Chapter Text
Winter did not fall slowly over the forest like it usually did. This time, it consumed.
It was pressing into bone, and under fur, and between ribs until breathing felt like chewing on ice. The trees stood stripped and rigid, with bark split by frost, and their shadows looked long and skeletal across the snow. Nothing made noise, unless it wanted to be found.
The wolves’ settlement crouched low in a clearing carved by generations of ruthless leadership. Timber and stone structures, lashed together with hide and sinew, ringed a central pit where bones lay half-buried in the snow. They were not clean bones. They were gnawed ones. Split open for marrow. Some of them were still clotted dark where blood had frozen into lacquer.
The air kept carrying an old iron smell.
Mike Wheeler stood at the edge of the clearing, his breath fogging in steady plumes, with his ears angled forward as he listened to the pack wake up around him. He felt it in his bones before he saw it, the restless shifting, and the low growls vibrating through wood walls. Hunger has a steady rhythm that has been taking over them all. It made wolves impatient, short-tempered, and quick to bare their teeth.
Mike’s tail flicked once behind him, sharply.
He was tall for his age, shoulders already broadening into the shape of command. His dark hair fell in uneven waves around his face, wolf ears rising clean through it, and fur thick and black as soot. His eyes, usually calm and clear, were not soft this morning.
He could smell them.
It was not just about the bodies, the pack always smelled of musk, fur, and old blood, but the thinness of it. The sharp edge of starvation that he could see even from afar, clinging to the clearing like rot under ice.
Behind him, the door to the largest house opened with a creak.
Karen stepped out first. Her fur was streaked with silver along her ears, her posture kept erect, tail high. Ted followed, always slower but heavier, holding the weight of leadership, already settled into the line of his spine.
Mike didn’t turn immediately, he let them approach.
“The hunters returned empty again.” Karen said, her voice low but carrying. She did not need to raise it, wolves listened when she spoke.
“They scouted the northern ridge.” Mike replied calmly. His claws flexed faintly at his fingertips, the curved tips glinting against the pale light. “There are no tracks. The burrows are sealed. The prey have gone deeper.”
Ted’s lip curled slightly, exposing the edge of a canine. “Excuses.”
A ripple moved through Mike’s shoulders. He needed to keep restraint.
“We have combed every mile within scenting distance.” He said firmly. “The forest is barren.”
The word tasted wrong. Wolves did not say barren, wolves took.
Karen’s gaze sharpened, almost as cutting as ice. “Then you will go farther.”
The wind shifted. Mike caught the smell of the lower ranks stirring near the outer houses, with pups whining in their sleep, and elders shifting restlessly. The scent of desperation threaded through it all.
“If we do not bring down something soon.” Ted continued, stepping closer. “They will start tearing at each other.”
Mike’s jaw tightened.
He knew that. He had seen it before, in smaller winters. A snapped ear. A throat opened over a scrap of flesh. Order dissolved quickly when stomachs were empty.
“You are the heir.” Karen said slowly. “You lead the hunters. If you cannot feed us, then perhaps someone else can.”
The implication settled like frost along Mike’s spine. The second-in-command. The older hunter with a scarred muzzle and dull patience. Loyal, but ambitious. Too hungry.
Mike turned then, finally meeting his mother’s eyes. “I will bring something back.”
It was not a promise made lightly. He needed to bring something back.
Ted’s tail gave a single approving lash, but his gaze did not soften. Approval was earned in meat.
They left him there in the clearing, and Mike remained still for a moment longer, listening to the way the pack breathed. The way hunger hummed beneath their ribs. He inhaled deeply, sorting scents. Old blood, cold wood, and the faint memory of prey from weeks ago, long faded.
He hated the thinness of it.
A familiar scent approached from his left, metallic and electric, like air before lightning. Jane.
She moved quietly, but not timidly, boots crunching over frost-hardened snow. Her cropped hair exposed the fine fur along her ears, and her eyes were dark, watchful. She carried herself differently from the others, less bound by the rituals of being a wolf.
“They’re circling you.” She said quietly, coming to stand beside him. Her voice carried a low hum beneath it, almost a growl. “I can smell it.”
“I know.”
“They think you’re failing.”
Mike’s ears twitched back briefly, then forward again. “I’m not.”
