PROLOGUE

Bad Apple's POV

The cats of the gang were all skinny, ragged, and weak. Blood and fur littered the alleyway, and the surroundings smelt forever like crowfood.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think we were at war and had no time to properly take care of ourselves.

You'd be wrong.

My mate Meanstare was running the camp, and driving us right into the ground. Rather then giving time for hunting and training, she had the gang constantly patrolling the area. She was not happy. And when Meanstare isn't happy, we all suffer.

You see, it started moons ago, the day that Frostpool took Thunder; and some others; and fled the gang. Thunder was always my mate's favorite. Out of all the kits she has given life to, she still likes him the best.

He was sturdy and determined. He was powerful and sharp-minded. He was going to replace me as leader of the gang one day, and I had no problem with it.

But then he was taken from us. A while later, my first son Hellfire took his mate and they, too, abandon the gang.

Life for everyone has been terrible ever since. I don't trust anyone anymore, and that means nothing good for you.

At night I dream about revenge. I imagine myself finding Frostpool and pinning her small body under me. I can feel her blood well between my claws as I rip her throat open. I can see the light in her eyes dulling as her life slips away.

Then I wake up, and I am back in this hole of death.

"Bad Apple?" I snapped my head to the side and focused my eyes on my mate as she stalked over to me.

I growled, "What do you want?"

She sat down with me and meowed, "Jaggedscar's three kits are four moons now, and they are ready to begin training."

Kits! What's the point of those traitorous wretches? You let them in, you put your faith in them, and they claw you in the back.

I narrowed my eyes, "You give them away."

I don't care what happens to them. Let them be stolen my two-legs and forced to be kittypets. Let them die in a fight with rats or be attacked by a monster. What difference would it make?

Meanstare asked, "Who should train them?"

I snarled, "You have a brain, don't you? Use it for once."

Meanstare growled at me, her fur bristling. My vicious red eyes met her dark green ones. She must have seen something in them that she didn't agree with, because she suddenly relaxed and took a step back.

She decided, "I will give them to Seedspot, Sparkclaw, and Savagesnarl."

My old denmate and two of my kits. Good choices, I suppose, if the gang had to waste effort on our young.

I turned away from her and flexed my claws, deeply scoring the wooden box I was sitting on top of.

After a while Meanstare asked, "Why are you so worked up today, Bad Apple?"

The same reason I was worked up every day. Thoughts.

I was destined for greatness, and I am reduced to this. Lurking in the shadows of a two-leg nest, feeding off of rats!

I had been the hardest working apprentice. The best warrior. The most efficient mentor. I was the greatest deputy, and I would have been a legendary leader.

In trade for their loyalty, my clan would have been taken care of. They would never go hungry; they would never die in battle. If they were sick, they would be able to rest without worrying about their responsibilities. I would have personally done enough work to make up for any warriors who fell ill.

Ironstar was always just a hindrance. When we were young I had to save his tail so many times it wasn't even funny.

When he was the deputy, I helped him sort out his mistakes and did as much as he needed me to.

As a leader, he ruined Swampclan.

Turtlestar was a real leader, and she had trained her warriors well. Many of us were struck down in battle because of Ironstar's mistakes.

I was only trying to give my clan what was best: Me. I was only trying to provide them with what they needed.

Organization. Authority. Structure.

I felt a guttural snarl building in my chest and my entire body rumbled with the force of it. My mate warily took a step away from me.

She had been born and raised a rogue. I found her injured when I was the deputy, and took her back to be cared for.

Her rogue life never left her, though. She knows well to stay away from me when I am unhappy.

For too long I have been rotting away on the streets of this two-leg place. It is time I rightfully reclaim what belongs to me.

I glared at the cats of my gang as they mulled about and coldly ordered my mate, "I've had enough of your obsessing, Meanstare. These useless patrols are not going to happen anymore."

Meanstare growled, "But what if Frostpool or Hellfire come back? We hav-"

I hissed, "They are not coming back and we both know it! Would you come back to this?"

She fell silent, and that said everything I needed to hear.

I decided, "Help the advisors prepare the gang, Meanstare. As soon as all of the kits have a little training, we are going to war."

She blinked in surprise and asked, "A war? With who?"

With the enemies.

With the traitors.

With two daughters and a son that have disowned the family. That chose a life without their true kin beside them.

I answered her harshly, "We are going to war with the forest cats, Meanstare. All of us against all of them. There will be no holding back. This vendetta will end only one way."

I glanced at the gang and closed my heart off to them. They were nothing to me, mere pawns in this complex game of chess.

They were disposable, just like every single piece besides the king is disposable.

I lashed my tail and whispered, "Either they will all die, or we will."