Page 25 of Runt of the Pack
I scan our surroundings carefully before answering. “Something isn’t right here,” I say gravely.
Anya’s eyes widen with worry as she looks around, finally noticing the strange stillness that hangs over the estate. She turns to me with determination in her eyes.
“I’m going to go check on Yulia,” she declares, attempting to move past me.
I grab her arm again, firmly holding her back. “Wait here. I’ll go first,” I command, brooking no argument.
She frowns and opens her mouth to protest, but ultimately nods in agreement.
With a final warning look, I make my way towards the estate cautiously, scanning for any signs of danger or disturbance.
The minute I cross the threshold, it becomes clear to me that death and violence have tainted this place. Bloody claw marks score the walls, splintered furnishings discarded like broken toys. The metallic scent of fresh carnage hangs thick in the air. And at the end of the ruined hall lies the body.
Fury surges like lava in my veins. But my anger is swiftly replaced by increased wariness as I recognize the brutal attack comes not from man but beast. And the harrowing question pierces my blasted mind—is this Grisha’s work? It has to be. And that can only mean one thing. He’s been watching me all along, biding his time for his moment. This gruesome display is but a warning...
“No! Damn it!” I roar.
Anya’s agonized scream slices through me. She shoves past me and runs to the savaged corpse. “Yulia! No, please gods, no!”
I grasp her shoulders firmly, trying to pull her back. “Look away, Anya,” I urge through gritted teeth. But she won’t be moved, weeping over her kind patron laid out in grisly desecration. Revulsion and rage churn sickly in my gut as I gaze down at the poor woman ripped so brutally from this world. And all because I was not strong enough to prevent it.
“We have to help her!” Anya sobs, lunging futilely towards the body. “We have to—”
Her knees buckle beneath her and I catch her in my arms, holding her steady with quiet authority. “She’s gone, my heart. There’s nothing we can do for her now. It’s not safe here. We should leave.”
When Anya continues resisting, I simply pick her up and stride for the exit. Getting distance between my mate and further danger is my sole imperative. Her safety eclipses my notions of dignity or honor.
As I spirit her away into the icy woods, a grim truth sinks into my bones. The malevolent threat we face is only growing stronger, and I do not yet have the strength or allies needed to conquer it. But for Anya, I will sacrifice anything, become anything necessary, to shield her from all harm. This much I know for certain.
I race onward until the grand manor disappears behind a veil of snow-laden pines, their denseness providing shelter. At last, I slow our headlong pace, setting Anya gently on her feet again though I keep one arm wrapped firmly around her. Her eyes are glazed, skin ice-pale with shock. Sheltering her shuddering frame in the cage of my arms, I stroke her hair, murmuring soft reassurances while scanning our surroundings for any sign of pursuit.
Abruptly, I go rigid, spine snapping straight. Foreign scents taint the crisp air, at least three unfamiliar men in our vicinity. I shift Anya protectively behind me, a vicious snarl rumbling in my chest loud as thunder.
“Show yourselves!” I bark, the command in my tone unmistakable. Any true wolf would recognize it instantly, an Alpha’s decree that compels obedience.
There’s a tense pause, then crackling footsteps crunch through the underbrush. Three male figures emerge warily into view between the barren trees. Their clothing is ragged and postures submissive, but it’s the subtle elongated canines visible when they speak and the way their eyes reflect the light that reveals the truth—other wolf shifters like us.
My lips peel back instinctively, a vicious snarl rumbling in my chest. Every muscle coils, ready to strike down these trespassers in our territory. But I force patience. As an Alpha, I know the cost of attacking blindly before assessing whether they are potential allies or enemies.
The three keep their eyes lowered, baring their throats in submission. Lone wolves often prove more desperate and dangerous than those bonded to kin. I must discern their intentions with care before lowering my guard.
“Who are you?” I demand, infusing my tone with Alpha authority. “State your purpose.”
The three exchange uneasy glances. The tallest, a muscular sandy-haired youth, finds his voice first. “We mean no threat. We came to help the old woman when we heard her screams, but arrived too late.”
His comrades nod, shamefaced. “We could scent you and your mate had just come from there,” the brawny one adds. “You saw what evil was done to her.”
I study the ragged trio closely as they address me head-on. No guile or deceit lurks in their downturned eyes—only remorse. These are omega wolves, expendable runts of a pack who could not protect their own against a powerful enemy. Sympathy stirs grudgingly beneath my fury.
I close the distance, stare boring into them. “Tell me what you know of this attack. Now.”
Behind me, Anya’s grip on my hand tightens.
The shortest of the omegas glances anxiously at the others before speaking. “We were out hunting when the screams carried on the wind. We got there just as the pack was fleeing the manor, their leader dragging... dragging her body.” He shudders.
“Who was he?” I snap, furious, as the harrowing scene flashes in my mind’s eye.
The dark-eyed one’s rough voice cuts through the tense silence, “Their Alpha bore a dagger and wolf emblem branded on his arm, and had hair pale as the snow. There were at least ten others as well.”