Jane’s gaze flicked toward the outer ring of houses, where two younger hunters were already arguing, with their shoulders squared, and teeth flashing. One shoved the other hard enough to send him skidding.
“They’re getting restless.” She murmured.
“Restless becomes reckless.” Mike said deeply. “Reckless becomes blood.” He started walking, and she fell into step beside him.
They moved toward a structure at the edge of the clearing, larger than the others, but lower, reinforced with thicker beams. The door was barred from the outside with heavy wood darkened by old stains.
The slaughterhouse.
Even in winter, the scent lingered.
Mike stopped before the door and inhaled. He couldn’t feel anything fresh. Only ghost-smells. Iron soaked into wood, fear dried into grain, and the faint musk of prey long since consumed.
Jane leaned against the wall, with her arms folded. “Last one we had was that deer hybrid.” She said after a moment. “Scrawny thing. Barely any fat.”
Mike remembered her. The way her legs had trembled when they dragged her in, the way the pups had circled, fascinated by the twitch of her ears.
“She wouldn’t stop screaming.” Jane continued, almost conversational. “It started to get irritating. The little ones kept clawing at her before the elders gave the signal, making a mess of it.”
Mike’s nostrils flared faintly, remembering the hybrid’s taste.
“The elders lost patience.” Jane said, eyeing him carefully. “They tore in before the pups were finished playing.” Her eyes lifted to his. “They were arguing over the ribs.”
The image sat heavy and practical in his mind. Wolves were snapping at wolves, the discipline cracking.
“That cannot happen again.” Mike said darkly.
Jane watched him carefully. “Then bring something back.”
He stepped forward and lifted the bar from the door, the wood groaned as it opened inward.
Cold air rushed out, stale and metallic. The interior was dim, the light filtered through narrow slits near the roof. The floor was layered with old straw stiffened by frost, with dark patches marking where blood had once pooled thick enough to steam.
It was empty. There were no shifting forms in the corner. No wide prey eyes reflecting light.
Just space.
Jane stepped inside behind him, her boots crunching softly. “If this stays empty.” She said quietly, tense. “They’ll start looking at each other differently.”
Mike could already feel it in the air, the way gazes lingered a second too long on throats. The tempers shortened. Hunger did not care about hierarchy. He turned slowly, scanning the walls as if prey might materialize from them.
“We are wolves.” He said, voice low, steady. “We do not turn on our own.”
Jane tilted her head slightly, lifting a brow. “Not on purpose.”
The door creaked as he pulled it closed again. The bar slid back into place with a heavy thud. Mike stood there for a moment, hand resting against the wood, with his claws faintly denting the grain.
Then he turned toward the forest.
“Let’s gather the hunters.” He said firmly.
Jane’s lips curved in a sharp smile. “Finally.”
The wind cut across the clearing as they walked back through it, and this time the wolves watching did not hide it. Their eyes tracked Mike openly, some with expectation, and some with doubt.
He welcomed it. Let them watch. He would give them something to eat, and if the forest had to be torn apart for it, so be it.
The clearing did not need summoning drums or shouted orders, a single shift in Mike’s posture and scent was enough. When he stepped forward, shoulders squared and tail lifted, the hunters felt it immediately. Their heads turned, ears angled, and conversations died down to low murmurs.
He stopped at the center of the clearing where old blood had darkened the snow to a permanent bruise. His breath rolled out slowly, despite the hunger gnawing beneath his ribs. He let his gaze travel across them one by one, counting. They were all lean bodies, hollowed flanks, and their fur was not as sleek as it should be.
They were starving. And starving wolves were dangerous.
“You feel it.” Mike said, his voice carrying low and controlled. “The cold in your marrow. The emptiness beneath your ribs.”
A ripple moved through them. Some straightened instinctively, listening with more attention.
“We are not scavengers.” He continued. “We are not stray dogs clawing at bones. We are wolves. This forest does not deny us.” His ears tipped slightly forward, in a subtle challenge. “It hides, and buries. It waits for us to grow weak.”
A faint growl answered from somewhere in the group.
“We do not grow weak.” Mike said. “We hunt, take, and feed our own before we tear at each other.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward two younger hunters who had been fighting earlier. They dropped their gazes.
“We push farther today.” He finished. “No hesitation. No second-guessing. We return with flesh.”
Silence followed, still too tight. Then a low chuckle broke through it.
Chance.
