Chapter 248

Almara’s Pov

Finally, after several journeys back and forth from our homeland to the enemies we come to the final steps. We saw plenty of wolves making their expedition back home and there was a unspoken agreement that what everyone needs right now is peace.

Thankfully, no one came up to us with questions, grief, or comments. It’s like we have this new kinship with the gammas in our world that we didn’t before. We seem to understand each other, or at least truly see one another.

Of course, the Hurricane Pack is still the top Pack and we’ll have to deal with the spotlight and press for the rest of our lives, but what used to feel like a world between us and others has been reduced to a simple TV screen.

Our house comes into view, standing tall on a hill and screaming at us to come tend to it.

Grace begins taking off in a full sprint, eager to return to normalcy. “Grace, wait!” Arthur barks after her and she stops in her tracks, turning around with her ears pulled back and tail tucked.

She’s been trying out her wolf form more frequently lately, especially ever since she’s learned she can run a whole lot faster in that form. Arthur looks at me and shakes his head as if to wonder what we’re going to do with her. “Let your mother and I go first,” he tells her.

“But why?” Grace whines. Arthur doesn’t answer her. Instead, he catches up to her, picks her up like she’s a bag of feathers and hands her to Roman. “Stay with your grandparents,” he orders her. He gives his parents and mine a look of request who nod back their understanding.

I place Robbie into my mother’s arms and then slip my hand into Arthur’s and together we take the lead, bracing ourselves for the likelihood of more dead bodies littered across our yard. Our children don’t need to see their home in that kind of state.

As we near the beautiful exterior, the cracks and damage become more apparent, revealing a very ugly truth. The Gammas that came to fight with us, once were ready to betray us. I’m saddened for our house, but the realization that we cannot let ourselves become the enemy to our own kind is much more surreal.

By the time we’re standing on our circular driveway, I no longer recognize our house. The windows have been smashed and emitting from the open holes in the walls is a sickly burnt smell. I sense Arthur going rigid next to me.

“I’ll tell the parents to take the kids somewhere while we get this cleaned up,” he says stiffly. All I can manage in response is a slow nod. It takes everything in me not to sink to my knees and cry. I won’t do it, not in front of my children.

With Arthur not standing by my side, a wave of anxiety washes over me and I realize this must be some form of post-traumatic stress. Perhaps you can see a therapist about it, Lily says and I roll my eyes at her dark humor. They do say laughter is the best medicine.

Arthur reappears at my side. “Elenor says she’ll call the security men, they have a team who cleans up the, ug,” Arthur pauses as he finds the right wording, “effects of their services,”

I turn towards him and furrow my brow. “Is that all these wolves are to you? The result of a product?” Arthur doesn’t soften his gaze at my reprimanding.

“These are the wolves that were traitors,” Arthur shrugs, “I think we’re going to be suffering enough guilt for the lives that went out and fought for us. Though that was their own choice, they did it because of us and for us,” Arthur says trying ot keep his voice level. He then turns back to our house and sucks in a sharp breath.

“These are the wolves that confessed themselves as traitors as far as I’m concerned. If this war did anything at all, it sorted the bad unloyal wolves from the good ones,”

I think about what Arthur is saying. Part of me attributes his attitude to his cold up brining, but maybe he has a point. Or maybe the war has hardened me too. “I think this is a new start, Little Wolf” Arthur adds more gently.

A cool breeze passes between us and beyond the stench of rotting flesh is the hinted aroma of leaves beginning ready to fall.

I let out a deep breath. “I’d like to experience an ending before any new things start,” I add mostly jokingly. I think back on the events that occurred over the last several years and realize how desperately I want nothing new, at least for a while.

“We’ll have to organize a funeral for Robert,” I say realizing that’s one closing that didn’t end on a happy note. Arthur is quiet for a moment.

“And I’ll have to find a new beta,” he says, lightly playing onto his words about new beginnings.

“Who may that be?” I ask.

“I suppose I’ll ask my father if he has any more illegitimate sons,” Arthur jokes.

We end up sitting on the overgrown grass in our front yard waiting for the cleaning men to show up. We discuss all that’s happened as if replaying a movie that we saw and weren’t really part of. In a dystopian kind of way, it’s almost like things are back to normal.

An hour or so later, a white van pulls up and three men in hazmat suits walk onto our property carrying suitcases while one goes to the back of a truck and unloads some gurneys.

We nod at each other, not really knowing what else to say in an unfortunate circumstance like this. They let themselves in through the front door already left ajar.

Arthur and I follow behind them. They take care of the bodies, we take care of the rest of the mess. Each item that gets picked up, put back in place, cleaned, or organized feels a bit like my soul is being restored.

We work tirelessly, wanting to rid the house of any remnants of the events we just lived through, though of course it’s going to take much more than a clean house before the scars of such events begin to fade.

Just as we finish up, another van pulls up. This one is white and blue and even without the logo printed across the side, I recognize it as the press. Arthur escorts the cleaning crew out the backdoor. There’s no need to advertise their services or what they had done for us.

The anchor woman hurries up to me as if I may quickly change my mind and retreat back inside. Without so much as a greeting she begins firing questions

“Can you make a statement about the ending of the war and what this means for the wolves who are now back home?” Arthur and I exchange a glance. I got this, he mentally tells me.

“First we want to sincerely and humbly thank everyone who heard our pleas for help, saw our pain and struggle and pulled from the love of their hearts to come and help us. We will never truly be able to fully repay you all, but please know on behalf of the entire Hurricane Pack we are going to think of a way to demonstrate our gratitude,”

“What will that look like?” The newswoman rushes to ask.

Arthur looks back at our recently cleaned-up house and then back at the camera. “I can’t say for sure yet, that’s because the task is not yet finished. We have some final house-cleaning to do, one last request to make,”

“Wolves just went and sacrificed themselves and you are asking more?” The anchorwoman asks, I know she’s trying to paint us as the bad guys, but Arthur doesn’t fall for her trap. He holds his stance firm.

“Yes,” he says and then delivers the request with great honor.