The scent of blood lingered in the cold night air. Alpha Damien Blackwood stood at the edge of Silver Moon Pack's northern border, his sharp eyes scanning the dense forest before him. Something was wrong. The usual harmony of the night—rustling leaves, distant howls, and chirping crickets—felt off. The trees loomed in eerie silence, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
His Beta, Lucas Hayes, crouched beside a broken branch, lifting it to his nose. He took a deep sniff before meeting Damien's gaze. "Fresh," he muttered. "Less than an hour old."
Damien's jaw tightened. Another rogue had vanished.
It had started three weeks ago—lone werewolves, rogues with no pack allegiance, disappearing from the outskirts of Silver Moon territory. Some were troublemakers, others just wanderers, but they all had one thing in common: none of them were ever found. No bodies. No trails. No signs of a struggle. Just… gone.
Now, one had disappeared practically at his doorstep.
Damien turned his attention to the overturned dirt and broken foliage. The struggle had been brief. Too brief. He sniffed the air again, trying to separate the scents. The rogue's scent was faint, fading too fast. That was unusual. Wolves left behind strong traces, especially after a fight. But this one… it was as if something had swallowed the scent whole.
"We should expand the patrols," Lucas said, straightening. "Whoever's taking them is getting bolder."
Damien nodded but remained silent. He wasn't the type to rush into decisions without understanding the full picture. As Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack, every move he made had consequences. The neighboring packs were already growing uneasy, whispering rumors of dark forces at play. If he didn't find answers soon, those whispers could turn into something far worse.
He looked toward the distant town of Blackwood Hollow, nestled at the base of the mountains. It was mostly human territory, but some of his kind lived among them, keeping to the shadows. If something unnatural was happening, there was a chance the humans knew something.
That's when he caught it—the faintest whiff of something unfamiliar. Not quite human. Not quite wolf.
Damien's muscles tensed as he turned toward the scent. It was faint, almost deliberately masked, but it was there. And it was watching them.
"Lucas." His voice was low, almost a growl.
Lucas picked up on the tension immediately. He sniffed the air, his body shifting slightly, preparing to shift if necessary. "You smell that?"
Damien nodded. "We're not alone."
A rustling in the bushes snapped their attention toward the trees. Within seconds, both wolves shifted—bones cracking, fur sprouting, human flesh replaced by thick coats of power. Damien's wolf was massive, towering over most others, his dark silver fur blending seamlessly with the shadows. Lucas flanked him, his sandy-colored wolf equally alert.
A figure darted through the trees, quick and agile. It wasn't a full shift—whoever it was moved too smoothly, their scent neither fully human nor fully wolf. Damien lunged forward, his powerful legs propelling him through the underbrush. His claws dug into the dirt, heart pounding as he pursued the unknown intruder.
Then—just as quickly as it appeared—the scent vanished.
Damien skidded to a halt, his claws digging deep into the earth. He let out a low growl, his ears twitching as he listened for any sign of movement. But there was nothing. The forest had returned to silence.
Lucas shifted back to his human form, panting slightly. "What the hell was that?"
Damien shifted as well, his sharp features set in a deep scowl. "Not a wolf. Not human. Something else."
Lucas exhaled. "That's not comforting."
"No," Damien agreed. "It's not."
Whatever it was, it had been watching them. Studying them. And it had left no trace behind.
Damien turned back toward the packhouse. "We need to talk to the town's sheriff. See if any humans have gone missing too."
Lucas hesitated. "You think humans are involved?"
"I think something is hunting on our land. And I don't like what it smells like."
As they made their way back, Damien's mind churned with possibilities. He had spent years protecting his pack from outside threats—rogue wolves, rival alphas, even the occasional hunter. But this was different. This was calculated.
And the worst part? He had a sinking feeling that whatever had taken those rogues… wasn't finished yet.
Blackwood Hollow
The next morning, Damien stood outside the sheriff's office in Blackwood Hollow. He didn't bother knocking—he simply walked in, his presence commanding enough that no one dared stop him.
Sheriff David Langley, a grizzled man in his late fifties, barely looked up from his desk. "Alpha Blackwood," he said, his voice a mix of respect and wariness. "Didn't expect you in town."
"I need information," Damien said bluntly. "People have been disappearing near my territory."
Langley finally looked up, his brow furrowing. "And you think I know something?"
Damien leaned forward. "Have any humans gone missing recently?"
The sheriff hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah. A couple of hikers, a drifter… but that's not unusual. People go missing in the woods all the time."
"Not like this."
Langley studied him for a long moment. Then, as if deciding something, he pulled open a drawer and tossed a folder onto the desk. "You might want to see this."
Damien opened the folder. Inside were photos—crime scene images. Bodies torn apart, but not in the way a wolf would attack. The wounds were too precise, too methodical.
"This," Langley said, rubbing a hand over his face, "is not normal."
Damien flipped through the photos, his frown deepening. Then he stopped. One of the images showed something carved into a tree near the body. A sigil. A mark he had seen before.
It was the same mark they had found near the vanished rogue last night.
His blood ran cold.
Someone—or something—was hunting on his land. And if he didn't stop it soon, his entire pack could be next.