He stood a little apart from the others, tall, broad-shouldered, fur a mottled brown streaked with old scars along his arms. His tail gave an amused flick as he tilted his head.
“Another triumphant hunt, then?” He said lazily. “We’ll feast like kings on frost and air.”
A few snorts followed from the edge of the group.
Before Mike could respond, another wolf stepped up beside Chance, Brent, leaner and sharp-faced, eyes bright with something close to provocation.
“Must be easy.” Brent added, rolling one shoulder, with claws clicking faintly as they flexed. “To speak of taking while standing in the middle of the clearing. You’re heir. You can let us come back empty and say it was our failure.” His gaze slid deliberately over Mike. “Too royal to freeze your paws with us?”
A soft, dangerous shift moved through the hunters. Not agreement exactly, but curiosity. Testing him.
Jane’s shoulder brushed Mike’s lightly. Low enough that only he could hear, she murmured. “They’re baiting you.”
Mike’s jaw tightened. He felt the prick of it, the implication. That he was only ornamental. That he was shielded.
He had led hunts before. He had spilled blood before. But hunger rewrote memory, apparently.
Chance’s tail swayed slowly. “Or perhaps the heir prefers to scratch behind his ears and leave the tracking to us.”
A few wolves gave quiet, sharp laughs.
Mike stepped forward.
The snow crunched beneath his boots as he closed the distance between them. He did not bare his teeth, but his ears angled high and forward, an involuntary ripple of dominance.
“You mistake patience for idleness.” He said, voice smooth and low. “And you mistake my restraint for weakness.”
He stopped close enough that he could smell Chance’s breath, thin and sour with hunger.
“You want proof?” Mike asked quietly.
Chance held his gaze, but his tail had stilled. Mike let the silence stretch until it pressed.
“I will hunt with you.” He said at last. “And if we return empty, I will take the blame before the elders myself.”
That shifted the air. Brent’s ears twitched back briefly, and Chance’s jaw flexed.
Jane did not speak, but she exhaled softly through her nose, something like approval curling through her scent.
Mike turned away from them without waiting for reply. “Gear up.” He ordered.
The hunters dispersed, with their movements sudden and purposeful. Pelts were pulled over their shoulders, thick hides from previous kills, lined with fur to break the worst of the wind. Leather straps tightened around wrists and forearms, and spears were lifted from racks near the outer houses, their tips getting sharpened to a cruel gleam. Knives were checked, adjusted, and finally slid into belts.
Snow kept falling in a thin, dry drift, whispering against wood and fur.
Mike secured his own pelt without assistance. He rolled his shoulders once, feeling the weight settle across his back. Jane approached, adjusting the strap across her chest with a sharp tug.
“You didn’t have to.” She said quietly, only for him to hear it.
“I did.”
She studied him for a moment, then gave a slight nod.
Six of them gathered at the edge of the clearing: Mike, Jane, Chance, Brent, and two others, Cole and Avery, silent but very watchful, both experienced enough to understand how important this hunt was.
As they stepped forward, the forest surrounded them quickly.
Snow lay thick between the trees, undisturbed in most places, the surface crusted just enough to crack faintly under weight. Their boots sank deeper than they liked, each step cost too much energy. Each breath burned a little more.
The deeper they went, the quieter it became.
There were no sounds of birds. No rustle of small animals. And even the wind seemed to hold itself back, making soft noises that almost escaped their attention.
Mike walked at the front now, ears angled outward, and nostrils flaring gently as he sorted through layers of scent. Old tracks marked some paths of deer, from weeks ago. Fox, faint and stale. Nothing fresh.
Behind him, Chance muttered. “We combed this ridge three days ago.”
“We’ll comb it again.” Mike replied without looking back.
They moved in a loose formation, spacing deliberate. Their eyes kept scanning the tree lines. Spears remained angled downward but on the ready.
“North slope was barren.” Cole added after a while. “We checked the creek bed, there was nothing but frozen runoff.”
“Burrows?” Mike asked.
“Collapsed.” Avery said. “Or abandoned.”
Jane’s breathing was steady beside him, he could feel her attention tuned to his movements.
They walked for nearly an hour before Mike slowed. He felt the air slowly shift. It was very subtle. Almost got lost beneath the cold, bark, and snow, but he could suddenly smell it.
Faint. Sweet.
