Once we’ve gathered in the pack hall and the alphas have taken their positions on the carved wood chairs to face the crowd of Snehvolk packmates seated on the benches in front of us, Dillon hands me the mic. Just as I clear my throat and am about to address the pack, I pick up on a faint whisper coming from the back of the hall.
“...the demon dog…”a female voice breathes anxiously, and I pause to glance warily at my fellow alphas.
Though the voice wasn’t carried through the mind link, it joins the rest of the hushed, frightened whispers as the pack members speculate about the source of the attack before the meeting commences.
It’s not the first time we’ve heard that name, or felt the weight of anxiety that comes with the theory that there’s a fabled creature lurking in the forest, attacking lone travelers when pack members choose to go out for independent hunts.
The suspicions would have been credible if the myth were true; now we’ve witnessed our third gruesome death, the scenes bathed in the blood of fellow pack members while their limbs, torn in shreds from their bodies, have been found drained and scattered as if by a merciless beast.
Even my fellow Alphas have been steadily leaning toward the possibility that such a vile creature exists. I, on the other hand, have been trying to remain neutral, not wanting to believe in something I haven’t seen with my own eyes.
As if the murder scenes are not enough.
They are, however, cause for concern, and the urgent need to keep my pack safe. Which is why I called for this meeting, speaking over the disruptive whispers of the pack members who voice their fears.
After a moment of silence in Andrew’s name, I announce his burial ceremony, set for tomorrow night. Bringing the pack together around a bonfire is one way to ease their minds, but there’s still a need to protect them.
We’ve already lost three werewolves. I’ll be damned if we lose another because we’re not careful enough.
“Because of this impending threat, which remains unknown to us at this moment, we will stop independent hunts in the mountains and surrounds. If there is an urgent need to hunt, you will inform one of the patrol wolves, who will accompany you into the mountains.”
Someone in the center lifts their hand, and I nod to permit them to speak up.
“Is the threat really unknown? Or is it the demon that is out there?”
Thane clears his throat, and I pass the mic to him.
“Your alphas have not encountered a demon dog,” he explains, his voice level, not betraying the true nature of our concern. It’s in our best interest to keep the peace, even if each of us is wrestling with the demon of what a demon’s presence in Alaska might mean for our kind.
We’ve only ever heard the legends that were told to us as kids, around the bonfires hosted by the elders to prepare for our initiation into adulthood and receive our wolves. But while Thane and Dawson try to subdue the pack, Brooks and I exchange wary looks of discontentment, already foreseeing what’s to come the moment Thane concludes the meeting and asks for them to leave the hall.
An uncomfortable silence stretches when only the alphas and the elders seated in the back remain. Taking a deep breath for composure, Elder Silas beckons us toward the back with one firm nod.
My grandfather, once the leader of Nightclaw before it became Snehvolk, is the first to enter the pack den after he’s summoned us. The other elders follow him, and the four alphas walk in last.
It’s almost like walking down memory lane, reminiscent of old times when we were young wolves on the brink of alphaship, spending our last night at camp sneaking off to enjoy a few drinks in a neighboring town where we could, for one night, leave our duties behind and mingle with humans as if we were like them.
Now that we carry the mantle of alpha, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of the safety of the pack on our shoulders, or feel the blood of the lives lost trickling down our palms.
Elder Silas is the first to take his seat, prompting everyone to bow their heads before taking theirs. I stare at my grandfather through hooded eyes, sensing the magnitude of the looming threat on the pack.
“The harbinger of death…” he begins, his tone as eerie as the ominous terror that lurks in the forest of Girdwood. “The demon dog has come.”
There’s a moment of silence that stretches for us to digest what my grandfather tells us. As the elder head of the council, he’s the most knowledgeable werewolf and wouldn’t throw around words without being certain of them.
The demon dog isn’t just a legend we were told as children to scare us into becoming revered alphas. It’s not a myth meant to keep me up at night as I toss restlessly, growing more determined to defend my pack with all my might and swearing to protect them with every breath in my body.
I gulp down my trepidations, reminding myself that I am no ordinary wolf, but the leader of the Snehvolk Pack of Alaska, a true-blooded alpha with links to both Norse and Slovak wolves who migrated to the States during World War II.
While the others discuss the emergence of the demon, after two hundred years of believing that it was only a mythicalcreature who’d been defeated long before the migration of the werewolves to Alaska, my grandfather stares at me with uncertainty in his eyes.
“The malevolent spirit must be seeking a sacrifice,” Caius, another powerful and knowledgeable elder, suggests with a thoughtful nod. “A sacrifice of a werewolf will appease the dark forces it works for, but it can only be done willingly.”
“If it encountered three of our wolves in the forest and killed them, wouldn’t that have been enough to appease its wrath?” Thane asks.
My grandfather shakes his head slowly. “The sacrifice would need to be offered to the demon in return for the pack’s safety, or the spirit will continue killing our kind to sate its hunger.”
“We’d have to offer a sacrifice in exchange for the pack’s protection…?” I ask, my voice low as the elders nod their agreement.
