Chapter 11

That night, at the pack’s mansion, Alexander growled in his sleep. Again, his past echoed in his dream, and the pain remained.

Even though it was his dream, he knew deep inside that it was more than that. It was his past before he became the creature he once hated.

Disoriented, a younger Alexander woke deep within the ground. The first sensation he felt was hunger. It was no ordinary hunger, but one of gut-wrenching, skin-crawling necessity. He was starving. Every cell in his body demanded nourishment. He lay there in silence while hunger gnawed at him like a rat. It attacked not only his body but also his mind, so that he feared for all others, humans and newly turned werewolves alike. Feared for himself. Feared for his soul. This time, the darkness was spreading fast, and his soul was in jeopardy.

What dared to disturb his sleep? Was he dead? After the rogue attacked him on the eastern boundary, he knew he was dead, but why was he aware of everything? Aware of the earth surrounding