He stopped so abruptly that Jane nearly collided with him. His head tilted slightly, angling his ears toward the left. He inhaled again, slower.
There.
Closing his eyes he could almost visualize it. Soft fur. Damp earth. A thin thread of fear-scent carried lightly on the wind.
“Did you catch something?” Jane murmured.
Mike did not answer immediately. His pupils had narrowed, focus sharpening to a blade’s edge. He tasted the air again.
“Bunny.” He said at last, voice barely more than a breath.
The word moved through the group like a spark catching dry brush. Chance’s posture changed instantly, his spine straightening, tail lifting, and hunger flashing in his eyes.
Jane turned, signaling silently with two fingers. The others shifted, spreading without sound, stepping carefully with their boots to avoid crust crackle.
Mike moved first, slowly. He advanced toward a cluster of low shrubs half-buried in snow, where brittle red berries clung stubbornly to frozen stems. The scent was stronger now, and it was not stale. Not old.
It was so fresh that it made his mouth water.
Mike crouched slightly, lowering his center of gravity. His claws slid free just a fraction at his fingertips, curved and ready for the chase.
Through the bare branches, he saw movement.
Small. Delicate.
A figure bent low near the base of a tree, brushing snow aside with careful, trembling hands. Long ears, white tipped in soft brown, trembled as they angled toward faint sounds. A tail, round and pale, with freckles of brown, flicked anxiously.
The bunny hybrid moved cautiously, pausing often to listen, sniff, and search for something edible beneath ice.
Mike could see that he was thin. Too thin. His movements had the quick, fragile sharpness of prey forced too long without food.
Mike felt something tighten in his chest in excitement.
Meat.
He raised one hand slowly and signaled. The hunters fanned wider, circling with practiced precision, cutting off escape routes between trees. Snow barely whispered under their boots, their pears were angled upward now, slowing their breaths.
The bunny didn’t notice a thing. He reached up for a berry and winced when a branch snapped faintly under his weight.
Mike’s gaze hardened.
He waited.
And the hunters waited for his command.
Frost clung to bark on the trees in glittering veins. The wind had quieted to a distant whisper, and in that stillness the hunters formed the silent ring, each of them positioned with instinctive precision, having their pelts blending into the muted winter palette. They were all alphas, broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, wearing their pride stitched into every breath. At their center stood their heir, their lupus, the one born to command.
But still, Mike did not move.
He stayed crouched low behind the sweep of a fallen pine, fingers pressed into the crusted snow, holding his breath slow and measured. The scent reached him in a wave once again. It was soft, warm, and impossibly alive against the sterile cold of winter. It curled into his senses, sweet and faintly herbal, layered with the delicate musk that marked the creature beyond the bushes as omega. Prey. Tender, instinct whispered. Vulnerable.
His jaw tightened.
Through the thin lattice of branches, he watched the bunny hybrid move.
The omega’s ears, long, brownish, and trembling at the tips, tilted and twitched with every distant crack of settling ice. They were expressive in a way wolves’ ears were not. They betrayed the flutter of nerves that ran beneath his skin. Snow clung to the soft fur lining their edges. His small tail flicked twice, restless and uncertain. He was thinner than he should have been, winter had pared him down, but even so there was a softness to him that spoke of prey physiology, of fat stored differently, and muscle not built for tearing but for fleeing.
He moved carefully between the shrubs, brushing snow aside with his careful hands, searching for anything edible beneath the drifts. Berries long stripped. Roots frozen solid. Still he searched, stubborn or desperate enough to wander alone in a forest ruled by predators.
Brave, Mike thought distantly. Or stupid.
The omega paused suddenly, head lifting. His white-brown lashes were rimed faintly with frost, and his wide eyes scanned the trees with quick, jerking movements. For one sharp second, Mike wondered if the wind had shifted.
No. The circle held.
Behind him, to the left, Jane was poised like an arrow drawn taut, her shoulders squared beneath her wolf-pelt mantle. Chance and the others were positioned farther out, spaced evenly, with their boots planted to avoid betraying themselves with a careless crunch.
They were waiting on him.
Mike inhaled once more.
The scent of omega rolled once again over his senses, sweet and frightened even before the fear had reason. Hunger answered inside him, deep and ancient. It was a pull in the marrow, making his teeth ache with it.
He raised one hand, a subtle motion.
The circle tightened.
