Broken Wolves

Colt  They took her. My teeth grind until I taste blood, sharp and metallic, flooding my mouth as rage claws up my spine. My hands itch to destroy, to break, to kill. The glass in my grip trembles, splinters spreading under my fingers, threatening to shatter like every single body I’ll leave in my wake. I don’t care how many I have to tear apart, how much blood stains my path. I’ll rip through this entire city, every pack, every rogue, every goddamn soul that thinks they can keep her from me. Nothing matters except getting her back. Amanda. Her face flashes in front of me. Those eyes—sharp, defiant, a spark of something wild. She wasn’t scared of us. She should’ve been. Should’ve run like hell. But Amanda St. Claire? She walked into our world, head held high, like she was meant to rule it. No fear. No hesitation. And we let her. Let her slip into the cracks of our ruined lives, thinking we’d break her. But she’s the one who broke us. And now she’s gone. Now everything feels hollow, useless—a world of ash without her in it. I’ll burn it all to the ground if that’s what it takes to get her back. I shove my fingers through my hair, the rage boiling over. The glass finally shatters under my grip. Shards slice into my palm, blood pooling, but I don’t feel it. Blaze, across from me, doesn’t even flinch. His face is a mess, bruised and bloodied from another fight he couldn’t finish, but his eyes are empty, hollow. She took everything with her when they dragged her away. Ash leans against the wall, his posture slack, like he’s already dead inside. His voice is raw when he finally speaks, thick with bitterness. “Six months. Six months of this… f*****g nothing.” “Then leave,” I spit, the words tasting like poison. But none of us are leaving. Not until she’s back. Not until I’ve gutted the bastards who dared to take her. And if they’ve hurt her— The thought claws at my insides, hot and relentless. Luther doesn’t speak. He hasn’t said a damn word since they took her. The prince, our leader—the one who once had us all under his command—is now nothing but a shell, hollowed out, driven mad by the silence and the waiting. I can’t stand it. Can’t stand seeing us like this—just shadows of the men we used to be, nothing more than ghosts rotting in our own hell. “You all look like you’ve given up,” I snarl, voice rough with disgust. “The Crescent Princes. Pathetic.” Blaze twitches, like he wants to snap back, but he doesn’t. None of us do. Maybe we’re all too damn tired, too empty to fight each other anymore. And that thought—it terrifies me. We’re no better than the bodies we’ve left behind—just as dead inside. I want to scream, to rage, to burn every inch of this place to the ground. But every time I close my eyes, I see her—those unflinching eyes, staring me down, daring me to take her. Like she’s still here. Like they haven’t ripped her from us. We were untouchable. Kings of our world. But she… she made us feel invincible, like we could tear down anyone, anything. And now she’s gone. And we’re nothing. Blood drips down my wrist from my mangled hand, but I don’t care. I tighten my fists, voice low, seething with venom. “I don’t care how long it takes,” I snarl. “I don’t care if I have to tear apart every pack. I’m not stopping until she’s back. Until she’s safe. And if they’ve hurt her…” My hands shake. The rage thickens, choking me, but I force the words out. “If she’s not… I’ll drown this city in blood.” Luther’s eyes meet mine, cold and empty. “If she’s dead, Colt…” His voice is a whisper, barely there, but sharp as a blade. “They’ll all pay.” The words hang in the air, heavy as death. We sit in that silence, drowning in it. I push out into the night, cold air biting my skin, but it doesn’t touch the fire eating me alive. I light a cigarette, drag hard, the smoke scorching my lungs. But it does nothing to quiet the beast inside me. Rage. Pure, unending rage. I need her. Need to hear her breath hitch when she looks at me, like she can’t decide if she wants to hate me or let me ruin her. And when she finally gave in… God. She was everything I never knew I needed. I pull another drag, fingers itching for the feel of her skin, the taste of her on my tongue. I want her back, want to see that fire in her eyes when she finally gives herself up to me. But all I have now is this black, burning rage. She should’ve been scared of us. Of me. But she wasn’t. She saw every twisted, dark thing in me and still didn’t flinch. Maybe that’s what makes it worse—knowing she saw all of us, and still chose to walk in. And we let her. Now she’s gone, and all I want is to tear the world apart to get her back. I won’t stop until she’s in my arms, trembling, her voice saying my name like she did before. Not until I’ve taken back every inch of her. The wind shifts, a sudden chill snaking up my spine. I freeze. Someone’s here. I turn slowly, not needing to look to know they’re watching. I feel it—the air thickens, the pressure rises. “Got a death wish?” I growl, voice low, deadly. A laugh. Cold, mocking, twisting my gut. I flick the cigarette to the ground, crush it under my boot, hand reaching for the knife at my side. “Death wish?” the voice sneers. “No, Colt. I’m here to deliver a message.” I turn, pulse spiking. And there he is. One of ours. Someone I once trusted. Someone who used to stand at my back. But not anymore. “You’re a bounty, Colt,” he says, a sick grin spreading across his face. His eyes glint with a mix of fear and twisted pride. “There’s a price on every Crescent Prince’s head.” My blood runs cold, then ignites with a deadly burn. Amanda. Taken. Now us. Hunted. And this isn’t just any bounty. The smirk on his face grows, eyes narrowing with a sick pleasure. “You’ve got a week,” he says, voice barely a whisper, cutting through the silence like a blade, “or Amanda dies.” The words slice through me. And before I can react—before I can do a damn thing—he’s gone, slipping into the shadows like a ghost. But his words hang there, thick as smoke, choking me. One week. A ticking bomb in my head. A countdown to hell. And I’ve got no time left.