Chase
The moment we hit the border, I could smell them.
Rot.
Decay.
Madness.
Rogues.
Dozens of them.
The forest ahead was already alive with movement—our warriors in wolf form clashing with a swarm of mangled, feral bodies. Snarls echoed through the trees, claws tearing into flesh, bones snapping under force.
“Shift,” I ordered.
I didn’t wait for a response. My body tore apart and reformed as my wolf surged forward, black fur ripping through skin as I hit the ground running.
Tyler. Jack. Xavier. All shifted beside me. And we dove straight into the fight.
These weren’t normal rogues. Their bodies were wrong.
Fur patchy, falling out in places like they had some kind of disease. Skin visible beneath—gray, irritated, infected. Their eyes glowed unnaturally, wild and unfocused, foam