Snow shifted softly as his hunters began their approach, each step deliberate, measured to close the gaps without alarming their quarry too soon. The forest seemed to narrow around the bunny, branches hemming him in, though he did not yet understand why.
The prey bent to brush aside another drift.
Jane moved.
The first sound came not from the wolves, but from the bunny’s own heartbeat, a frantic, uneven rhythm that Mike could hear as clearly as if his ear were pressed to the omega’s chest. Something in the air changed, and his instinct struck.
The bunny straightened abruptly. His ears shot upright, and then he saw them.
All of them.
The circle was complete.
For a fraction of a second, everything froze. The bunny stood knee-deep in snow, eyes blown wide, and breath caught mid-inhale, seeing the wolves revealed from behind trunks and brush, tall and implacable shadows against white.
Then chaos erupted.
The bunny bolted.
He lunged toward the narrowest gap in the circle, small feet slipping against the packed ice as he forced his way through drifts. His movements were quick, zigzagging, instinctively evasive, but hunger had sharpened the wolves’ reflexes to razor precision.
Chance intercepted him first.
With a bark of harsh laughter, the second-in-command stepped into his path and shoved him sideways with brutal efficiency. The omega stumbled, legs tangling beneath him as he crashed into the snow. Powder flew in a glittering spray, and he scrambled upright almost instantly, panic lending him speed, and veered in the opposite direction.
But another wolf was already there.
The hunters were not striking to kill, not yet. They were driving him, testing him, herding him back into the open center of the clearing like a trapped animal at sport. Their grins were feral, and their eyes bright with the thrill of a successful chase after weeks of emptiness.
The bunny’s breath tore raggedly from his lungs. He slipped again, falling hard to one knee against the frozen ground beneath the snow. The impact knocked a sharp cry from him, a thin, desperate sound swallowed quickly by the trees. He tried to rise, but a heavy boot pressed into the drift beside him, blocking his escape.
In a moment of clarity, Mike understood what the new stale scent that lifted suddenly was. The bunny had peed himself in pure terror.
Laughter rose, low and predatory, echoing around him.
His gaze darted wildly from face to face, seeking weakness, mercy, any opening at all. His scent spiked with a new wave of terror, thickening in the cold air until it was almost intoxicating.
It hit Mike like a physical force.
Fear had a smell all its own. It was sharp, bright and remarkably alive.
It made the hunger worse.
The omega twisted free from the boot’s shadow with a burst of frantic energy and ran straight toward the largest figure in the clearing.
Toward him.
Mike stepped forward at last. The omega saw too late that he had chosen the most dangerous direction. The heir of the pack stood unmoving in his path, tall and broad beneath layered pelts, and dark hair stirred faintly by the wind. Authority radiated from him, instinctual.
Still, desperation overrode caution, and the bunny still tried to dart past him.
Mike’s hand shot out and caught him by the arm.
The impact was jarring. The omega’s momentum wrenched against his grip, but Mike held fast, claws pricking through thin skin just enough to anchor. The scent of fresh air and cold fur mingled with something warmer as the bunny gasped in pain and fear.
Blood.
The clearing fell quieter. The other wolves slowed their circling, watching.
Will struggled in earnest now, twisting and pulling, small hands striking uselessly against Mike’s chest. He was trembling, not with controlled defiance but with raw survival instinct. His heart hammered so violently that Mike could feel the rhythm through his grip.
For a moment, the heir simply studied him.
The delicate slope of his throat. The way his ears trembled uncontrollably now, betraying every spike of panic. The thinness beneath the thin winter layers, and yet the promise of sustenance all the same. Omega physiology meant less hardened muscle, more stored softness even in lean times. Easier to sustain if they chose to. Easier to finish if they did not.
Behind him, one of the hunters gave an eager growl.
“Leader.” Chance called, voice edged with hunger. “We’ve waited long enough.”
Another stepped closer, crouching slightly as if resisting the urge to lunge. “Just a taste.” He muttered, eyes fixed on the trembling prey, tracking the way a rivulet of bright red blood cascaded down the bunny’s arm. “We’ve earned that much.”
Jane’s laughter was low, though her gaze flicked once to Mike’s face, measuring him.
