"They wouldn't dare defy me" the Alpha growled, his gaze on his subordinate as he declared his stance.
His name was Ligon Tiv.
Among wolves, the name carried weight like metal striking against thunder claps. To friend and foe alike, it meant power, wealth, and a lineage no rival had ever broken. He was the Alpha of Tungsten Pack, the only son of his parents.
In his wolf form, he was a massive beast weighing over one hundred and fifty pounds. His fur was silver-streaked, and his eyes, green as emerald flame, stood out across the forest. His claws and fangs were a concoction of tungsten and dragon bones smelted into his bloodline. Weapons no ordinary wolf could claim. With them, he could tear through armor, stone, and even dragon hides.
Ligon's gaze drifted past his commanders, unfocused. The crackle of the nearby fire seemed to pull something from deep within him.
The night of his nightmares.
The night he became an orphan. Another crackle of the nearby fire pulled the sounds he had chosen to forget, from his memory. The screams that still echoed in his head. The smoke from that night, thick and acrid with the stench of burning flesh, clung to his memory like it had never left. He blinked hard, jaw tightening. The image of two fallen figures flickered and died behind his eyes.
His parents.
They had fallen prey to vicious werewolf banshees who raided their pack then, and there'd been no time to mourn. The shock was too heavy for a little wolf but Ligon knew he must go on and that was how he came to meet them.
His commanders.
Ligon sat nearest to the flames, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on the dancing embers. The others kept their distance, not from fear, but respect. None of them dared speak first.
Finally, Gromelia Sin broke it. "They took our goods and thought they'd get away with it." Her sharp eyes gleamed as she jabbed a twig into the dirt to mark a rough map. "Small pack or not, they've made themselves bait."
"You'll get your chance soon enough," Ligon said, his tone even.
Avail Bruce chuckled, the sound deep and dangerous. "We could crush them before dawn if you'd give the word, Alpha." He leaned back, polishing the edge of his axe, his loyalty plain in every movement.
"Too easy," River Drew murmured from where he lounged on a fallen log, hands folded behind his head. "Let them see us coming. Let them regret their actions before it ends." His calm voice carried a strange amusement that made a few of the others glance his way.
Mangolia Paul grunted, tossing a bone into the fire. "I don't care how we do it, so long as I get to throw someone." The huge warrior stretched, his joints cracking like tree trunks snapping. "Been too long since we broke anything worth breaking."
Roloveria Hace, crouched by the firelight's edge, glanced up from her blades. "And that," she said softly, her eyes flashing like cold knives, "is why we plan before we strike. Not after." Her gaze flicked briefly to Ligon, and though her tone was sharp, it softened when she added, "Your call, Alpha."
Ligon didn't move, but his eyes shifted toward her, a silent acknowledgment that made even her voice go still.
Dessy Trail spoke next, her tone airy, almost distracted, as she watched the smoke spiral upward. "The gods whisper unrest," she said, her eyes glassy with far-off knowing. "Blood will answer insult soon enough."
"Blood answers everything," Deuce Grace said from the shadows, his voice quiet as a knife sliding from its sheath. No one had seen him move closer to the fire, but he was there now.
Glacy Vitro snorted, shaking her head. "Always so grim, Deuce. You'd think you actually enjoy silence, and not the pain and screams of your victims." She leaned forward, grinning at the others. "Anyways, I say we make them announce their surrender before we burn their borders." Her tone was teasing, but her eyes flicked toward Ligon like she was testing how far she could push.
Wyverge Spence set down the piece of metal he'd been shaping by the fire. "If it comes to burning," he said, his voice rough, "I'll make sure Obsidian sings first." The faintest pride touched his words, and for a heartbeat, even the flames seemed to glow brighter. A collective 'Ugh' and look of disgust followed his joke.
Ligon finally lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over them in the other they had spoken. His strategist and negotiator, his blade, his brute strength incarnate, his calm rogue, his fearless huntress, his seer, his silent assassin, his ever-knowing informant, and his smith. His family.
The back bone of his new pack. Tungsten.
"They defied me," he said, each word slow, deliberate. "They stole from us and tomorrow is the day I make them know why the whispers of my name make great kings lock their gates."
No one answered. No one dared. But they all had the same thoughts.
Only the fire before them found a voice, it's flames crackling and roaring its approval as if the night itself bent to Ligon's will.
Together, they had carved out an empire in the forested mountains where other packs still scrabbled for scraps.
Ligon bore the extraordinary brute strength of his father and had inherited the power of darkness. The gift had revealed itself in boyhood when an enemy's ancient Alpha lunged at him. The darkness erupted from Ligon's hands like a living beast, swallowing him whole.
Since that day, it had answered his every call, shifting, bending and obeying his every whim as if it were part of his very breath.
When the wars came, he became the silver wolf. A titan of light and slaughter. But when rage consumed him, his half-beast form, grey and merciless, rose in its place. He became notorious as the Hybrid of Doom, and none who saw it ever forgot.
Ligon's pack thrived as though blessed by the gods of prosperity. His forest lands were rich. The trees bore fruit sweeter than any other, the soil fat with promise, the rivers alive with silver-scaled fish as sumptuous as deer. The Tungsten Pack's true wealth, though, came from their mountains: Obsidian.
A black, glassy stone, sharp enough to cut tree branches. In Ligon's lands, it was mined and forged into armor or jewelry; it pulsed faintly with magic while absorbing moonlight. It shielded its bearer from harm and struck back at enemies. When gathered in fives, it was capable of mending wounds and healing minor sicknesses. When embedded in walls, it sliced any attacker who dared to climb and shattered their weapons. A secret known only to the Tungsten Pack.
Ligon kept the trade of obsidian on a tight leash, each buyer paying heavily in coineries. This limited the stone's reach, kept rivals weak, and left Tungsten untouchable. Outsiders came from every corner. Sirens, phoenixes, healers, assassins, seeking to trade. And by Ligon's decree, his land remained a neutral ground. Any hand that drew a blade within his market would never trade there again.
But even wealth and might could not ease the weight on his shoulders.
He stood on the balcony, the night wind cool against his jaw, moonlight catching the silver in his hair as he gazed down. His pack trained below, running drills, their bodies blurs of speed and ferocity as they struck and shifted, disciplined and precise.
And still, Ligon felt the familiar ache in his chest.
He had everything an Alpha could want. Strength, loyalty, riches, legacy and yet, in the solitude between breaths, he felt the hollow echo of something missing.
The darkness he commanded whispered of an unknown future, and he knew he could not carry it alone forever. Yes, he had assistance, but he needed someone who would rule with him, someone to lighten his responsibilities.
Gromelia's voice drifted from below.
"You look restless again, my Alpha."
Ligon didn't answer. He just stared at her and walked back into his room. He had learned long ago that kings who confessed their weariness didn't stay kings for long.
For an Alpha, weakness was unthinkable. But for a man, loneliness was a weight even the strongest could not shed.
Somewhere in his marrow, he knew destiny moved toward him. Dessy had recently spoken a prophecy:
"Destiny tapers with wild hair and danger
screaming for comfort.
The fur will embrace and dampen."
And she had said it was soon to pass. Not to mention the erotic dreams he had been having of late, and though he couldn't see her face, he knew he had never felt happier.
He turned his gaze skyward, where moonlight spilled over the mountains. His green eyes glinted with hunger.
She is coming.