The Wolf King Who Outlawed His Perfect Luna

Chapter 5 – Hunting the Unlisted

Drex Ironpelt watched the recruits run until sweat turned their gray training shirts almost black.

“Again,” he barked.

They dropped to the gravel, gasping, then surged up at the drill sergeant’s whistle, as if the sound had sunk hooks into their spines. Boots pounded in a ragged rhythm around the perimeter of the training yard.

Varick stood on the balcony above, hands light on the stone rail. From here, the High Warden’s compound looked orderly. Tidy. Contained.

The reports on his desk said otherwise.

“They’re too slow,” Drex said, joining him. The commander’s beard was shot with iron, his eyes flint-bright. “By the time we respond to a hit, the Unlisted are already three borders away. They don’t hold territory. They don’t plant flags. They disappear into dirt and rumor.”

“Then we stop chasing footsteps,” Varick said. “We chase patterns.”

Drex grunted. “I’ve read every pattern your analysts have put in front of me. They hit research convoys, intake centers, small holding facilities. They never touch the main labs. Smart enough to know their limits.”

“Not just smart.” Varick’s gaze followed the recruits as they dropped into push-ups, arms trembling. “Disciplined. They minimize kills. They target our weakest points. They move like…” His jaw flexed. “Like a pack with a Luna.”

Drex’s nostrils flared, catching the word. “With respect, High Warden, that’s exactly the problem. A Luna without an Alpha and a charter is anarchy wrapped in sentiment. Whoever she is, she’s giving the broken and the dangerous something to rally around.”

“And we gave them nothing,” Varick said, softer than he meant to.

Drex turned. “Sir?”

He didn’t repeat it. Instead, he nodded toward the yard. “Show me the new protocol.”

Drex gestured, and the whistle cut the air again. The recruits shifted formation with the weary precision of those who’d done this a hundred times: pairs, then fours, then two tight wedges angling toward a mock transport painted Council white.

“Scenario Delta,” Drex called. “Unlisted hit on moving convoy. Objective: secure cargo, neutralize hostiles, minimize collateral.”

On the far side of the yard, a second group slipped into position: “hostiles” in plain black, no insignia. One of the younger wolves had smeared ash over her face, probably thinking it made her look dangerous.

Varick’s lips thinned. Real Unlisted didn’t need theatrics.

The drill sergeant blew twice. The exercise exploded into motion.

“Note the positioning,” Drex said, pointing. “We’ve adapted for their preferred style. They like to hit drivers first, then rear guards, using the van bodies for cover. So we’ve trained counter-flanks and overlapping fields of fire. We’re introducing nonlethal deterrents only because you insist on live captures.”

His tone put a weight on the words you insist.

Varick ignored it. “And collars?”

“Version three of the control rings is ready for deployment.” Drex’s eyes gleamed. “Smaller, smarter. They dampen the wolf without needing a full shift. Lock them on one, the rest think twice.”

Varick thought about the broken metal Maelin had placed in his hands weeks ago, symbols inside eating at the bond from the inside out. Thought about how Hollow Howl had laughed in his dreams that night.

“No version three,” he said.

Drex’s head snapped toward him. “High Warden, with respect—”

“I said no,” Varick cut in, steel under velvet. “All existing stock is to be recalled and reviewed by temple and independent healers. Until then, we work with nets, darts, restraints. We’re not choking more wolves with something we don’t fully understand.”

A muscle ticked in Drex’s cheek. “Then we make it harder on ourselves. These Unlisted aren’t confused strays, my lord. They’re trained. Every time we pull a punch, they don’t.”

On the field, one of the “hostiles” feinted, drew a recruit’s attention, and the pair behind used the opening to swarm the mock transport ramp. The kid playing driver cursed as his door was yanked open.

Varick’s wolf rumbled uneasily. The movement was too familiar.

He’d watched real footage that looked almost exactly like this. Only the children inside the vans hadn’t been playing.

“Efficient,” he said.

Drex’s mouth twitched in something like satisfaction. “We’re getting there. With full authorization, we could be ahead of them in a month. But as long as we’re hamstrung by the illusion that these people can be reasoned with—”

Varick cut him a look. “You have nonlethal orders because I refuse to turn this into a blood feud. Every m******e gives Hollow Howl a feast. Or have you forgotten the last time ‘full authorization’ led to three villages of corpses and a cult ten times stronger?”

Drex’s jaw worked. He bowed, shallow. “I follow your orders, High Warden. I simply point out when they make my job harder than it needs to be.”

Varick’s gaze drifted back to the recruits. One boy’s form faltered, his hands slipping on the gravel. He bit back a whine, caught himself, pushed through. Varick remembered Verris at that age, skinned knees and stubborn eyes.

Unlisted kids bled the same. The law just called their wounds a liability.

“Hard,” Varick said, “isn’t the same as wrong.”

They stood in silence, the sounds of training rising around them—barks, impacts, the occasional shouted curse.

Finally, Drex cleared his throat. “What of the…primary target, sir?”

Varick didn’t pretend not to understand. “Sylra Wolfsbane.”

Even saying her name out loud felt like acknowledgment the Council hadn’t earned yet.

“Intel confirms her involvement in at least two of the last three intercepts,” Drex said. “Her signature is all over them. Collars cut, minimal guard deaths, maximum asset extraction. The more she succeeds, the more rogues and rejects believe the Crown is weak.”

“And the more wolves she pulls out of the labs,” Morwen’s voice floated from the shadows of the doorway. Varick hadn’t heard her approach. “Funny, that.”

“High Priestess,” Drex said tightly.

She ignored him, focusing on Varick. “You asked what she is to you, Varick. I can answer at least what she is to the Moon.”

“I didn’t ask you here,” he said.

“You never do.” Her faint smile had no humor. “Nevertheless. Every report you’ve read tonight? Every transfer you signed that never arrived? The scent under all of it is the same. Your law calls her ghost. The packs call her a myth. The Moon calls her…counterweight.”

Varick’s hand curled on the railing. “Counterweight to what?”

“To you.” Morwen’s gaze was not unkind. That almost made it worse. “To the part of you that believes control is safer than mercy.”

Drex bristled. “We don’t have time for riddles.”

“You had time for years of cages,” she said. “You can spare a few breaths for truth.”

She turned back to Varick. “You can keep sharpening new teeth on your paper laws. Hunt her. Collar her. Study her. Or you can admit that something in your system broke so badly that the Moon had to grow its answer in the dark, off your books.”

Varick met her stare until the tension in his neck throbbed.

Below, the whistle blew. Recruits shifted drills. The mock “Unlisted” team melted back into the ranks, laughter already buzzing under their breath.

Real Unlisted never laughed that freely.

“I will protect this kingdom,” Varick said at last. “From Hollow Howl. From cults. From wolves who think they’re above the law.”

“Then start by seeing which law is killing it,” Morwen said softly. “And which outlaw might be the only one keeping it breathing.”

When she was gone, Drex exhaled hard. “She’s going to get someone killed, talking like that.”

Varick watched a recruit stumble, then be yanked upright by a comrade before he could fall.

“She already did,” he said quietly. “The question is who we’re willing to lose next.”

Drex didn’t answer.

Varick turned away from the yard, the report on Sylra Wolfsbane burning against his ribs like a brand.

“Hunt them,” he said. “Tighten your net. But remember, Commander—bring them in breathing. Especially her.”

Because until he understood why his ghost Luna kept ripping holes in his perfect lines, he had no idea if he was hunting the problem…or the cure.