“Because we probably are,” Evan replied, but he didn't slow down or suggest turning back. Because that was what leadership meant sometimes, wasn't it? Walking into traps because someone had to, because the alternative was letting fear make your decisions for you.
The forest felt wrong tonight, like every shadow held secrets and every sound carried threats. Too quiet, as if the usual nocturnal symphony had decided to take the evening off rather than witness whatever was coming.
That's when the growl came.
Low, guttural, the sound of something that had forgotten what it felt like to be anything but hungry. It seemed to emerge from the trees themselves, echoing off bark and stone until the entire forest became a throat producing sounds that belonged in nightmares.
The patrol halted as one, wolves going rigid with attention that spoke of predator recognizing predator. But these weren't normal wolves stalking us through winter darkness. These were rogues, creatures that had lost themselves so completely to their beasts that humanity had become just another word they'd forgotten how to understand.
Shadows burst from the underbrush like physical manifestations of violence, four massive forms that moved with coordinated precision despite the madness that rolled off them in waves. Their fur hung in matted clumps, slick with substances I didn't want to identify, and their eyes held nothing human.
The first one slammed into Evan before anyone could react, massive body carrying enough force to crack ribs as they went down in a tangle of fur and fangs. The sound they made hitting the frozen ground was like thunder, like the world breaking apart along invisible fault lines.
Evan's shift happened mid-fall, bones snapping and reforming as his wolf exploded outward in a wave of golden fur and righteous fury.
The second rogue targeted Jonah, who was still human and therefore easier prey. It launched itself through the air with terrifying grace, jaws open wide enough to snap a spine like kindling. Jonah tried to dodge, but momentum and mass were physics equations that didn't care about survival instincts.
I didn't think. Couldn't think. Training took over, muscle memory born of weeks spent shooting at targets that couldn't fight back. My bow came up, arrow nocked and drawn to my ear in one fluid motion that Gideon had drilled into me until it became as natural as breathing.
The silver tip punched through the rogue's shoulder, spinning it sideways just enough for Jonah to roll clear of jaws that would have crushed his skull. Blood sprayed across the ground in patterns that looked like abstract art painted by someone who understood that beauty and violence were often the same thing.
“Get up!” I shouted, voice cracking with adrenaline and terror in equal measure. “Fucking move!”
Jonah scrambled to his feet, shifting mid-rise as his wolf burst free in shades of brown and gray that would have been beautiful if we hadn't been fighting for our lives. But he was bleeding from claw marks across his chest, and the wounded rogue was already orienting on him again with the single-minded purpose of something that existed only to kill.
The third rogue went for Dad, recognizing the weakest target with predatory intelligence that spoke of strategy beneath the madness. It moved like liquid shadow, all flowing muscle and hunger that had been sharpened to a killing edge.
But Dad was ready for it.
The silver dagger flashed in moonlight as he stepped forward instead of back, meeting violence with violence in ways that would have been unthinkable three weeks ago. The blade caught the creature across its muzzle, opening a line from nose to ear.
The rogue howled, more surprise than pain, staggering backward as it tried to process the fact that prey had just become predator. Dad's face was pale with fear, hands shaking around the dagger's grip, but his feet stayed planted and his eyes stayed focused.
Pride swelled in my chest alongside terror, because this was what courage looked like when it wore civilian clothes. This was what love meant when it was willing to bleed to protect what mattered.
The fourth rogue circled our small group like it was calculating odds, trying to determine which of us would go down easiest. Its eyes held more intelligence than the others, suggesting this one hadn't lost itself as completely to the madness that claimed most rogues.
That made it more dangerous, not less.
I nocked another arrow, tracking its movement with photographer's instincts that had learned to predict motion before it happened. The creature was looking for an opening, a moment of vulnerability that would let it take down multiple targets before we could respond.
But before it could make its move, the forest went silent.
Not the natural quiet of predators hunting, but the unnatural stillness that came when something so dangerous entered the scene that everything else decided discretion was the better partof survival. Even the wind seemed to pause, leaves hanging motionless on branches that should have been swaying.
From the shadows between the largest pines, he emerged.
Calder was massive even by werewolf standards, a creature that belonged in folklore rather than reality. Scars crisscrossed his dark fur like a roadmap of violence survived, and his eyes burned with intelligence that was somehow more terrifying than the mindless hunger of the rogues.
In his jaws, he carried something that made my stomach clench with horror. Another rogue, this one smaller and clearly dead, hanging limp like a broken toy someone had discarded.
The fighting stopped as if someone had flipped a switch. Evan and his opponent separated, both of them bleeding from a dozen wounds but still functional. Jonah backed away from the rogue he'd been grappling with, wolf form bristling with fur that had gone silver with shock.
Calder dropped the corpse at his feet and looked directly at Evan, lips peeling back in what might have been a grin if wolves could manage the expression. Then, with deliberate malice that spoke of calculated psychological warfare, he tore into the dead rogue's chest.
The sound of ribs cracking was like gunshots. Blood sprayed everywhere. And when Calder pulled the heart free, still steaming in the cold air, he bit into it like it was an apple.
Blood ran down his muzzle as he chewed, and his eyes never left Evan's face. The message was clear enough that even the trees seemed to lean back in horror.
