No one Takes What is Mine.

The ambush

The stale scent of spilt beer and desperation clung to Damon’s nostrils, even though the mildest of human-form disguises. He leaned against a lamppost, ostensibly admiring a particularly garish Christmas display, but his eyes, sharp and predatory, were fixed on the neon-lit 'Rusty Mug' pub across the street. Inside, Peter and his motley crew of newly transferred delinquents were getting rowdy. “They’re practically broadcasting their idiocy,” muttered Lyra, one of Damon’s most skilled trackers, her voice a low purr beside him. She was disguised as a rather severe-looking librarian, but her eyes held the same coiled tension as a ready-to-spring panther. “Patience, Lyra,” Damon replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Even the dullest blades make a mess eventually. And we’re here to clean it up.”

It was well past eleven when Peter, a swaggering arrogance radiating from him even in his human skin, finally herded his friends out of the pub. They were loud, boisterous, and entirely too confident. Damon’s team, a small, hand-picked unit of six, melted into the shadows, a silent tide following the boozy ebb of the rogue wolves. The group meandered through the deserted streets, their drunken laughter echoing in the crisp night air. Damon’s instincts, honed by decades of vigilant protection, screamed that they weren't just heading home. Not with that glint in Peter’s eyes. They found their prey just a few blocks from the university campus. A young woman, barely out of her teens, bundled against the cold, hurried home from a late shift at the local coffee shop. Her exhaustion was palpable, her senses dulled by the long day. Easy pickings. Peter and his cronies fanned out, cutting off her escape route with a practised, chilling efficiency that belied their earlier drunken antics. The young woman froze, her breath hitching as the shadows around her coalesced into menacing forms. A choked whimper escaped her lips. “Well, well, what do we have here?” Peter sneered, stepping into the meagre light of a distant streetlamp, his eyes gleaming with a sick pleasure. “Lost little lamb, all alone.” Before he could take another step, a blur of motion erupted from the alleyway. Damon hit Peter like a battering ram, sending him sprawling across the cobblestones. Lyra, a whirlwind of controlled fury, disarmed one of Peter’s friends with a bone-jarring c***k that echoed through the quiet street. The other rogue wolves, caught off guard, instinctively began to shift, their forms blurring, muscles bulging under their clothes.

“Stay human, you fools!” Damon roared, his voice resonating with Alpha authority, even if he wasn't the Alpha. He held Peter pinned to the ground, a knee to his chest. “Don’t you dare break the Treaty in full view of a human!” The young woman, frozen in terror, stared at the unfolding chaos, her eyes wide with incomprehension. She whimpered, clutching her purse to her chest. Peter, struggling beneath Damon’s weight, spat, “The Treaty? What good is a treaty when it’s enforced by a hypocrite like Dane?!” His eyes, now tinged with a feral glow, locked onto Damon’s. “You think you can stop us? This is just the beginning! We’re going to expose him, expose all of you!” Damon pressed harder, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Expose who? And why?”

Peter let out a defiant, almost manic laugh. “Your precious Alpha! Professor Dane! He cast my father out, left him to rot for a simple mistake! For sharing a little information with the *right* people! He thought he could bury us, but we wouldn’t be silenced! We’ll bring down his carefully constructed world, piece by bloody piece, until he has nowhere left to hide!” The revelation hung in the cold night air, a chilling wind sweeping through Damon’s mind. A vendetta. Not just random acts of violence, but a targeted campaign of terror designed to draw Dane out, to force his hand, to expose the entire pack. Peter wasn't just a rogue; he was a vengeful son, fueled by a deep-seated hatred. Damon’s grip on Peter tightened, his gaze hardening. “Your father betrayed the pack. He put us all at risk.” “He did what he had to do!” Peter shrieked, struggling with renewed vigour. “And Dane punished him for it. Now, we’re returning the favour. We’ll make sure the humans know what monsters lurk in their shadows, and it will be all because of him!” The fight raged around them, Damon’s disciplined warriors quickly gaining the upper hand against the disorganised rogues. But Peter’s words had landed with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't just about stopping a few killings; it was about preventing a full-blown war, sparked by a personal vendetta against their Alpha. And Peter was willing to burn down their entire world to get his revenge. Damon knew he had to get this information back to Dane, and fast. The game has just changed.

Damon’s knee remained firmly planted on Peter’s chest, the younger wolf’s frantic struggles doing little more than agitating the gravel beneath them. Around them, Lyra and the others swiftly subdued the remaining rogues, pinning them against walls or to the ground. The young woman from the café, wide-eyed and trembling, had huddled into a ball, mercifully too shocked to fully comprehend the primal ferocity that had just erupted around her. “Lyra, secure the girl,” Damon commanded, his voice tight with urgency. “Get her home, ensure she remembers nothing. Use whatever means necessary, but be gentle.” He didn’t need to elaborate; Lyra understood the subtle art of memory alteration, a skill vital to maintaining the Treaty.