Claimed By The Ruthless Alpha
From the stones, from the fog, from the broken cracks beneath our feet.
“You speak with such hope, Alpha,” Berra mocked. “But hope will only make the fall harder.”
Spirits rose from the ground in front of us. First one, then five, then ten. They looked like wolves made of smoke, their eyes glowing red, their teeth sharp as knives.
I pushed Prese behind me and let my claws slide out. “Stay back, Prese. Don’t move.”
The first spirit wolf lunged. I ripped it apart with one strike. Smoke burst into the air, but more rushed forward. My claws slashed, my fangs tore, but each time one disappeared, another rose.
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