New York City pulsed beneath him like a living beast. From the 47th floor of the Cross Industries headquarters, Ethan Cross could see everything: the dazzling lights of Manhattan, the endless hum of life below, and the faint line of forest on the horizon—his true domain. Yet tonight, even the city's unyielding rhythm couldn't calm the storm building within him.
A sharp knock broke the silence of his office.
"Come in," Ethan commanded, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority.
The door opened to reveal Marcus Voss, his beta and closest ally. Marcus's expression was grim, his jaw clenched as he stepped inside. "We've got a situation."
Ethan turned away from the skyline, his silver-gray eyes locking onto Marcus. "What happened?"
"Two of our patrol teams went silent an hour ago. Eastern perimeter. We sent a backup team to investigate."
"And?"
Marcus hesitated, a rare flicker of unease crossing his face. "They found bodies. Two of ours. And a mark carved into a tree near the site. Something… unusual."
Ethan's wolf stirred beneath his skin, a low growl building in the back of his mind. He forced himself to remain composed, though his senses sharpened. Death within his territory was an insult—and a threat he wouldn't let go unanswered.
"Show me the mark," he said, his tone cold and steady.
Marcus handed over a tablet. The screen displayed a photo of a symbol carved deep into a tree trunk: a jagged circle with an arrow piercing through its center.
Ethan's expression darkened. It wasn't just a mark; it was a challenge.
"Rogues?" he asked.
"Maybe. But I've never seen this symbol before," Marcus replied. "It's old. Ancient, even."
Ethan handed the tablet back, his jaw tight. "Prepare the team. We're leaving in ten minutes."
The SUV roared through the darkened city streets, the gleam of skyscrapers fading into dense woods as they neared the eastern edge of his territory. The faint scent of rain lingered in the air, mixing with something darker—iron and decay.
Ethan drove in silence, his focus razor-sharp. Marcus sat beside him, his hand resting on the hilt of a dagger strapped to his thigh. In the back seat, two pack warriors readied themselves, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
When they reached the site, the air was heavy, almost suffocating. The forest stood still, eerily quiet as if holding its breath.
Ethan stepped out, his boots crunching on the damp ground. The scent hit him immediately—blood, faint but fresh. His wolf growled, claws itching to extend.
The bodies lay near the base of a large oak tree, their uniforms torn and soaked in crimson. Both men bore deep claw marks across their chests, wounds too precise to be the work of ordinary rogues.
Marcus crouched beside one of the bodies, inspecting the injuries. "They were ambushed. No chance to fight back."
Ethan's gaze lifted to the tree above the bodies. The mark glowed faintly in the moonlight, its jagged lines pulsing with an unnatural energy.
"It's a warning," Ethan said, his voice low. "And a promise."
Marcus stood, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "Do we call the rest of the pack?"
Ethan shook his head. "No. This isn't about numbers. This is personal."
A soft rustle broke the silence. Ethan's head snapped toward the sound, his senses flaring.
"Spread out," he ordered.
The warriors moved swiftly, disappearing into the shadows. Ethan remained still, his heightened senses scanning the forest.
Then it came—a growl, low and guttural, echoing through the trees.
"Ambush!" Marcus shouted.
Shapes moved in the darkness, fast and feral. The rogues emerged, their eyes glowing a savage red, their movements unnaturally quick.
Ethan shifted in a heartbeat, his claws and teeth extending as his wolf surged forward. The first rogue lunged, but Ethan was faster, slashing through its throat with a single swipe.
The forest exploded into chaos. Rogues attacked from every direction, their claws flashing in the moonlight. Ethan moved with lethal precision, his instincts honed by years of battle.
But something was wrong. The rogues were stronger than they should have been—faster, more coordinated.
Ethan tore through another attacker, his claws dripping with blood, when a sharp pain lanced through his side. He turned, catching sight of a figure disappearing into the shadows.
And then he saw her.
A woman stood at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden by the trees. She was cloaked in black, her long hair catching the faint silver glow of the moon. Her eyes locked onto his—bright and piercing, filled with an intensity that made his wolf pause.
For a moment, the battle around him faded.
The woman tilted her head, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she vanished into the darkness.
By the time the rogues were defeated, the forest was eerily silent once more. Ethan stood in the clearing, his breathing steady despite the blood on his hands and the pain in his side.
Marcus approached, his face grim. "We lost one of ours. The others are injured but stable."
Ethan nodded, his gaze distant. The woman's face lingered in his mind, her eyes a haunting echo of something he couldn't name.
"We need answers," Marcus said. "That mark, those rogues… they weren't acting on their own. Someone's pulling the strings."
Ethan glanced back at the tree where the mark still glowed faintly. "We'll find out," he said, his voice cold and resolute.
But even as he spoke, he couldn't shake the feeling that the woman was connected to everything—the mark, the rogues, and the unease that gnawed at him like a shadow he couldn't outrun.
And deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.