By Mike’s left side, Cole lunged at the prey and licked the stripe of blood from his skin, growling with newfound hunger. Mike shoved him away, intercepting his impulsiveness. The prey let out a broken sound, half plea, half instinctive cry, and went very still, as if freezing might make him less visible. It did not. His scent remained loud in the air, sweet and terrified.
Mike felt the weight of every eye on him.
He could end it here, with a single decisive motion. A display of strength that would silence any doubts about his rule.
Instead, he tightened his grip just enough to halt the omega’s struggling without causing further harm.
“That is enough.” He said calmly. His voice cut through the clearing like a blade.
The hunters stilled immediately, instinct bending them to the authority in his tone.
“We do not squander our first game in weeks in the snow like carrion beasts.” Mike continued, gaze sweeping over them, unyielding. “He goes back. Alive.”
A murmur of frustration rippled through the circle.
Chance frowned openly. “And wait longer?”
Mike’s eyes flashed. “We will handle him properly. The pack will eat. All of us.”
Silence followed.
The challenge died on their tongues, no one dared to push further. Slowly, the hunters stepped back, though their gazes lingered hungrily on the omega now shaking in Mike’s grasp.
The bunny’s breath came in shallow, rapid pulls. He did not look at Mike directly anymore. He stared at the snow between them, as if trying to disappear into it.
Mike adjusted his hold, less cruel now, more controlled. He could feel the tremor in the smaller body, and the fragile warmth against the winter air.
“Bind his hands.” He ordered firmly.
Jane moved forward without hesitation, drawing cord from her belt. Her expression was unreadable as she secured the omega’s wrists efficiently.
The hunt was over.
Snow began to fall again, light at first, then steadier, with soft flakes settling over churned tracks and scattered drifts, covering the violence of the chase with quiet indifference.
Mike looked down once more at the trembling bunny hybrid at his side.
Prey, his instincts whispered. But he did not give the final command.
“Move.” He said instead.
And the pack turned back toward their territory, with their prize walking unsteadily among them, and the winter erasing their footprints one by one.
They moved as one through the forest, the circle was now inverted, with hunters outward, and prize contained within. The light had shifted slowly, with the afternoon sagged toward evening, and the sky above the bare canopy was the dull, heavy gray of more weather coming.
The omega stumbled often.
He had no boots. No pelts. Nothing but thin, worn fabric clinging to his slight frame, already damp where snow had melted against his skin. His bare feet struck ice and crusted drifts with soft, broken sounds, with his toes reddening, then paling toward numbness. Each step looked like it hurt, and each breath left him in a trembling cloud.
Jane kept a firm grip on the bindings at his wrists, guiding, and dragging when necessary, without slowing the group’s pace. When he lagged too far behind, she jerked him forward with efficient impatience. There was no cruelty in her face. But no mercy either. Only the steady composure of an alpha who had secured meat for her people.
Behind them, Chance laughed, clapping one of the others on the shoulder. “A bunny.” He said again, as though savoring the word. “In deep winter. If that isn’t fortune favoring us.”
“Fortune?” Another snorted. “It’s the heir’s nose that favored us.”
Several glanced toward Mike with open approval. Pride rolled warm through the cold air, thick now that the hunt was won.
Mike walked at the front with his posture straight, head high, and the scent of prey trailing behind him like a banner of triumph. He could still feel it sweet, sharp, and frightened. It mingled with the iron edge of blood from the shallow cut where his claws had broken skin. The memory of that moment flickered behind his eyes: the sudden jolt of contact, the smallness of the arm in his grasp, and the way the omega had frozen in raw terror.
“He’s scrawny.” One hunter observed, circling briefly to eye the captive more closely. “But we can fix that. Give him scraps. Berries if we must. Let him fatten before we carve.”
“Keep him penned.” Chance added. “Feed him just enough, then divide evenly.”
“Evenly?” Jane echoed, lifting a brow. “You’ll fight over the ribs.”
“Then we cut in squares.” Someone else said with mock solemnity. “Measured. Fair.”
Laughter rippled through them, bright and careless.
The bunny made a small sound at that, a broken whimper that trembled apart in the cold. His ears drooped low against his skull now, no longer alert but crushed by dread. He stumbled again, nearly falling to his knees before Jane hauled him upright.
“Walk.” She said, voice clipped.
He tried. He truly did. But his body was failing him, feeling the cold sinking into bone, and fear hollowing out what little strength remained. His feet left faint smears of red in the snow where skin had split against ice. He didn’t seem to notice anymore.
