Leslie POV:
Here I am, once again confined to a dungeon. The difference this time is that this cell is oddly more hospitable. A small bed occupies the corner, though the mattress has seen better days. The rats that scurry about have become my companions, and at least it's not as cold as the last place I was imprisoned. This cell, with its minor comforts, seems reserved for privileged prisoners—a notion I can't help but scorn. The irony of being considered a "privileged" prisoner isn't lost on me.
Let me catch you up to speed. It seems fate—or perhaps Leah—has played another cruel trick on me. The address she gave me, the one where I was supposed to find medicine for my infected arm, led me straight into the heart of the Shadow Pack. Yes, 'that' Shadow Pack—the most feared pack known for its ruthlessness and brutality. I didn't even realize I had crossed into their territory until it was too late.
I was so distracted by the small stream I had stumbled upon, eager to quench my parched throat, that I failed to notice the danger surrounding me. The water was so clear and inviting—a stark contrast to the murky, blood-stained streams in neutral territories where rogues like me fought for survival. I should've known something was wrong when I saw how clean and well-maintained this part of the forest was. But I let my guard down, breaking my own rule: when something seems too good to be true, run.
And now, I'm paying the price for that mistake.
As I bent down to drink, a pack of wolves—at least ten of them—circled me. I had been so caught up in the moment that I didn't sense them approach. After nearly five months as a rogue, I'd learned to stay alert, to fight when necessary, and to trust no one. But this time, I'd slipped up, and now I was surrounded by wolves with black fur as dark as the night.
Their eyes gleamed with the anticipation of the hunt, ready to tear me apart. It was only the intervention of their Beta that saved me, though "saved" might be the wrong word. He didn't have the overpowering aura of an Alpha, but he commanded enough authority to stop them from pouncing on me. Instead of killing me outright—standard practice for rogues found in their territory—he suggested that I be kept as a prisoner.
This seemed to perplex the others, as this pack wasn't known for mercy. Their motto was more like "kill first, question later." The fact that he ordered them to spare me was strange enough, but there was something else that caught my attention: all of them had black fur. It was rare, almost unheard of, for an entire pack to share the same fur color. What happened to those born with different fur? Were they killed at birth, or was this some sort of bizarre tradition? Maybe that's why they called themselves the Shadow Pack—because their wolves blended perfectly into the shadows.
As I sit here in this cell, pondering my fate, I can't help but wonder if Leah knew what she was doing when she sent me here. Did she truly help me to survive, or was this all part of some twisted plan? Whatever the reason, one thing is clear: I'm in deep, and this time, I might not be able to claw my way out.
Damien's POV:
My warriors at the borders had alerted me of a rogue sighting, a routine matter that I usually wouldn't give much thought. I sent my Beta, Lewis, to handle it. Normally, I would have gone myself, especially given the uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at me all day. But the contract with the Moonshine Pack was due in two days, and it required my full attention.
When one of the warriors mentioned that the rogue was female, I dismissed it even further. A lone female rogue was hardly a threat to the Shadow Pack. But Midnight, my wolf, didn't seem to agree. He was restless, pacing back and forth in my mind, making it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on the task at hand.
Midnight had been unusually anxious these past few days, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by my pack. His constant agitation had put me in a foul mood, and I found myself snapping at my pack members for the slightest mistakes. It wasn't like me to lose my composure, especially not over something as trivial as a rogue sighting. But something was off, and it was driving both Midnight and me to the edge.
I tried to push the thoughts aside and focus on the contract. We couldn't afford any mistakes; the alliance with the Moonshine Pack was crucial. But Midnight's agitation kept gnawing at me, a persistent itch that wouldn't go away. His unease was infectious, making me more irritable than I'd been in a long time.
I knew what I needed to do. I had to run, to let Midnight out and let him cool off. He'd been keeping me awake for days, his restlessness preventing me from getting more than a few hours of sleep. And I knew that tonight would be no different.
Just as I was about to shift, a sudden, intoxicating scent of lavender hit me. My senses flared, and Midnight, my wolf, growled a single word with fierce possessiveness: "MINE." The scent wasn't coming from some distant corner of the forest, but from Lewis, my Beta. The realization sent my mind into a frenzy. Midnight took over in a heartbeat, faster than I could process. He shifted effortlessly, his massive, dark form emerging—the blackest wolf in the entire Shadow Pack.
Midnight lunged at Lewis with a fury I hadn't seen before. The urge to tear him apart was overwhelming, and I had to fight him, struggling to restrain the savage need to kill our own Beta. "Stupid! He killed her! She was the rogue! I told you we should go!" Midnight's anguish was so intense that it clouded my thoughts, making it difficult to comprehend what he was saying. But when he finally relinquished control, the truth hit me like a lightning bolt.
The rogue sighted at the border—the one Lewis had encountered—must have carried that lavender scent. The scent of my mate. And considering the ruthless rules I had enforced, she was likely already gone, torn apart by my warriors who followed my command to kill any rogue on sight. The realization crushed me.
I urged Midnight to run, to flee as far from the pack as possible before our shared agony drove us to do something we couldn't take back. I bolted, running with no direction, just a desperate need to escape the suffocating weight of my own guilt. The hatred I harbored for rogues—hatred that had fueled my decision to implement that cruel, unforgiving rule—had led to this. I had killed her, my mate, with my own arrogance.
Eventually, I found myself at the top of the hill, the place that had always been my refuge in moments of weakness. But this time, the peaceful view offered no solace. The pain was too deep, the guilt too overwhelming. Midnight howled in agony, wanting to tear down the entire forest that had borne witness to her death. He wanted to rip apart every wolf that had laid a claw on her, every single one who had taken a bite of her flesh.
It wasn't until the late hours of the night that I found the strength to even consider returning to the pack. But the guilt still gnawed at me, the knowledge that this was my fault, not theirs. Maybe this was why some wolves in my pack were mateless—because we had unknowingly slaughtered their destined mates, just as I had done.