The group moved as one, a ragged collection of wolves whose coats were matted with dirt and leaves, their sides hollow with hunger.
The brutal, non-stop journey in their wolf forms had taken its toll, with only fleeting breaks to eat and rest. While a wolf could travel three times the distance of a human in a single day, the energy they burned was far greater. Most of the party looked gaunt, weak, and on the verge of collapse. Only the council, the Beta, and the Queen's guards were in relatively good condition. The Alpha's daughters were all in various states of fatigue, dehydration, and malnutrition, yet they pushed on, driven by the desperate need to reach the Shadow Fang pack as soon as possible.
Just as they arrived at the mouth of the Shadow Fang pack's territory, wolves with eyes as black as coal exploded from the tree line, a blur of fur and razor teeth. Their bloodthirsty jaws snapped and bit at anything they could reach. In a flash, the guards were on them, their movements a practiced, synchronized dance. They quickly surrounded the feral wolves, pinning them to the ground. Blades were raised, gleaming in the pale light as men prepared to sever each wolf's head.
"Stop!" Marcus's voice rang out, a powerful command that cut through the rising chaos and bloodlust.
Archer's sharp eyes blazed as they narrowed on Marcus. The Queen's guards would never allow an attack on them to go unpunished.
They were the Queen's representatives—strong, unyielding, and they showed no mercy to their enemies. "Hault," Archer ordered, his men tensing, their eyes fixed on him, waiting for his command. A single flick of his wrist would be all the signal they needed.
Marcus, in a fluid movement, had already shifted back from his wolf form. He brushed a hand through his hair, then pulled his red hood over his head, once more taking on his stoic, regal appearance. "This is the Shadow Fang pack. No feral wolf here will be killed.
No wolf here will be killed. These wolves are under the Queen's protection like any other pack. You do not have the right to execute them."
Archer's men growled low in their throats, their hostility a tangible wave as they showed their disdain for Marcus's authority and his disrespectful tone toward their leader. But Archer didn't budge. He didn't yield. He couldn't understand letting go of such vicious, bloodthirsty wolves. They were a threat not just to his men, but to everyone.
Feral wolves didn't discriminate; their destructive nature would lead them to kill their own friends and family, to barrel into human societies and kill everything in their path.
His steps were unhurried but commanded attention as he walked over to one of the pinned wolves. Marcus knelt, his eyes meeting the wolf's obsidian gaze. He extended his hand, letting the wolf smell him, even as the wolfs nose wrinkled and his lips pulled back into a snarl, exposing his wolf teeth. His long tongue darted out to lick his fangs, yet he didn't pull away.
The struggling wolf's body stilled as it caught Marcus's scent—a scent rich with the smell of the earth. His limbs stopped flailing, and the growls ceased. While its eyes remained black and unseeing, something in the wolf relaxed. A subtle trust bloomed in its gaze.
"Hello, friend," Marcus greeted the wolf, his voice a low, soothing murmur, the same way he greeted the people of this pack. "Let him go," he ordered. This time, with a subtle nod from Archer, they listened. The wolf scrambled to its feet, its fur still standing on end along its spine, its body coiled tight. But its eyes were far calmer as it looked at Marcus. The wolf bowed its head, exposing its neck just enough while still meeting Marcus's gaze, before it turned and ran back into the forest, a resounding howl echoing behind it.
"You know him?" Archer asked, standing over Marcus, who remained kneeling as he watched the wolf disappear. For once, Marcus's eyes didn't seem so hollow and clinical. Archer couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a flash of compassion.
Looking up at Archer, Marcus rose to his feet, his lips pulled back in a look of disgust as he met the guardian's eyes. He rubbed the space between his eyebrows with two fingers, a gesture that made him feel older than his years, as if the knowledge he held dwarfed anything these young men thought they knew. "Let them go," he said, turning his back and walking towards the Shadow Fang pack lands. With a flick of his wrist, Archer's men released the remaining feral wolves.
They, too, scampered off into the forest, howling aggressively but with a newfound calm.
"That's not how ferals normally behave," Raven said, crossing her arms as she watched the wolves disappear. "Every feral has a pack, but why are these ones so special?" she wondered aloud, pulling on the end of a black braid that fell over her shoulder.
Skyler felt a wave of sickness and offense on behalf of her pack. For generations, her people had been fighting a relentless battle against feral and exiled wolves, protecting the border between the wolf realm and the human world, losing brothers, mothers, and sisters in the process. To come to this remote corner of the world only to find ferals running free filled her with rage. She felt her blood sing with a desire to destroy this pack, every single member, for seemingly adding to the problem her own pack would have to deal with.
As the group moved into the pack lands, they began to see figures dotting the forest, a mix of shifting wolves and humans gathering to meet them. They looked like phantoms peering through the shadows.
"Wait!" Xavier said, his voice stopping Noella.