Chance moved closer, wrinkling his nose exaggeratedly. “He stinks.”
Another wolf inhaled theatrically and laughed. “Fear will do that.”
“And something else.” Jane muttered, glancing down at the damp fabric clinging to the omega’s legs.
A fresh round of jeers followed.
“Couldn’t hold it?”
“Should’ve picked a better place to die.”
The bunny’s face burned crimson beneath the frost. He made a strangled noise, trying to twist away from their voices though there was nowhere to go. Humiliation radiated from him as sharply as fear, and the scent of it fed the pack’s cruel humor.
Mike allowed himself a small, restrained smile at the edge of it, present enough that the others saw and relaxed further. Their heir was pleased. Their hunt was a success. The pack would eat.
He felt it then, an unfamiliar swell beneath the hunger.
Pride.
Not only for the prey secured, but for the way the hunters had moved under his command. The way they had obeyed without question when he had called them off. They trusted his judgment. They looked to him.
The omega stumbled again and this time fell fully to his knees, a sharp cry escaping him as frozen ground bit into skin. He did not rise immediately. His shoulders shook violently now, not just from cold but from the weight of what he knew awaited him at the end of this march.
“Up.” Jane ordered, giving the bindings a sharp tug.
He lifted his head.
For a moment, just a flicker, his gaze found Mike’s back at the front of the procession. There was something in that look that did not belong in a prey animal cornered. Desperation shaped into words.
“Please.” He whispered, voice hoarse and thin.
Jane reacted before the sound had fully formed. “Quiet.” She snapped, jerking him upright hard enough to make him gasp. “Keep your mouth shut.”
The pack did not slow.
Snow thickened as they descended toward their territory, the trees thinning slightly to reveal the low ridge where smoke curled faintly against the sky. The scent of wolves grew stronger with every step, familiar, territorial, and heavily layered over seasons of occupation. It swallowed the softer note of prey until it felt almost hidden.
Almost.
Mike could sense it building ahead of them, the shift in awareness as the guards at the perimeter caught wind of what they carried. A ripple of anticipation traveled through the air, undeniable.
The camp spread below, with its structures half-buried in snow, hides stretched tight against wooden frames, and smoke rising from central pits where coals struggled against the cold. Wolves moved between them, leaner than they should have been, winter having carved sharp lines into their faces.
Then, the wind shifted just so.
The scent of bunny carried clean and unmistakable down into the heart of the pack. Heads snapped up immediately.
Silence struck first, stunned and unbelieving. Then the howls began.
Low at first, then rising, gathering, rolling through the camp in waves of triumph and relief. Wolves emerged from shelters, from behind barriers, and from wherever they had been conserving energy. Cheers broke loose, raw and ragged but jubilant. Names were shouted, and laughter burst free like something long denied.
Mike did not slow his stride as they descended. He felt the sound in his chest, vibrating through bone. Approval. Gratitude. Exultation.
The hunters around him straightened instinctively, with their exhaustion forgotten beneath the surge of collective victory. Chance raised his chin higher. One of the others pumped a fist skyward. Jane’s grip on the bunny tightened, possessive now in the face of so many eager eyes.
They entered the clearing at the camp’s center and wolves surrounded them almost immediately, drawn by scent and sight. Some stared openly at the captive, eyes alight with hunger that bordered on feverishness. Others clapped the hunters on their backs, praising their success.
“A bunny.” Someone breathed reverently.
“In winter.”
“How?”
“The heir.” Cole answered loudly, gesturing toward Mike. “He found it.”
More howls answered that.
Mike stood at the forefront, feeling the snow dusting his shoulders, breathing steady despite the long trek. He let the sound wash over him. Let it settle into the space where doubt might have grown in leaner times.
They had food. He had brought it.
Behind him, the bunny swayed on unsteady feet, overwhelmed by noise, by scent, and by the sheer number of predators closing in. His ears flattened completely now, nearly disappearing against his hair. His bound hands trembled violently. The cold had turned his skin pale beneath streaks of dirt and tears.
No one offered him warmth or comfort. He was meat.
“For the pack!” Someone shouted.
“For the pack!” The cry was taken up, echoing across the snowbound camp.
Mike turned slightly then, just enough to look at the omega fully in the chaos of celebration. He saw the small body dwarfed by wolves, the terror barely contained behind wide, shining eyes.
