The fire crackled around him, painting John's lifeless face in shades of orange and red. Cassius wanted. Needed to stop, to let the weight of it crush him, to scream into the night. But the staccato bark of gunfire cut short any hope of grief.
Bullets sparked against stone inches from his head. Instinct shoved him down behind a slab of smoldering wreckage. Dust and blood coated his gloves. John's phone, slick with ash, pressed against his palm. He shoved it into his pocket, forcing himself to look one last time at the body beside him.
'
Forgive me, brother.'
He inhaled sharply, then peeked over cover.
A strike team advanced through the haze; tactical, precise, rifles leveled. Their uniforms were wrong. Too clean, too sharp, no insignias he recognized. Not Gryphons. Not his men.
Cassius ducked back down, jaw tight. He thumbed his comm. "Status on the Alpha."
Static hissed, then a strained voice: "Wounded. He's headed south, bleeding bad."
"Surround him," Cassius ordered. "I'm moving."
Another voice crackled, panicked: "Negative, Cassius. We're being hunted out here. Something's—"
He cut the channel. Orders were orders. Lance Gryphon couldn't slip away, not after John.
Cassius sprinted low, weaving between debris, silver rifle biting into his shoulder. Through the smoke he saw the Alpha limping, massive frame staggering, blood trailing thick and dark across the broken lawn. Cassius raised his weapon, squeezed. Silver rounds slammed into the beast's side. The Alpha howled, stumbled, but didn't fall.
Then it came.
A whistle in the dark. A crack. One of his men dropped without a sound, body twitching before it stilled.
"Sniper!" someone screamed over comms.
Cassius dove into cover, heart hammering. "Anyone got a visual?!"
"Yes, I think—"
Another whistle, another crack. The voice cut out in a wet gasp. Static.
Cassius clenched his teeth. He peered toward the Alpha, still crawling, still alive. Just a few more shots could finish it. But stepping out was suicide. The sniper was surgical, untraceable.
He growled low, fury boiling. Whoever you are… you're stealing my kill.
Gunfire intensified around him. Hunters shouted, voices ragged with fear. The strike team pressed forward, coordinated, herding them into crossfire.
Cassius slammed a fist into the dirt, forced the words out. "All units—retreat. Now!"
The channel erupted in overlapping shouts. Boots pounded the ground. Men scrambled from cover to cover, dragging the wounded, firing blind into the night. Bullets snapped past, one tearing through a man's throat, another punching clean through a chest.
Seven remained. Seven out of twenty-four.
Cassius led the survivors into the treeline, lungs burning, every step a prayer against the unseen sniper. Another whistle. Another scream. Two men fell, writhing in the dirt.
"Keep moving!" he roared, dragging one by the vest until the man's body went limp in his grip. He dropped him, rage strangling his chest, and ran.
Branches tore at his arms. Smoke thinned. The shouts behind them faded. The strike team didn't pursue.
When at last they collapsed behind a ridge, lungs heaving, silence swallowed them.
Cassius ripped his mask off, sucking cold air like it was fire. His hands shook with fury. John was gone. Half his men were gone. And the Alpha; Lance Gryphon, was still alive somewhere in the night.
He pressed a bloodied hand over the phone in his pocket. If I'd only had one more second… one more shot…
But he knew. The hunt wasn't stolen. It was sabotaged.
And whoever that sniper was, they wanted Lance alive.
***
The estate grounds were eerily quiet now, but Austin Greene heard everything. The crunch of boots on grass. The stifled breathing of his men through their comms. The faint metallic clink of magazines being slapped back into place.
Through his night vision goggles, the world glowed in ghostly green. Heat signatures flickered like embers across the estate. Most of them were still. A handful twitched faintly wounded hunters trying to crawl, trying to survive.
Austin didn't waste time with sympathy. His orders were simple: kill everything that breathed and take the Alpha alive.
He moved with precision, rifle shouldered, sweeping corners with mechanical efficiency. Two figures broke into a sprint on his left and right flanks, one trying to flee into the tree line, another making the fatal mistake of peeking out from cover.
