The forest, painted in the fiery hues of a sunset, became a blur of desperate motion. Two wolves, one the color of midnight, the other of rich earth, tore through the undergrowth, their ragged breaths misting in the cool air. Their hearts hammered against their ribs, a frantic rhythm accompanying the thud of their paws against the damp soil. Each leap over a fallen log, each scramble past an upturned tree root, was a desperate bid for freedom. Behind them, the guttural roar of racing vehicles grew louder, a monstrous symphony of their impending doom. Then, without warning, a blinding light ripped through the forest, a spotlight pinning the black wolf in its merciless beam.
Jeremy, caught in the harsh glare, knew instinctively these were no ordinary hunters. The metallic tang of silver was sharp in his nostrils—an unnatural scent for a human, a deadly one for a wolf.
"Don't let him out of your sights!" Stone's voice, devoid of emotion, cut through the din. He directed the man operating the spotlight, understanding the wolves' advantage in the dwindling light. A balaclava shielded his face from the biting wind as their trucks careened through the trees. Encounters with full-blooded wolves were rare, but they only needed one alive.
"Keep her steady," Stone commanded the driver, his voice low and calm before raising his weapon. Three shots cracked through the air. The black wolf crumpled to the ground, a wet thud echoing in the sudden silence. One bullet found its mark in his left shoulder, another in the middle of his back, and the last in his right leg. The brown wolf, startled, veered off in a different direction, disappearing into the deepening shadows.
Stone leapt from the truck bed and strode toward the downed wolf, who was already contorting, its form contorting, changing back to its false skin. Jeremy's blonde hair and blue eyes, now visible, seemed a cruel mockery of humanity, a shell for the searing agony of the silver bullets tearing through his system.
Stone smirked as his men encircled Jeremy, weapons at the ready, poised to deliver more silver if he dared to move. He chuckled, a chilling sound, and then, with a small, recently forged dagger, plunged it into Jeremy's belly. A maniacal smile stretched across his face.
The distinct click of a gun safety being removed was a blaring alarm in the otherwise silent forest. "This isn't your playground!" Paxton's voice, sharp with warning, cut through the air. His gun was aimed squarely at Stone's head. Paxton was ready to fire; no one truly trusted Stone. He delivered results, yes, but he was unpredictable, prone to deviations from the plan.
"Secure the subject. We're heading back to base," Paxton announced, his gun still raised.
Stone pulled his blade from Jeremy's bleeding belly. "Would you believe I'm the lesser evil?" he whispered to the struggling wolf, his voice barely audible. Paxton might think he was playing, but Stone knew, deep down, this beast would rather die by his hand.
Stone rose to his feet, scanning the darkness, wondering if the other wolf lurked nearby or had fled home. Either way, it was time to leave. Wolves traveled in packs, and he had no desire to be hunted in return. He turned to Paxton, shrugging, then pulled out a cigar, ready for a smoke on the way back.
Striding over to Paxton, Stone stood toe-to-toe with him, the heat of his cigar uncomfortably close to Paxton's cheek.
"Next time you point a gun in my head—"
Paxton cut him off, already knowing Stone too well. "You don't need to convince me to shoot you. Step out of line..." Paxton let his words hang in the air, a clear threat.
Dawson, perched in a treetop, watched the tense exchange, his heart heavy with fear for his Alpha. He yearned to race back and warn the others that Jeremy had been captured, but he had to track them, to discover where they were taking him. It seemed they didn't intend to kill him—not yet. He needed to warn his pack that the forest was no longer safe. He could only link with his younger sister, but the others, the rogue packs, were scattered, their communication fractured.
I need to tell the others. Everyone, the forests aren't safe. Humans are hunting us. I'm following them. He told his sister in their familiar pack link.
Dawson caught the scent of another wolf within their vehicles. Humans couldn't simply track wolves; they were indistinguishable from other humans. But wolves could always find wolves. Had one of their own betrayed them, turned their back on the entire wolf world?
