Chapter 54.
The forest at the edge of the Nightshade border didn't feel like home anymore. To Fenris, it felt like a labyrinth of mocking scents and lingering oil. He moved through the undergrowth not as a wolf, but as a shadow given teeth. He was no longer fighting the static or the pull; he had become the storm itself. He had found them. The tail of the mercenary group- four figures cloaked in heavy, enchanted wool, crouched around a dying fire in a ravine. They weren't the human filth Gorgon usually employed. These were creatures of the gray- mercenaries from the splintered clans of the West, exiles with enough magic to mask their trail and enough strength to think they could outrun an Alpha. They were wrong. Fenris didn't growl. He didn't howl. He simply appeared in the center of their camp
- Writer