"What is it?" Noella felt stifled. Looking at the other Alpha's daughters, she felt so different. Not in a way that was admired like Raven or Regina, but in a way that made her feel like the odd one out. Her devotion—praying to the goddess at first light, at midday, and all throughout the day—seemed at odds with what she was now seeing. She hadn't known other packs were so different, that some prayed quietly in their heads while others didn't even bother. Her pack would call them heretics, but she saw them as free—free to act as faithful as they wanted without needing to prove it to their pack. She wanted that choice, that freedom, to worship the goddess in her own way.
Biting his lip, Xavier kept his eyes peeled toward the Shadow Fang pack. He knew the feud between their packs ran deep, an animosity that couldn't be easily forgotten. It had been centuries since the initial conflict, yet some grudges were solidified with time.
"We will wait outside of the pack's territory," he said, brushing his light blue cloak over his shoulders. He inspected his gleaming white armor for any speck of dirt or mud.
Looking over her shoulder at everyone entering the pack, Noella wondered why they couldn't join them. "Explain."
"It's just a grudge from the Fae war times. Some animosities run deep. It's best not to antagonize them with our presence," he tried to brush off the topic, pulling provisions from his bag and offering her some dried meat.
Taking the offered meat, Noella found his explanation ridiculous. "Why would anyone care about a grudge so old?" she asked, her mouth full, glad to finally have something in her stomach.
The Alpha of the Shadow Fang pack pointed a long, thin finger at Xavier, or more specifically, at his unusual outfit—the light blue cloak that billowed behind him and the gleaming white armor decorated with gold.
The Alpha's mind was foggy, but his eyes were steady as he stared at the armor, accusations simmering in his gaze. "You step foot on my land, and I'll kill you," he snarled, spitting on the ground.
The group of gathered wolves looked over to where the Alpha was pointing, spotting Xavier, the Beta of the Ghost Moon pack, standing with a stoic face, as if he had expected this. No one had noticed he hadn't crossed the border with them.
"No one is allowed to carry out executions, not while we have a Queen," Marcus stated calmly, not faulting the Alpha for his outburst.
This pack was blessed, or cursed, with a soul's memory—a type of memory that transcended their scattered minds. It wasn't etched in their brains, but on their souls. And their souls hated the Ghost Moon pack so deeply it could never be forgotten.
Something else I should know, Carly thought to herself, a feeling of unease settling in. It seemed Marcus had a point when he said she didn't know anything. She wanted to learn and understand, and she was realizing that being clever in the safety of the council house was very different from being here in the packs, knowing their stories and understanding their challenges.
"Council," the Shadow Fang Alpha said, a wide grin suddenly plastered on his face as he looked at Marcus, as if he hadn't just threatened to kill someone. He walked over and clapped Marcus on the back playfully, his smile infectious.
Marcus greeted him just as warmly, pulling down his hood to reveal his face. "Hello, friend," he said, the same words he had spoken to the feral wolf earlier.
"Tell me why an old hatred feels like an offense made yesterday?" Noella frowned, feeling uncomfortable not knowing something so relevant about her own pack.
"Noella—"
Her gaze sharpened on Xavier. "Ella," she clarified through clenched teeth, hating her name.
"I will call you the name your mother gave you. The names of our pack are sacred. We only name our children with the letters N, Y, or X to honor our goddess. I will not shorten it," he reprimanded, glaring at her just as fiercely.
"If we are as close to our goddess as any being can be, then why would anyone dislike us?" she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She could think of a lot of reasons why other packs wouldn't like hers—they were boring, predictable, lacking any originality. Just an army of sycophants.
"It is exactly because of our faith that the Shadow Fang hate us. Because of our ancestors, and our faith, we helped the Shadow Fang find something inside themselves that helped save our species. But nothing that great comes without a price. It cost—"
"And I'm guessing they had to pay it," Ella finished, a sense of sorrow for the pack washing over her even without knowing the full story.
"We both paid. We paid in blood. We lost eight of our highest priestesses, not to the Fae scum, but to our own kind. It's a pain we all still remember." Looking past her to the pack, Xavier watched as the Shadow Fang greeted each other like strangers, people who had known each other their entire lives happily meeting for the first time, unaware of their shared history. "They paid with their sanity."
"I want to know. If my pack did something great, shouldn't it be shared among the generations?" she asked, trying to sound like her mother.
A small smile touched the corner of his lips. She wasn't wrong. The young should know the bravery of their pack. "The War of 1502 was the war against the Fae—the war that claimed the forest and the war of extinction. It was a time of blood and death, and no one was spared its horrors. Mothers gave birth on battlefields. Fathers put swords into their children's hands and watched them die, ripped apart by beasts, only to do it again with their next child. We were losing the war, united by our species but defeated by our shared weakness. It wasn't a time for humanity and kindness, and at some points, sacrifices were necessary to preserve what little we had left, so someone could still fight." Xavier's mind wandered, trying to piece together all the stories he had heard from his pack and others, the knowledge he had gained about the events that led to the turning point in the war.
Author's note:
This pack has a very interesting history. I really enjoyed writing this pack. I feel like I say that about every chapter. But I don't know this one was really fun too.