Where the broken howl

Chapter Four

Lucian

We had been tracking a small pack of rouges for miles, until the bastard led us into an ambush. Twelve of them struck from the north, teeth bared, claws slashing. Another group circled in from the east, trying to flank my pack.

I lunged forward, teeth snapping, claws swinging, a blur of motion honed by years of combat. Behind me, my warriors fought desperately, snarls and yelps blending with the chaos. One of my own went down, pinned beneath two rouges. I didn’t hesitate — I tore through the first attacker, snapped its jaw, and pulled it off my packmate.

Branches whipped at my face, claws slashed at my arms, and blood sprayed the underbrush. I twisted, rolled, and countered again. Every movement counted. Every strike was a matter of life or death. Pain flared through my shoulder from a glancing blow, but I ignored it. I cannot falter. I will not falter.

Another rouge lunged from behind. I ducked under its swing, ripping through its side with teeth and claws in one fluid motion. The leader of the ambush — bigger, faster, smarter — circled to strike again. I parried, slamming it into a tree, snapping bones with brutal precision.

The forest around us was chaos incarnate. Wolves and rouges tangled, growls and howls blending into a storm of death. My pack was scattered, but alive. I was alive. That was all that mattered.

Then I caught a scent — faint, elusive. One rouge had strayed from the fight. Its trail led deeper into the forest, narrower, wilder. My wolf growled in anticipation. I followed, pushing through underbrush, ignoring the throb of pain in my muscles, the sting of fresh blood on my skin.

I didn’t notice how far I’d gone until it was too late.

The sounds of my pack faded. My warriors’ shouts were distant, disjointed. Our mind link — the bond that lets us coordinate — was weak, barely functional. I had gone too far alone.

Branches whipped my face, roots tore at my feet, and every instinct screamed caution. And then… twelve more rouges.

A second ambush.

They came fast, vicious, snarling, teeth bared. I didn’t hesitate. I fought. Every strike precise, every dodge calculated. I tore through the first, snapped the second’s jaw, slammed the third into a tree. My claws were raw, my blood mixed with theirs, and my shoulder burned with every movement.

They were relentless. But I was faster. Stronger. Alpha.

I killed them all.

When the last one fell, silence pressed down. My breath was ragged, chest heaving. Every muscle ached. Blood ran down my arms and face. My shoulder throbbed. My ribs stung.

I had survived. But barely.

And I was alone.

The forest around me was quiet. The trail I had followed was littered with broken branches and blood. My pack was nowhere in sight, and the mind link between us had gone cold. I was isolated, badly hurt, and vulnerable.

For the first time in years, even I felt the weight of fear.