The blinding spotlight on the front of their pickup trucks clicked off as the vehicles executed a U-turn, heading back the way they had come. Though his human form was slower, Dawson didn't risk shifting back into wolf form. He moved with the agility of his kind, leaping from treetop to treetop, trailing them. Once they entered the human cities, he had to steal a car to follow them undetected.
He felt like he followed them for hours. Once they were past the busy roads and crowded highways, he had to increase the distance between them, relying solely on his heightened senses to avoid detection. Finally, he saw a massive concrete building in the distance, so large it lacked any identifying signs. Slowing his stolen vehicle, he watched as his quarry entered through large silver gates. This had to be some kind of military facility. Cameras were everywhere, fences incredibly high, and watchtowers and guard gates dotted the perimeter every few meters. Armed men patrolled constantly, scanning every direction.
Dawson had seen enough. He knew how to get back. He turned his car around and sped off. Once back in the city, he abandoned the stolen vehicle. He had to get back now. They needed to contact the packs and the council. What was happening was beyond their understanding, beyond what the rogue packs could handle alone. From the looks of it, they needed an army.
When Dawson arrived back, he called a mandatory meeting. Everyone gathered in the abandoned church. The building itself seemed to echo the despair of its occupants: high, vaulted ceilings that disappeared into gloom, broken windows through which only slivers of light dared to enter, casting long, distorted shadows. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and stale fear. The people in the meeting, members of the rogue packs, looked rough. Many bore the telltale signs of their hard lives—a network of scars crisscrossing their faces and arms, testaments to past battles and struggles for survival.
Dawson recounted what he had witnessed in the forest. "We need to tell the packs, the council. The humans have never hunted us this way. Not for hundreds of years."
A chorus of complaints and dissension erupted. "You think they'll listen to us? Criminals and outcasts?"
"Some of us have a death warrant out."
"The packs have never cared."
"We're stronger than the humans!"
Dawson couldn't understand their reluctance. This wasn't petty squabbling; this was about survival, about what a pack was truly for: the strength to protect itself and all its members. In that moment of fear, Dawson grasped what he had missed in his old pack. He had left, thinking he knew best, prioritizing himself over others. He hadn't understood the true meaning of pack strength. But when under attack, the individual would always fall.
"You didn't see. These are not the humans you're thinking of. The ones we walk past at the mall that are fat and unaware and stupid. This is an armed militia. This is military. These are well-armed humans who know our weaknesses. And they know how to find us. When they got Jeremy, I smelled another wolf with them. We're fast and strong, and they caught the strongest of us. You cannot run from what you can't hide from. Wolves recognize wolves." Dawson wanted them to know he was not taking this lightly, and neither should they.
"Do you think this has anything to do with the taken? Before the council started rounding up defectives, we all know the defectives were going missing." An older wolf spoke up, connecting dots in his mind, wondering if this was the reason for the defectives' disappearances.
"And the council took all the defectives back into the packs," Dawson mused, wondering if the council already knew humans were hunting them, or just that people were going missing and it was time to pull in those who mattered.
"Wolves weren't being taken before, just defectives. The Council made this happen. Humans aren't going after the easy prey anymore." The older man rubbed his long beard with his knuckles.
"They filled Jeremy with silver bullets. They were ready. They had a collar made of silver. It wasn't some rinky-dink prototype. They've caught some of us already."
"I'm going to Alpha Jeremy's pack. His brother is an alpha. I'm going to tell him that the humans took him. They have their differences, but he'll help. The humans can't have us, any of us."
"I'm too old, boy. I'm going north, deep North, where humans can't really survive. May the goddess protect you."
Only one wolf in the room didn't look as dejected as the rest. Mickey had a dark, cynical smile that put everyone off. He looked eager, curious even, as he quietly ran his thumb along the hilt of a small, silver dagger he held, almost unconsciously, in his hand.
"Where'd you say this facility was?" It had been a long time since Mickey had gotten his hands on a defective. He told himself he wanted to help his friends, but he hid his smirk. Maybe they would have Jamie with them. He was willing to risk it, for the chance to see his beautiful mate—her black, silky hair and bright blue eyes, always brimming with tears.
Hope you're captivated by the story! Please feel free to comment and share your thoughts. I'm really eager to hear what you think is coming next!