The forest is alive with scent—the musk of damp leaves and rich soil mingles with the traces of prey on the wind. My pack moves as one, our footfalls silent despite our hulking forms, our senses primed for the hunt. This ceremony binds us together, wolves united by blood and bond. The blood moon. The one night where we all hunt as one. Tomorrow, Rowan leaves to train with the coven we found, but tonight, she is safely seated on my back.
A twig snaps.
I freeze, a growl rumbling in my chest. The others pause behind me, fur bristling, ears pricked. The birdsong has quieted.
Something wicked lurks within these woods.
I scent them before I see them—the sickly sweet stench of leeches mixed with the wet dog reek of traitorous mutts. Fangs bared, I turn as the enemy explodes from the underbrus
