Malachai's POV.
The scent of blood still clings to my clothes, rich and coppery. It's the perfume of victory.
I stride through the clearing as my hunters regroup, my boots crunching on fallen branches and scorched earth. Behind me, the forest whispers of war and ash and triumph. I can still hear the screams, their fear, their desperation. It's like music ringing in my ears.
They ran.
The mighty wolves of Malakar's pack had bled. Some had died. Others would never forget what it felt like to lose control over their own territory.
I smile to myself.
Let them feel fear. Let them feel hunted. For once.
This is just the beginning. Tonight proved what I have always known. The wolves aren't Gods. They aren't invincible. They bleed, they burn, they scream just like any other creature when de
