Twenty Six year old Blake Hunter is the Alpha of the largest pack in the region. Finding his mate is the last thing on his mind.
But, in the midst of dealing with uninvited relations, aspiring future Lunas and increasing rogue attacks on his easter...
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“To allow your wolf to become the master is a dangerous thing. To trade your intelligence for base instinct is the first step to becoming a rogue. Never lose control, lest you lose yourself along with it."
The boy soaked up his father's words as they trudged through the woods; his bare chest streaked with the same shade of deep red that speckled his father's face and arms. Both hands wrapped around one filthy, lifeless ankle; gripping it tightly despite the offensive smell emanating from the foot attached.
The aroma made his wolf shiver and his nose wrinkle, overpowered only by the nauseating tang of iron that trailed along behind them both. Bonded for only a few months, they had yet to learn the extraordinary control that would come to define them.
Avery, casually holding on to the other ankle in one hand and balancing the body of a wolf across his shoulders, appeared unaffected by the noxious mix of smells that left his son gritting his teeth to keep from gagging.
Together they had hauled the dead rogues towards the nearest clearing – Avery in full ‘teaching' mode and Blake staring avidly at his surroundings, determined to avoid looking too closely at the gaping wounds in the dead man's chest where his wolf’s claws had torn the life out of him just moments earlier.
“To cast aside your humanity and allow your wolf complete control is the first step to madness,” his father continued, ignoring the steady thunk-thunk as the rogue’s head bounced unceremoniously along the forest floor. “All rogues show signs of it eventually. You can see it in the red tinge around their eyes,” - his father paused a moment to adjust the dead weight on his shoulders – “The deeper the red, the further they've fallen.”
He turned to fix his son with a fiercesome glare. “Never assume that a mad rogue will be easier to kill. If anything, it makes them more dangerous than ever. They rely on their instincts, completely in tune with their wolf and just as deadly. More importantly, incapable of rational thought, consideration or fear."
Blake nodded silently as they continued their trek through the forest, the bright summer sunshine dappling across the leaves, defying seriousness of the heavy burden he carried with him.
To his tortured conscience, the shadows cast eerie shapes across the forest floor, all pointed accusingly towards the rogue they hauled along behind them like a piece of meat – or so it seemed to the boy who could still hear the echo of the man's dying scream ringing in his ears.
He tried hard not to flinch every time the head hit yet another exposed tree root; knowing the reaction would only irritate his father. Growing up, he'd imagined that his first kill for the pack would be a great triumph - a clear sign that he was ready for his training as Alpha. Something he could boast about and be proud of.
The reality was dirtier than expected. Murky and not nearly as noble. The casually, dismissive way his father ordered him to help ‘clean up' afterwards, even more so.
