fuck, there was nothing left to fix.”
“Shadow Clan nurtures the most powerful healers in the world,” Devan said. “Whatever side I’d been on, I might’ve been able to save her.”
Rage, fresh and bright, flared in Zio’s gut, merging with the pain of old wounds. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. Just try and see past your anger and grief. There are strategic reasons to keep this wolf alive, but you have to be more than a soldier, Zio. You have to be a man.”
“I don’t have to be anything you tell me to be. My responsibility is to my pack, and that means eradicating any fucker that’s trying to kill us.”
Devan laughed without humour. “She’s not killing anyone right now.”
“And she won’t ever again. Fuck you and your strategic bullshit. If you want to be a healer in a war, you have to pick a side.”