Kael's POV
The night thickened, silence heavy enough to choke on. The glowing eyes in the dark multiplied, spreading like fireflies across the park—except there was nothing fragile, nothing beautiful about them. They glowed with dominance, with an ancient weight that pressed against my bones, pinning me in place even as my wolf thrashed inside me.
The rogues around me stiffened. Their snarls faltered, their claws still dug into my shoulders, but their grip shook as if their bodies were betraying them. The leader's face twisted—not with rage this time, but with the first flicker of fear.
From every shadow, the unseen pack closed in. I couldn't see them clearly, but I could feel them—the authority, the silent command that made even seasoned killers hesitate. Whoever they were, they weren't ordinary wolves.
The rogue leader's voice broke the quiet, harsh but trembling at the edges.
"Who are you?" he barked toward the darkness. His tone carried false bravado, but his stance betrayed him, chest heaving too fast, claws twitching restlessly. "Show yourselves! This doesn't concern you. This is my territory!"
The rogues holding me pressed tighter, as if bracing for an attack, but their eyes darted toward the shadows, restless, unsure.
And then...
A voice answered.
Deep. Low. Like thunder wrapped in a growl.
"It concerns me," the figure rumbled, each word vibrating through the air, "because he belongs to me."
The rogues faltered. Their claws slackened on my arms. My chest rose and fell in confusion, my wolf surging, trying to make sense of the claim. Belongs to him?
A shape emerged from the dark. Step by step, the figure revealed himself in the pale wash of moonlight. Taller than the rest, broader, his movements fluid like a predator who had never lost a hunt. His fangs were already bared, catching the light, but it was his eyes that froze me.
Red.
Not gold. Not amber. Not the feral yellow of rogues. Red, burning like blood set aflame.
The rogues whimpered. Their bodies trembled, some stepping back without realizing it. Even the leader's confidence cracked; his lips pressed tight, his growl thinned into silence.
"No…" the rogue whispered, his voice strangled. His eyes widened as though he'd seen death itself. Then he spoke a name—one that meant nothing to me, but made his rogues shrink as if struck by lightning. A name weighted with fear and history.
The air shifted.
More figures stepped forward, surrounding us fully now. Their glowing eyes lit the night like scattered embers—gold, amber, silver—but all sharp, alive, unblinking. Their fangs glistened in the moonlight. Their claws were long—unnaturally long—curved like blades meant to carve through bone.
One growl echoed, then another, until the forest seemed to pulse with their unity. The sound wasn't wild or uncontrolled like rogues. It was deliberate, synchronized, carrying the kind of discipline that only came from a true pack.
The rogue leader's face broke into something I had never expected to see on him. Submission.
He lowered his head, shoulders curling inward.
"My apologies," he muttered quickly, voice a poor disguise for the panic bleeding through it. "We... we didn't know. We didn't know he was… with you."
His rogues scrambled back, releasing me entirely. I fell forward onto my hands, breath heavy, but I never broke my stare. My body screamed from the fight, wounds burning, but instinct pulled me upright. I staggered to my feet, refusing to look weak before any of them.
Confusion twisted inside me like a blade. With him? Belongs to him? Who the hell were these wolves?
The rogues turned in unison, retreating into the darkness they had once dominated. Their leader was the last to leave, his body stiff, his eyes never daring to meet the red gaze that pinned him. Then, like cowards, they vanished into the night.
Silence fell.
The forest seemed to shrink around us, every tree bending inward, every shadow pressing closer. I was left standing amid strangers whose power I could taste in the air. It coated my tongue like iron, thick and suffocating. A weight of authority pressed down on me, demanding submission, demanding respect.
But my wolf wasn't built to bow.
I straightened, shoulders back, blood still dripping from my chest. My fangs lengthened, nails sliding out sharp as I let my wolf's fire burn through me. My eyes shifted, glowing gold in the night, defiance sparking with every breath I drew.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice low, edged with the rage still coursing through my veins.
For a heartbeat, silence answered.
Then the red-eyed leader—the one who had sent rogues scattering like frightened pups—lifted his hand. A signal.
The glowing eyes around us dimmed one by one. The growls ceased. Claws retracted, fangs slid back, and the air shifted with their restraint.
They stood still, scarred and powerful, their silence heavier than any snarl. Watching me. Always watching.
The leader stepped closer. His presence was suffocating, not just from his size but from the authority that rolled off him like a storm. His crimson eyes finally dimmed, darkening into something less inhuman, though no less dangerous.
My wolf clawed at me from the inside, torn between lunging forward in defiance and sinking to one knee in instinctive recognition. I locked my jaw, refusing either.
When he spoke, it wasn't a threat. It was colder than that. Certain. Final.
"Hello, nephew."
The word hit harder than any claw.
My breath caught. My wolf jolted against my skin. The world tilted, spinning, as if the ground had been ripped from under me.
"What do you mean… nephew?" I rasped, my voice raw, defiance barely holding against the tremor in my chest.
The man's crimson gaze didn't waver. He stepped closer, the authority in his presence enough to silence the night itself. His voice rolled out low, unshaken, carrying a weight I wasn't ready to bear.
"I'm Lucas Thane," he said. "Your uncle. Your mother, Remi… is my oldest sister."
The ground might as well have caved beneath me. My mother's name on his tongue was a blade I hadn't expected, sharp enough to slice straight through every wall I'd built.