The scent of fear always comes first.
Not blood, not sweat, not the metallic tang of air before battle—fear is what betrays a warrior before he falls. And that scent filled everything.
Mara’s wolves were trembling—not from cowardice, but because they knew, as I did, that this battle was wrong. The red ones weren’t wolves. They were something else—something that had forgotten what it meant to have a soul.
The ground shuddered beneath our paws, the clearing bathed in the sick light of the moon, turning into a field of shadows and fire.
Volker roared—loud, guttural, primal—and the sound pierced through me like a spear. His voice wasn’t that of an Alpha anymore, but of a beast possessed by a diseased god. The red aura around him flowed like liquid smoke.
“Now!” I shouted, forcing myself t
