Vanilla and Wild Rain

A loud, piercing howl tore through the night as Lucian summoned the other rogues. Not even the relentless rain could drown out its tenacity. The strong, metallic scent of blood—wolf’s blood—hung heavy in the air, making the rogues stir with a wild, primal hunger.

Yes, rogues were banished wolves, outcasts deemed unworthy of a pack. Savages who fed on other wolves, thrived in chaos, and craved blood with an uncontrollable thirst. They were also hard to keep in check. Well, that’s what people believed. They weren’t entirely wrong—especially the part about them not being kept in check.

Lucian was what many called the leader of the rogues, an alpha of his own kind. But the truth was, rogues had no true leader. They had a commander. And Lucian was that commander.

"So much blood." Elisha, Lucian's best friend, spoke through the mind link. He was deep in the forest, close to the pack’s borders, his voice tinged with something close to amusement. Like the others, he was in wolf form. Unlike them, Lucian remained in his human skin. "These other assholes are going to lose their shit."

Lucian let out a sharp growl, sending his command through the link—another feat that should’ve been impossible for a rogue. "Anyone who loses their damn minds will be on shit duty for a month."

A laugh echoed in his head, loud and unbothered.

"Did someone say shit duty? 'Cause I’m so ready to do this," Ruby snickered, sending him a mental image of herself sprinting straight into the packhouse like a lunatic.

Excited howls followed as the other rogues surged forward, eager to scavenge whatever they could. There was no resistance. No force to oppose them.

Lucian sighed. With measured strides, he moved past the pack’s borders toward the main building, where the stench of death was strongest. Around him, the remnants of battle lay in ruin—wolves massacred, bodies shredded, limbs torn apart. Blood pooled in the mud, dark and thick, mixing with the rain like ink spreading over paper.

"And they call us savages," he muttered under his breath. "Bloody hypocrites."

Clearing his throat, he sent out another command. "Alright, looks like there are no survivors. Take what you can, but we’re gone in ten minutes. We all know what a pile of dead wolves attracts. I’m not staying to find out. So move fast."

A chorus of "Yes, boss," rang through the link, along with a few profanities. Lucian ignored them. Letting a rogue's words get under your skin was a one-way ticket to being buried alive. More than their claws and teeth, their taunts were a far more dangerous weapon.

"And if you see any survivors," Lucian added, his voice sharpening. "Report to me immediately. Do not kill. I repeat, do. Not. Kill. Lash, you hear me?"

A sandy-furred wolf, who had been looting jewelry from a dead woman’s body, paused and sent him a mental image of raising his middle fingers.

Lucian smirked. "Good. Now, have fun."

"Would you shut it and let us do our damn jobs?" a rogue—probably one of the newer ones—grumbled through the link. Lucian didn’t immediately recognize his voice, which meant the fool hadn’t been around long enough to know better.

Lucian was about to remind him of his place—with a generous serving of shit duty—when Elisha interrupted.

"Hey, Lucy—"

Lucian’s growl came fast. "Call me that again, and I’ll shove your head into one of these dead bastards’ bowels."

"Damn, alright. No need to be so hotheaded." Elisha snickered. "Though, speaking of heat, is the rain not doing enough to cool you off? Anyway, I just wanted to say…I think I found a survivor."

Lucian’s entire body tensed. His head snapped in the direction of Elisha’s presence. "And you couldn’t have started with that?"

"Hey, you interrupted me."

Lucian didn't bother responding. He was already moving.

His boots crunched against the damp earth, mixing with the squelch of blood and mud beneath his feet. The deeper he went, the stronger the scent of death became—charred wood, wet fur, and something else. Something that made his wolf stir uneasily.

"Lucian!" Elisha called from the clearing ahead. "Over here!"

Lucian barely spared his best friend a glance. He was already scanning the area. Another pack wiped out. Another senseless slaughter. It was nothing new.

Then he smelled it.

Through the layers of rain, blood, and mud, something cut through—something warm, intoxicating. Vanilla and wild rain.

His wolf lunged forward, slamming against his ribs like a beast unchained.

Mate.

The world narrowed. Everything else—the rogues, the blood, the bodies—became nothing. Lucian’s breath caught in his chest. His eyes flickered, shifting from brown to a molten gold as his wolf pushed closer to the surface.

Elisha was kneeling beside a crumpled figure, her body barely rising with each shallow breath. Blood streaked her face, her clothes torn and drenched. Even in the dim moonlight, Lucian saw it—the pull. The invisible force that wrapped around his very soul and refused to let go.

His mate.

His hands trembled.

"Lucian?" Elisha’s voice held uncertainty now, a rare thing. "What’s wrong?"

Lucian didn’t answer. He was already moving, drawn by something greater than instinct, greater than fate itself. He crouched beside her, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. Her skin was cold. Her heartbeat weak.

A growl rumbled in his chest, deep and dangerous.

Who did this?

Who dared touch what was his?

A sharp snap of wood behind him made Lucian whirl, his movements so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

It was just Lash, a bag of stolen goods slung over his shoulder. The other rogues right behind him.

"You good, boss?" he asked, taking a step forward.

Lucian’s snarl was instant, raw. A lethal warning. The tension in the air thickened.

Lash hesitated. His eyes flicked between Lucian and the unconscious girl in his arms. His brows furrowed. "Lucian… your eyes. They’re glowing."

Lucian could barely contain himself. His wolf was furious. His wolf wanted blood.

Lash took another step, and another snarl ripped from Lucian’s throat, this one so fierce that the other rogues stiffened.

"Shit," Ruby muttered. "He’s not in control. His wolf is. And he’s pissed."

Lash raised his hands like he was taming a wild animal. "Why? He’s never lost control before—"

"Are you an idiot?" Ruby snapped. "That’s his mate, unconscious and barely breathing in his arms. Of course, he’s out of control."

A wave of "oh, shit." passed through the rogues, even Elisha looking stunned.

"Lucian?" Elisha tried again. "I know you're pissed, but can we do this somewhere else? We’ve been here too long. No one’s taking your mate from you—"

Another growl.

"Fine. But you are carrying her back yourself to camp."

Lucian held his mate tighter and, without another word, turned and walked.

But as they left, a chill ran down his spine.

A feeling. A presence.

Something was watching.

Something far worse than rogues.

And it's gaze seemed to burnt right through Lucian.