Deborah's POV
The morning sun crested over the horizon, quickly warming the desert sands while the night's fire lay extinguished in a soft bed of ash.
Mike and I continued our journey, trekking forward over the endless stretch of yellow dunes.
My mind raced as I weighed the idea of staying here in the desert until the full moon passed.
There were no mutated creatures here; it would be an ideal, isolated setting for Mike's first transformation.
But he had yet to face anything beyond the shelter of the underground—he had no knowledge of the real dangers out there, the mutated creatures prowling just beyond the sands.
Nothing changed around us as we trudged onward—the rolling dunes stretched endlessly in all directions, trapping us in this barren wilderness.
By late afternoon, the sun dipped lower in the sky, and our shadows lengthened across the sands, the silence around us absolute.
Then, all of a sudden, Mike stopped, his posture tense as he scanned the horizon. "Wait."
I halted immediately.
"Something's off. I can hear… movement," he murmured, his face etched with a cautious alertness I hadn't seen in him before. "There's… a lot of movement."
I strained my ears, but I could hear nothing.
"From which direction?" I asked quietly.
Slowly, he turned his head and whispered, "Everywhere. But closest in front of us."
I was readying myself for whatever was to come when a mass of shapes began emerging from the edge of my vision.
They moved with a dark elegance against the sunset, their massive bodies propped high on armored legs, advancing toward us in an eerie, disciplined formation—scorpions. Giant scorpions.
For a moment, Mike froze, paralyzed by the sight; his face was a mask of fear and confusion.
"Stay focused!" I snapped. "You may not have transformed yet, but your strength is no small thing. Just remember—we can't let them separate us, or else…"
Before I could finish, Mike broke into a faint, almost defiant smile, interrupting me. "Or else I'll find it hard to protect you, right?"
I was about to protest when a soft, ominous hissing sound crept closer, accompanied by the eerie scrape of countless legs in the sand.
The giant scorpions, pincers raised like weapons, had encircled us, closing in with predatory precision.
"Ignis Ardens!" I murmured, and a ring of flames rose around us, forming a protective barrier against the advancing creatures.
The flames flickered and cast a glow over Mike's wide-eyed expression of astonishment.
"You're… a witch? Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, shock evident in his gaze.
"Sorry, I thought I'd mentioned it," I replied with a shrug. "Maybe I forgot."
As the flames flared, I caught an unusual sound behind me—a low murmur that didn't seem to belong to any creature.
Turning swiftly, I froze.
Not far off stood a figure I knew all too well—Matthew! He was really here.
I blinked hard, needing to reassure myself that this wasn't a mirage, and an unexpected rush of emotion flooded through me.
But why him?
Had he come to find me?
Or did he hate me enough to follow me even to this desolate place?
Joy, confusion, and something close to despair all churned within me, leaving me reeling.
Matthew wasn't alone; four other men stood at his side.
They moved with an ease and strength that betrayed no fear of the desert's harsh radiation.
It was clear they, too, were werewolves.
The five of them ran together through the sand, pursued by the same horde of giant scorpions.
Trapped in the center, the six of us were surrounded by countless deadly pincers and armored bodies closing in like a sea of moving darkness.
But the sun hadn't fully set yet, and without the moon's light, the werewolves couldn't transform, their full strength restrained.
I took a deep breath, raising my hands to the sky, closing my eyes as I chanted, "Luna Lumina!"
Instantly, the sky darkened as the sun vanished. Clouds churned overhead, casting a twilight haze, and then the night fully enveloped us, the full moon appearing high above.
Silvery moonlight spilled down, bathing the desert in an ethereal glow.
In the moon's light, Matthew and his four companions stopped running, their bodies poised as their first transformations began.
Low growls escaped them as their muscles expanded, tearing through their clothes as dense, wild fur began to emerge.
Bones shifted, realigning with a haunting creak, their arms lengthening, joints bending, claws replacing human nails, and their eyes shone fierce in the moonlight.
Strength and raw ferocity surged through them, a transformation both beautiful and terrifying, as their wolf forms fully emerged.
Among them, Matthew stood out, unmistakable—a white wolf, his fur gleaming like freshly fallen snow under the moon's glow, pure and flawless.
He held his head high, his gaze steady and unyielding, his coat flowing in the night breeze like something sacred, untouchable.
In that moment, I understood: he was already the Alpha of his tribe, his spirit as unblemished and true as the white fur that adorned him.
Standing before him, a strange sense of inadequacy and regret stirred deep within me.
But there was no time to dwell on it; the giant scorpions continued their relentless approach.
Under the moonlight, Matthew's expression hardened with resolve.
With an enraged roar, Matthew led the pack as they charged into the dense swarm of scorpions.
His howl, filled with fearless strength, echoed across the night sky, shattering the silence.
At the sound, the wolves surged forward like a swift wind, muscles rippling under their coats, fangs flashing, their movements swift and precise.
Their assault was a fierce, untamed dance of power and ferocity; jaws tore, and claws slashed, cutting through the scorpions with flashes of lethal grace.
Leading the charge was Matthew in his white wolf form, like a blade slicing through the scorpion horde.
He leaped high, claws aiming for vulnerable spots, each strike landing with deadly precision.
The wolves moved in perfect harmony with him, attacking without hesitation; their bites and slashes scattered the scorpions, driving them into retreat.
Every movement radiated fierce elegance, a beauty born of survival and instinct, as if they danced the primal rhythm of life and death across the desert sands.