The Beginning of the End
Margot Yellow-Iris walked gracefully down the broad hall of Dark Howl Pack's main complex, her heels clicking softly against the polished stone. Outwardly, she exuded poise and elegance — every inch the Luna she had trained herself to be. But inside, she burned with quiet rage.
Her mate, Kristof, Alpha of Dark Howl, had once again squandered their strength. This time, he had sent their personal guard — an elite unit of handpicked warriors — to hunt Marco Silversmith. They had not returned.
It was not only that one of her favorite lovers had been among them, though that stung more than she cared to admit. It was that Kristof had been making these same reckless, humiliating mistakes for the last two years, ever since Marco's guerrilla war had begun.
She drew in a calming breath as she reached his chambers. Not like that, Margot. Be calm. Be composed. She could not storm in screaming, no matter how badly she wanted to.
She pushed open the door, only to be greeted by his tirade before she could even speak.
"I don't want to hear it, Margot!" Kristof's voice cracked with desperation. "He has to be stopped! He slithers through our borders, strikes from the shadows, and disappears before we can draw breath. We cannot endure this much longer!"
He leaned forward in his chair, eyes fever-bright.
"We must protect what little territory remains. This is our last chance! For a year and a half, they have done as they please — while Star Fire looks on and does nothing. That little bitch must realize she's next once he finishes with us!"
His hands shook as he raked them down his face.
"We send warriors out, and only their heads return!" His voice dropped into a shudder. "Do you understand that? Their heads."
Margot arched a brow, silently studying him. When had this once-fearsome wolf become so… small? There was a time Kristof's fury had been a thing to fear — sharp, cutting, edged with true strength. Now? Now it sounded like whining.
He slammed a fist into the armrest of his chair. "Five years ago we decimated Silver Moon! And still, somehow, that worthless Omega haunts us! Why won't he just die?"
Margot barely heard him anymore. Her thoughts drifted. When had she last seen him shift into his wolf form? Years ago? The image was dim. Instead, a fresher memory flickered — the warmth of her new lover's hands on her body that very morning.
She exhaled slowly, dragging herself back to the present.
"Kristof," she said coolly. "You cannot continue sending our finest into the meat grinder. Four of our six major cities remain in ruins, and perhaps one can be rebuilt. Our people are bleeding away, defecting — to Star Fire, to Marco Silversmith. And what do you do?"
Her eyes hardened. "You sit here. You whine. Who would follow a coward?"
A low growl reverberated in his chest, but Margot only pursed her lips. She had no fear left for him.
"If you don't get yourself together," she murmured, "I may defect myself. Do you think I would bind my future to a sinking ship?"
His mouth twisted. "And that is why I sent your little Beta-wannabe to find Marco. Don't think I don't see the game you play."
Margot's face went blank. She knew at once which wolf he meant. She had intended to make something of that one — perhaps even to build a new pack around him if the worst came. Of course Kristof would destroy him out of spite. How petty.
She stood, her silence answer enough, and left without a backward glance. Dark Howl was already rotting.
---
Far from the Alpha's chamber, blood dripped onto the broken earth.
A massive grey wolf stood alone, chest heaving. His silver-blue eyes gleamed with lethal calm. Blood slicked his muzzle and claws, but none of it was his own. Six wolves had come for him. Five lay torn and broken at his feet. The sixth twitched weakly a few yards away.
Marco Silversmith shook himself. A shimmer of silver light rippled over his pelt, burning away the blood and filth until he gleamed immaculate. Then he shifted smoothly back into human form.
He walked toward the sixth body — the spy.
A so-called "rogue" who had slipped into Silver Moon's ranks, the wolf had hidden well. Too well. Even Marco had been fooled, until a whisper from one of his Psi unmasked the truth. Marco allowed himself a rare flicker of pride. He had made the right choice, elevating Psi to the heart of his strategy.
Tar approached, dragging spoils of battle in one arm, his lips curling in disgust at the fallen spy.
"It seems," Marco said quietly, "that our youngest Psi is the most reliable."
"What do you expect?" Tar shrugged. "She was born in Night Fall. She watched her whole family slaughtered by Dark Howl soldiers for daring to beg for help. Hatred that deep…" He shook his head. "She won't fail you."
Marco's expression softened, just slightly. "She is a very smart child."
He turned away, gaze fixed on the horizon. Silver Moon was rising.
---
Mystic Howl had once been grand — a jewel among cities. Now it was rubble and tents, half-built huts clinging to the bones of what once was. Margot had long dreamed of resurrecting it for Dark Howl, but the city's Psi saw too clearly. They understood the corruption of their leadership. Quietly, steadily, they defected. Most to Silver Moon.
A small shadow darted between piles of wreckage, pausing, doubling back, weaving a trail too tangled to follow. Finally, it melted into deeper darkness.
"You took your time," a low voice rumbled.
"It's not my fault," came a younger voice, edged with a pout she hated herself for.
The shadow resolved into Tris, a slight Psi girl with sharp eyes and sharper will. Her parents had been executed by her own pack for defying Lady Margot. Her brother had vanished. Silver Moon had become her only home.
Tar stepped from concealment, smirking faintly. He liked her, though Marco hoarded Psi talent for intelligence rather than combat. She could have thrived on his squad.
They both stilled as a third figure approached. A Silver Moon operative — a rogue under suspicion. The Psi could never read him, until Tris. Even then, his mind was a fog, slippery and double-edged.
They watched him wait. A pebble fell to his left. He turned his head — and Tar struck from the right, a brutal blow to the spine. The wolf crumpled.
Tris stepped forward, her voice cold. "He let his mind slip. He was thinking about reporting to Lady Margot." Her lip curled.
Tar's eyes narrowed. "So he can close himself off. Do we keep him, study the trick?"
"No need." Her voice was ice. "He revealed everything the moment he slipped."
Tar nodded once. His claws slid free, sharp as razors. He drove them into the wolf's back, shredding heart and lungs in a single vicious thrust. The body convulsed, then stilled.
Another spy silenced. Another piece cut from Dark Howl's dying carcass.