Chapter 89. The Cat's Cradle

Tawny

I wiped the blood and sweat from my brow in an over-exaggerated movement. I was beat, tired, overwhelmed, exasperated; as many words as you can find to explain how broken a will and resolve was, I was it.

The aftermath of the carnage I stood amongst, was unimaginable. The streets ran red with blood that was slowly being absorbed by the dry dirt of Cambiador. I looked up to Mason, one of Lamia's warriors, hoisting yet another body over his shoulder and placing it in the bed of the truck, with the others.

27 trucks lined the main road to the kingdom's heart, each filled with the body of a soldier or a civilian. I wanted to cry for the loss, but I had no tears, not that my tears would do any good. Not now, and not last night.

"Mason," I called to the tall muscular were-cat. "Did you have any luck contacting anyone at MacTire?"

He nodded, walking over to me, wiping the mess of grime from his hands onto his blood-soaked je