A temporary base. I slow as I crest a ridge. Below me, the land opens into a hollow carved out between rock and trees. Makeshift shelters—tarps, broken timber, old hunting blinds dragged into formation. Rogue pack signatures everywhere. Marking scratches on bark. Bones left too clean to be accidental. A warning system disguised as chaos.
And in the center of it all—Damon. He’s standing like he’s been waiting for me the whole time. Of course he has. His head tilts slightly when he sees me. Not surprised. Not afraid. Just… satisfied.
“You came alone,” he calls up.
I step forward into the clearing without answering. The air between us tightens. Rogues shift in the shadows. I feel them before I see them—multiple bodies, circling edges of the hollow. Watching. Waiting for Damon’s signal.
He doesn’t give it yet. Instead, he smiles.
“You always did prefer direct confrontation,” Damon says. “That’s what made you predictable.”
“I’m not here for conversation,” I say.
That gets a low laugh out of him. He rolls his shoulders like he’s loosening up for something he’s been anticipating all day.
“No. You’re here because you finally realized I wasn’t trying to take Redwood Crossing.”
That makes me pause just long enough for him to notice. His grin widens. Oh, I don’t like that. I drop into a fighting stance anyway.
“Then what were you doing?” I ask.
“Buying time,” he says simply.
The words land wrong. Not because they’re confusing. Because they’re too calm. A predator doesn’t speak like that when he’s cornered unless he’s not cornered at all. I hear movement behind me—far off, but closing. More than rogues. Multiple signatures pushing into the treeline. Our defenders.
Redwood Crossing is here. Damon hears it too. His eyes flick toward the sound, just once. That’s all the confirmation I need.
“You led them here,” I say quietly.
“Iletthem follow,” he corrects.
And then everything breaks. Damon moves first—fast, brutal, shifting mid-lunge. The air snaps as his body transitionsinto full predator form. Massive. Dark fur. Eyes like burned amber.
I meet him halfway. Impact hits like a collapsing tree.
We slam into the ground hard enough to crack frozen soil beneath the moss layer. My claws catch his shoulder. His teeth snap inches from my throat. We roll, each trying to pin the other, neither giving ground.
He’s strong. Stronger than I expected. But not stronger than me. I twist, driving my weight into his ribs, forcing him off balance. He claws across my side—pain flares hot, but I ignore it. I’ve had worse. Around us, the clearing erupts.
Rogues surge forward from the perimeter, but they don’t all commit. They hesitate. Watching the fight. Watching their leader. That hesitation tells me everything. Damon isn’t holding them with loyalty. He’s holding them with momentum.
If he falls, they scatter. I drive that thought down and use it. I shove him back hard enough that he skids across the dirt, rolling once before catching himself near a fallen log. He rises again immediately, chest heaving, lips pulled back in a snarl.
Blood darkens his fur along one shoulder. Good. I feel the shift behind me before I see it—our defenders entering the clearing. Not full force yet. Contained. Controlled. They’re watching my fight too.
They’re waiting for the signal that this ends one way or another. Damon notices them now. His eyes flick between me and the encroaching shifters.
“You really think this ends with me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
He laughs again. But there’s something sharper under it now. Fraying. He launches again.
This time, I’m ready. I sidestep the charge and catch him mid-motion, redirecting his weight into the ground. The impact cracks through the hollow. He snarls, trying to recover, but I’malready on him. Claw. Strike. Hold. We break apart and collide again.
The fight becomes rhythmless violence—no strategy left except dominance. His strength is raw, feral. Mine is controlled. Efficient. I land a blow across his jaw that snaps his head sideways. He stumbles. That’s the opening. I go for it.
But Damon does something I don’t expect—hebreaks awayinstead of countering. Spins, shifts direction, and bolts into the deeper forest. Fast. Intentional. Not retreating in panic. Retreating with purpose.
