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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
“Hold the line! Don't engage until they're fully committed –”
Blake's voice rang out amongst the litany of howls that marked the arrival of the Blackridge wolves, filling the air with a chorus of mournful cries. Their song swept through the forest the way the wind swept through the trees and the ground trembled at their approach.
“ – Stick together, don't underestimate their numbers and mark each others positions – ”
The savage war cries of the warriors still in human form joined and mingled with the wolf-song, like the heavy boom of thunder at the peak of a storm; a crescendo of percussionists egging on the howling winds.
“Macleiry?” He turned to the two wolves by his side, their rich russet coats camouflaging them amidst the fallen leaves. “Take the arches, find us a way through. Issac?” he called down the line. “Find me a weak spot on those platforms. Get some of our men up there.”
The wolves that weren't howling had begun to snarl and snap at the sight of the first rogues appearing from between the trees – cracks of lightning that drove the approaching tempest of wolves inexorably forward towards the waiting mercenaries. The winds had picked up overnight. Tearing through the evergreens and whipping up the leaves on the forest floor, the wolves had to fight every step of the way as they braced themselves against the gusty onslaught. The wind forced the limber oak branches to creak and sway in a majestic but deadly dance -- the leaves rustled like a thousand rattlesnakes as they fought the air around them.
The encampment was far better defended than Blake had anticipated. In the back of his mind he'd always viewed the rogues as a disorganised rabble – unstable, uncooperative and incapable of working together long enough to pose any real threat to the packs around them.
The last few months had forced him to rethink some of his preconceptions but never had he expected to encounter anything as disciplined as Fenrik's mercenaries.
First came the ferals.
Half-mad and completely at the mercy of their wolfish instincts, they flew through the trees towards them without a sound except for the rush of their paws and the harsh rasp of their breathing. Each with slavering jaws and only a glimmer of intelligence remaining in their wild eyes. Cannon fodder designed to slow them down.
Only a few dozen of them, Blake thought when he first spotted them. Enough to tie up half a dozen of his well trained warriors, not enough to falter their attack.
Behind them pounded mercenaries still in human form, armed to the teeth and yelling their own savage battle cries. They ran slower than the wolves, clearly intending to engage the attackers once they were distracted by their feral counterparts.
Those ones may take a little more effort, he conceded.
Marcus edged forward, a twitch in the grey tuft of his ear the only sign he was impatient to begin. Beside him, Alex’s flanks trembled in anticipation, his teeth bared with an edge of excitement.
