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Theodore's plan

Author: J.C Valecrest
last update Last Updated: 2025-10-08 23:15:01

The night swallowed the trees around Nightfang’s den and left only shadowed trunks and an air that tasted metallic with rain. Torches dotted the mare’s paths like furred beacons, their flames lapping with a hungry orange. They cast Thomas-long silhouettes over the rough meeting pit at the center of the hollow — a circle of stone and wet earth where the pack had bled, laughed, dominated, and sworn oaths for generations.

At the very heart of that ring stood Theodore.

He was larger than the memory that lingered in stories told in the hinterland. Where some alphas forwent size for cunning, he had both in cruel measure. His shoulders cut a broad silhouette against the torchlight; the black of his coat drank the flames. His eyes burned with a red that seemed to have been carved in the night itself. When he moved, the pack watched as one.

“To have lost,” Theodore said, his voice low and even, “is not my shame. The shame lies in the fact that we were allowed to be seen as broken.”

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  • Mark by Destiny.   The Moon's Blessings before the Storm.

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    The torches flickered against the damp walls of Nightfang Fortress, their flames bending low as if afraid of the darkness that filled the war chamber. The air smelled of blood, ash, and damp fur. The stone floor was etched with claw marks from generations of battles planned and lost, but none had left such a stench of defeat as this night. Alpha Theodore sat at the head of the long obsidian table, his massive hands gripping the edges until the black veins on his arms pulsed. Around him, his wolves gathered — lieutenants, generals, and elders of the Nightfang line. None dared to speak. The silence weighed like iron. Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains, echoing the fury boiling inside their leader. Finally, Theodore rose. His armor creaked, dark metal plates shifting over muscle. His eyes — amber and cold — glowed with an unholy light that silenced even the bravest of his pack. He stood tall, the mark of the crescent moon scarred across his chest — a constant reminder o

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