Read Night of Wolves for Free Online Page A

shrink. The nervous orcs at the front lashed out several times, always missing, always finding their arms grabbed or their weapons snatched from their hands. Once they fell into the circle, they never stood again. Trampled under the pounding feet, they could only cry out until dead.
    Redclaw howled, and his pack took up the call. The orcs looked ready to break. He could smell the fear on them, and it was strong. His next howl was an order, and his pack obeyed with perfection he was immensely proud of. Leading the way, he lunged into a gap of orc shields, batting aside a wild thrust of a blade. He didn’t fight the outer wall, instead shoving through, trying to crack their ring. The rest of the wolves did not attack as the orcs expected. Instead they continued to circle, pouring into the gap opened up by Redclaw. They cracked the orcs like an egg, pushing deeper and deeper into their center. He had almost reached their chieftain when the orcs on the opposite side, realizing they were no longer surrounded, turned to flee.
    The battle belonged to the wolves.
    Redclaw drank the blood of their chieftain as the rest of his pack hunted down the fleeing orcs. Only the hyena-men could run faster than his kind, he knew. The slaughter would be complete. He stood atop the dead body and roared his victory. Bonebite joined him moments later, sporting a fresh new scar across his chest.
    “Lucky bastard,” said Bonebite, seeing Redclaw’s eyes analyzing the wound. “I tore his head off for it.”
    “Gather our dead,” Redclaw told him. “It is time we honor them.”
    Twelve wolf-men had died in the attack, a far cry from the two-hundred dead orcs. Many others were wounded, but his people were strong, and he knew they would endure without complaint. They gathered the twelve together, laying them in a line side by side. Redclaw scanned them, searching for the strongest. Recognizing the corpse of a young, hot-tempered wolf-man that had gone by the name of Bloodgut, Redclaw walked over to it and then knelt on all fours. He was the one he’d seen struck by a spear.
    “To our glorious dead!” Redclaw cried out, plunging his claws into Bloodgut’s chest and tearing out his heart. He shredded it in his teeth, the blood sweet across his tongue. With that, the rest descended upon the bodies, all strength of the pack preserved and redistributed throughout. The twelve were not enough to sate their hunger, though. Each wolf took the body of an orc, some still alive, and flung them over their shoulders.
    “Let us return,” Bonebite said, two orcs across his back. “My pups will be hungry.”
    They walked back on just their two hind legs, the journey much longer. They walked in victory, though, so they bore their aches and the light of the sun in good humor. At last they reached their camp. Only the pups remained, those not strong enough to fight. The women had come with them on the attack, and they had performed well during the slaughter. Redclaw dropped the orc he carried. His two pups approached, their arms lightly touching the ground for they were still learning to walk upright.
    “Eat well,” he told them, proud of their size. Already he knew they would outgrow him. Come the day they feasted on his remains, they would fight amongst each other, the winner sure to be a great and powerful pack leader. Maybe they would surpass his accomplishments. He hoped they would.
    As the rest arrived, Redclaw saw that it was not just children at the camp. A smaller wolf-man waited in the camp’s center, kneeling on his haunches in a display of humility. Redclaw recognized him as Yellowscar.
    “Why have you come?” Redclaw asked him.
    Yellowscar averted his eyes, his ears pulled back against his skull.
    “Rotfur crossed the river,” said Yellowscar. “He went against our wishes, and he feasted on the blood of a human woman. The second time he crossed, he never returned.”
    “Damn him,” growled Redclaw. “Better the humans took him, for that