Broken Claws and Glittering Jaws

The cold earth pressed hard against my face, a low and threatening grumble shuddered my body, prompting the claws and teeth that dug into my neck to clench in dominance. My eyes glazed slightly as oxygen failed in its supply but I could see the glowing eyes of these wolves. Strangers in my midst glowering down at me with disgust and triumph. "Not such a "Golden Warrior" now are we?" an all too familiar growl burned through my mind. The malice enough to cause a stinging headache above my eye. Rion's coat glistened under the sliver of moonlight creeping through the canopy. "Traitor!" I growled, my voice pathetic under the strain of the body above me. "You can't betray a pack who never owned you..." he hissed back. A low yip escaping his muzzle, the pressure against my body increased, my eyes unwavering on that godless form before me. As the light started to diminish and it became harder to see, I choked, Rion had moved aside, and in his place a She-Wolf stood, silver eyes staring down at me coldly. If I hadn't known better I would've believed she was the embodiment of the moon itself, but I knew all too well who this beast was, and before I passed into unconsciousness, a final word linked to those around me. "Emory." - - - My body ached worse in human form, cold sunk into my very bones causing me to shiver and pray that the wolf in me would recover quickly. I was naked but this did not make me feel vulnerable. It was the bare skin that covered me that was even more undignifying at that very moment. Even with heightened senses, I couldn't remotely make out where I was, my eyes were still sore and couldn't adjust to the darkness before me. I was undoubtedly not alone though, I could feel the presence of others and faintly smell them, none from my own pack but all of them carrying one distinctive feature, all of them wolves. I shook myself from the daze, still groggy and uncomfortable from the onslaught. Rion, that BASTARD, the hairs on the back of my neck stood and fury flooded me with heat, for the moment fighting back the bitter cold. Rion had been a Warrior amongst my ranks, we answered to the same Alpha, Gideon, who was relentless in war but docile unless prompted to behave otherwise. We were provided a good life through him, I was raised in his pack, my father a Warrior too and my mother a skilled Huntress, I had inherited the genes of both and as far as I knew had a pure bloodline leading back centuries. He had joined the pack at 14, skinny, underfed, a claim from a smaller territory and a pack consisting of a mere 23 members (9 once our pack was done with them). Their Alpha was brutal and stupid, he challenged bigger packs to try build a reputation that ultimately put an end to him and his pack. Most females didn't fight, they protected their young, and whatever scraggly undertrained teenagers that still maintained a brave face before our forces were saved. That included him. I had believed him of strong character, stubborn and with a defiant attitude, he was often subject to scarring by the Alpha, now tattooing his body macarbly as a reminder to never question his superiors again. He often snuck off and became extremely quiet, coming home with strange scents lightly drifting over his own must. Everybody shook it off, believing he was just fighting Coyotes in the woods, but it became so much clearer now. He had been with another pack. A foul taste sat in my mouth, I was disturbed at how such a creature sat undetected in our presence for so long. My head leaned back, a sigh parting my lips as my crown struck the hard concrete. I gritted down preparing for more discomfort above my growling stomach, aching bones and shivering body. I had barely begun to embrace the idea of resting when a scent struck my nose, fear, I heard a whimper, followed by a quiet whisper, "They're coming back." Shuffling in the darkness, and a fumbled kick at my leg. "Hey!" I barked. "Sorry!" a petite voice followed, they sounded elderly, the type of gentleman who soundly reads stories to his grandkids and enjoys watching nature channels. My anger was built on a platform of confusion which just as easily ebbed away when I realized there was no malicious intent. "Who's coming?" I asked, the whisper sounding far more aggressive than I intended. "The Rogues..." came another faint voice, far more assertive and calmer than the other. Rogues? The thought had barely encompassed a vision when I was overcome by a scent that was almost comforting. Petrichor, the earth after rain, and the faint undertone of fields of wildflowers, sweet but promising a storm. Light suddenly burst through a door I didn't know existed, and within its frame she stood. The most detrimental and dangerous Wolf to the packs as they were. The Rogue Alphess, a Luna with no mate. Emory Krowe.