Pop. Pop.
Two controlled single shots. No wasted movement, no wasted ammo. They went down instantly.
Austin's team mirrored his discipline. Hand gestures passed between them like a silent language, two fingers forward, sweep left, hold perimeter. Snipers up on the ridge confirmed overwatch kills with clipped whispers over comms.
This wasn't the frantic chaos of Cassius and his hunters. No wild bursts of gunfire, no yelling across the battlefield. This was the difference between amateurs with guns and a strike team forged in training and blood. Where the hunters stumbled, Austin's men flowed. Where the hunters panicked, his team adapted, pivoting like parts of a single machine.
Within minutes, the estate was swept clean. No survivors. No resistance.
Austin exhaled slowly, lowering his weapon. He gave the signal to regroup, and his squad converged at the clearing near the eastern grove. That was where they'd found him.
The Alpha.
Austin froze when he saw him.
Lance Gryphon was slumped against a tree, his massive frame battered and bleeding. Even in his condition, he radiated presence, an animal force barely contained in human form. His right arm was mangled, skin knitting together in sluggish strands as his body fought to regenerate. His chest rose and fell raggedly, wounds glowing faintly in the green haze of the goggles.
The soldiers around Austin raised their weapons instinctively. The wolf had twitched; an inch, maybe less, but that was enough. Muzzles snapped toward him, lasers dotting his torso.
Lance lifted his head, crimson eyes catching the faint light. They burned with defiance, though his body betrayed exhaustion.
"Well?" His voice was gravel, broken but steady. "If you're going to finish it… then do it."
Austin stared at him, silent behind his mask.
"You tell me," He finally said, voice low. He wasn't sure himself why this beast mattered. Why they weren't supposed to kill him.
The answer had come hours earlier.
The briefing room had been empty, save for Austin and the man who called him there. Alexander Farren leaned against the steel table, that detached calm never leaving his face.
"This mission won't be like the others," Alex had said, sliding a folder across. Austin didn't open it.
"You want the Alpha alive," Austin replied flatly.
Alex's eyes flickered approval, perhaps, that Austin caught on so quickly. "Exactly. The hunters will attack tonight. Let them weaken him. Your team will do the cleanup."
Austin frowned. "And if I ask why?"
"You don't." Alex's tone was final. He pushed a small device across the table. A quick tap revealed Austin's bank account, swollen with numbers that didn't belong to him yesterday.
Austin had stared at the screen for a long moment.
"Keep your mouth shut," Alex said quietly. "Do your job. That's all I ask."
Against his better judgment, Austin had nodded.
Now, standing before Gryphon, that agreement felt cheap. Like blood money searing against his conscience.
Austin keyed his comm. "Command, package located. Alpha alive. Requesting recovery."
Static crackled, then a calm voice: "Copy. Recovery inbound. Thirty seconds out."
Lance's lip curled into a bitter grin. "You won't be taking me alive."
"On him," Austin ordered.
His men moved in, rifles spitting controlled bursts. Bullets tore into Gryphon's body. They weren't silver, and they wouldn't kill him. But they slowed him, kept his regeneration strained under the weight of fresh wounds.
He staggered, then collapsed forward, shifting from wolf to man. Naked, bleeding, but still defiant. His body trembled as it tried to heal, but the effort left him too weak to rise.
The growl of an engine rumbled through the estate. A black truck rolled into the clearing, headlights off. Masked operatives poured out, their movements brisk and clinical. They seized Gryphon, ignoring his thrashing until a jolt of electricity arched through his body, dropping him limp.
Austin stepped forward. "Where are you taking him?"
One of the masked men glanced at him briefly before hauling Gryphon into the vehicle. "Classified."
Then the truck doors slammed shut.
The engine roared back to life, carrying the Alpha away into the dark.
Austin stood there, rifle in hand, men at his side. The estate was silent once more. Silent, except for the unanswered questions gnawing at him.
What had Farren just sold them into?
And why did it feel like the real war hadn't even started yet?