Vines that cut deep

Ryker’s POV

“Come on, you ugly bastard!” I snarl through bared teeth, my voice a growl in my head as my paws tear into the dirt.

The rogue behind me is massive. Thick shoulders like a boulder rolling downhill, snapping jaws that sound like they could crush steel. My light-gray fur bristles, the dark streaks along my spine standing on end, but I keep moving.

it’s stupid trying to reason with a rogue this far gone. It’s is like asking fire not to burn. And judging by those wild, bloodshot eyes, this one doesn’t even know what reason is.

My electric-blue gaze flicks ahead, scanning for any path that doesn’t lead to me getting my throat ripped out. I push harder, muscles burning as the ground blurs beneath me.

My brothers are dealing with their own battles. I can only hope they’re either winning—or at least not getting mauled to death.

My ears twitch, picking up a subtle hum ahead.

Not good.

That’s the kind of sound that says “Ryker, your day’s about to get worse.”

Gosh, do these people want to ruin my beautiful fur?

I swear I can feel my wolf roll his eyes at me.

Then I see them.

Razor-sharp vines slithering across the ground.

I zig, then zag, confident in my speed.

Too confident.

Every move I make, the vines mirror me, curling tighter and faster, until I’m practically running myself into their grasp.

And then—snap.

They coil around my legs, my torso, even my neck, digging into my fur.

“Shit—” I growl, jerking against them.

That’s when the rogue crashes into me.

Teeth snapping inches from my face, hot breath slamming into my muzzle. I twist my head, just avoiding the bite, but every movement makes the vines cut deeper.

These people aren’t playing fair at all.

What do they take me for? Some cheap mutt in a back-alley fight?

Fine. If the vines want to copy me, let’s see how well they copy this.

I shift my weight, stepping in deliberate, circling patterns.

The vines mimic me instantly, but not just around me—around the rogue too.

Every sidestep, every twist, tightens their spiral.

“Come on, big guy,” I taunt, my growl dripping with mockery. “Follow me. You know you want to.”

The rogue lunges, snapping at me, too focused on tearing me apart to notice the trap closing in.

The vines slide higher, curling over his shoulders, then snaking around his thick neck.

One more turn, and they cinch tight.

The rogue jerks back with a choked snarl, claws swiping at his throat, but it’s no use—the more I move, the tighter they pull.

I pace lazily now, dragging the vines like a leash, watching him thrash and wheeze.

His eyes bulge, foam flecking his muzzle as the vines crush his windpipe.

“Die already,” I growl, my patience wearing thin.

It should’ve been over. The rogue should’ve gone limp by now.

But then—something shifts.

The vines, instead of finishing the job, slither across the ground toward me.

“What the—” I snap at them, twisting to bite through the nearest coil, but my teeth barely make a dent.

They wrap around my legs, my chest, pulling me off balance.

The rogue’s eyes flare with something like grim satisfaction as the vines loosen around his throat.

Before I can react, he lunges—

His teeth sink into my side, white-hot pain ripping through me. I roar, snapping back at him, but the vines erupt upward, wrapping my neck, my muzzle, my whole body.

Darkness closes in fast. My limbs go numb, my chest heavy. My last thought before everything goes black is that these bastards really don’t play fair.

————

I jerk awake.

My chest heaves, my eyes scanning for anything.

“What the…?” I mutter, pushing myself upright.

I know this place. It’s my childhood home.

Or… at least, a perfect copy.

My room looked like a storage space. Dusty boxes crowd the corners.

I grit my teeth.

What are the Shadow Pack pulling this time? Some illusion?

I glance down at my side, half-expecting to see torn flesh, but there’s nothing. Not even a scratch where the rogue bit me. Which is weird.

I stand, every muscle tense, and walk to the door.

I stop with my hand on the knob, hesitation clawing at me. My Bare feet sinking into the creaky floorboards I remember all too well.

Part of me doesn’t want to open it—not because I’m afraid of what’s out there, but because I already know. And if it’s exactly what I think it is, that’ll piss me off more than any fight could.

I turn the handle anyway.

The corridor stretches out, every dent in the wall, every warped floorboard exactly where it used to be. Even the faint flicker from the busted lightbulb near the end—it’s all here.

How the hell did they do this?

Did they put my parents up to it?

No. Even they wouldn’t know every detail.

They never paid that much attention to the house.

Hell, they never paid that much attention to me.

The thought hits harder than I expect.

It’s been long since I last saw them. Since that day with Aria—when I’d crossed paths with them and realized just how little I’d ever mattered.

They had another son now.

A real one, in their eyes.

And they treated him better than they ever treated me.

The memory burns through me, but I shove it down and keep moving.

I step into the living room—and freeze.

There they are.

Sitting exactly where they always used to sit, heads bent over their phones like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

No way.

This can’t be real.

I move closer.

“Dad? Mom?” My voice feels strange in my throat.

Without looking up, my father snaps, “Can’t you see we’re busy? You can talk to us later.”

The exact tone hits me like a punch. Cold and Irritated. Like I’m just another noise in the room.

“How… how are you here?” I demand, stepping closer.

My mother finally glances up, face twisted with annoyance. “What kind of stupid question is that?”

Something in me cracks. I grab my father’s arm.

He jerks it back like I’ve burned him, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know why he’s acting like this,” my mother mutters, her gaze flicking over me like I’m dirt on the carpet. “Go back to your room, Ryker.”

“Why are you doing this?” I snap, my voice low but shaking with fury.

“Acting like this. Did the Shadow Pack put you up to it? Why are we here?”

My father turns to my mother. “What kind of child did you give me?”

She shrugs, not even looking at me. “I don’t know. Maybe he hit his head before he came here. I wish I even had another son.”

That rips something open in my chest.

My eyes burned into hers.

“But you do have another son. Remember? You treat way more better than you ever treated me in my life.”

My father’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, looming over me.

“Stop talking rubbish and get out,” he barks, his voice sharp enough to sting.

This has to be some kind of trick. Why are they acting like they don’t have another child?

They’re not good liars—never have been—and it’s written all over their faces.

They think I’m just making it up.

I take a step back, my mind racing.

If this is a dream, an illusion, whatever it is, then I just need to find the seam and rip it apart.