*Ali POV*
A small breeze tickles through the trees leaving in its wake a chill and the scent of blood. Squatting down, I survey the leaf-littered ground, searching for any sign of disturbance. Nothing looks out of place, no leaves turned over or dirt that looks freshly dug. I pop back up and walk deeper into the woods.
I use my enhanced hearing to listen for sounds that are out of place. Branches creak in the wind, the scratching of small paws skittering up the trees as squirrels go about their normal play. Closing my eyes, I focus on my sense of smell. The breeze picks up as the air swirls around, tossing dead leaves through the forest with gusto.
There it is again. The scent of blood. My eyes fly open as I follow the smell cautiously. I find myself along a small embankment of rocks and a quaint babbling stream. Upon coming closer, I see dried drops of blood on the rock bed. This explains why the scent was so faint.
Someone had a meal here, probably of squirrel or mouse variety. I slowly spin, taking in the surrounding area. The little opening is lit by the midday sun, affording it more heat than the rest of the woods. It’s peaceful here, a small solitude from the dreariness of the dark woods I will enter back into soon enough. But for now, I can afford a break to enjoy these fleeting moments of silence and peace.
I lower my hood and remove my blade from my back, placing it down next to a rock. Then I take out my canteen and slowly fill it up in the clear, cool stream. The water flows effortlessly over the rocks, casting small shadows from the sun’s heavy gaze. I close my eyes, trying to memorize the sound, storing it away for a day when I need to center myself and escape the reality that is my life.
I carry the weight of life and death on my shoulders. More often than not, the weight feels as though it is too much to bear. For six years, I have worked my way to the top of the field I stumbled upon as a kid. Six years of death and security for the werewolf community that once spurned and hated me. Life sure has a funny way of changing people.
The sound of crashing brambles and snapping twigs puts me on high alert as low growls echo through the woods. An enormous wolf of gray and black flies past me, leaving in its wake the smell of fresh blood. Yipping and snarling sounds from behind as I run up the rocks, propelling myself into the trees.
I sprint along the branches, leaping and bounding from tree to tree, keeping pace with the wolves on the chase. The dull shine of their coat informs me they are rogues. Only those in a pack have the sheen of a shiny wolf’s coat, a sort of luster that shows their wolf is at full strength and protected by a pack.
The chase stops abruptly when the gray wolf comes to a halt, spinning around to face his aggressors, shifting into his human form so he can communicate. He stands tall and strong, not an ounce of fear radiating from him as he speaks with his booming voice.
“I am Alpha Wade, of the Moon Shadow Pack. Your fight is with me and not my pack. What is it you want?” He says.
His voice resonates through the whole of the forest with such authority even the trees get chills. One by one, the lanky wolves shift into men and women standing and stepping forward. I hadn’t noticed how many more had come until they step forward, their naked bodies looking creamy and pale against the shadows of the woods. One with a menacing scar across his chest and blood coming from his head steps closer to the alpha.
“We know who you are.” He asks, smiling wickedly as he tsks, sizing his opponent up. “You wouldn’t want to go down easily, would you?”
Alpha Wade steps forward. His chest glistens with a mixture of sweat and blood as the sun peeks through the branches of the trees. It highlights his impeccable muscular stature that has me raising a brow as I look him over. He is easily the fittest wolf I’ve had to guard in the past few years. It’s admittedly a refreshing change of pace.