────── ☽ ⋅ NATASHA ⋅ ☾──────
I stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the men from our pack fight each other in their wolf forms. They couldn't stop until blood was spilled. My father always said, "A warrior who hasn't bled is weak." The smell of blood hung in the air around his land. Years of warriors turning themselves into perfect fighting machines for a war that never came had stained the ground red.
Father stood next to me, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes scanned the fighters, looking for the weak ones to throw out of the pack. Inigo walked up to Father, taking careful steps. "Alpha Devan..." He lowered his head, but I could see he didn't like doing it. My wolf growled inside me. She didn't trust this man. Something about him smelled wrong, like a hidden poison.
