Dagger of the Blood Moon
But happiness is a fragile thing in this world of fangs and alliances.
The attack came on a night like any other, the air crisp with autumn's bite, the leaves whispering secrets we didn't heed. Rogues—real ones, not the hired guns I became—swarmed our borders, unorganized but ruthless, their claws and bites burned like hellfire. I was sixteen, out on my first solo patrol, my wolf, Veyra, eager and untamed. I smelled them first—the rancid stink of desperation and greed—and howled a warning, but it was too late. The first scream tore through the night, Jay’s! His goofy grin was the last thing I saw - frozen in shock as claws raked his chest, blood blooming dark against his grey fur.
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