He felt the hunger still. But beneath it, something quieter had begun to stir. He did not name it.
“Secure him.” He ordered evenly.
The cheers did not fade.
Winter still raged beyond their borders, but tonight, the pack would not sleep starving. The night fell heavy over the camp, but hunger had been chased back far enough to make room for fire.
They built it high in the center of the common ground, feeding it with precious stores of split wood and resin until flames rose gold and ravenous into the dark. Sparks lifted like fleeing stars, projecting shadows of wolves stretched long, and shifting against the snow-packed earth, and the hide-draped structures surrounding the clearing.
The air smelled of smoke, sweat, damp fur, and beneath it all, the thin, trembling sweetness of prey.
They had wrapped the bunny in one of Mike’s pelts, in an act of conquest.
It was thick, dark, and lined with the fur of winter kills past. Too large for the omega’s narrow frame, swallowing him whole when they wound it tight around his shoulders and torso, binding his arms against his sides so that only his head and lower legs were visible. It was not done for warmth, it was done for display.
The heir’s catch.
They set him upright on his knees near the firepit, close enough that the heat stung his chilled skin but not close enough to offer comfort. The flickering light gilded his brownish hair and turned the tear tracks on his cheeks into shining streaks. His ears drooped low, quivering with every burst of laughter, and every snap of teeth in the surrounding dark. His bare feet were tucked awkwardly beneath him, toes reddened and split from the march.
Wolves circled loosely, tankards of watered spirits in hand, with their shoulders brushing as they jostled and boasted. The mood had shifted from desperate to electric, relief made them much louder. Much crueler.
“Look at him.” Someone jeered, crouching briefly to tilt his chin up with two fingers before shoving his face aside again. “Already trembling.”
“Don’t bruise the meat.” Another warned with a grin.
The bunny made a small, broken sound and tried instinctively to shrink into the pelt wrapped around him, but the binding held firm. Every time he shifted too much, the hide tightened at his wrists and chest, reminding him of his helplessness.
Mike stood across the fire, feeling the flames cutting a bright line between him and the captive.
He had shed the heavier outer layer of his hunting cloak, though the rest of his pelts still hung broad and regal from his shoulders. Firelight caught along the sharp line of his jaw, and in the dark of his eyes. He looked every bit the heir, keeping a composed stance, deliberate, untouched by the chaos he had commanded.
At his side stood Karen and Ted Wheeler. They did not join the rough jostling of the younger alphas. Instead, they watched.
When the noise had swelled to its peak and the wolves’ energy threatened to tip into something less controlled, Karen stepped forward. She did not need to raise her voice much, respect quieted the nearest wolves first, and then rippled outward until the clearing settled into attentive silence, broken only by the crackle of flame.
“My pack.” She began calmly, her tone smooth but resonant, carrying easily through the cold night air. “We have endured a hard winter. We have watched our stores dwindle. We have felt the bite of hunger and the doubt that follows it.”
Her gaze moved over them, assessing proudly. “And yet tonight, we stand fed by hope.”
A murmur of agreement rose.
She extended a hand toward her son. “Michael.”
The use of his full name landed with weight. Not a boy called from play, but an heir presented to his people.
“My son has proven what it means to lead, not from comfort, not from behind walls, but from the front. He walked into the forest beside you. He trusted his instincts. And finally, he brought you life when winter promised death.”
Ted stepped forward as well, his voice deeper. “This prey.” He said, gesturing to the trembling figure by the fire. “Is no small blessing. It is resilience made of flesh. And it was our son who claimed it.”
The pack’s approval swelled again, filled with cheers, howls, and fists striking chests in solidarity.
The bunny flinched violently at the sound, breath hitching into quiet sobs he could not fully contain. He twisted once more in the pelt’s confines, trying to scoot backward, away from the flames, and from the eyes devouring him.
There was nowhere to go.
“We will savor this gift.” Karen continued, her voice unsoftened by the sight of him. “We will honor the strength that secured it. And we will remember that survival belongs to those bold enough to seize it.”
She turned slightly toward Mike, inclining her head with deliberate ceremony. “Speak, Michael.”
All attention shifted to him.
For a moment, he simply stood there, allowing the quiet to stretch. The wolves leaned in unconsciously. Even the restless shifting at the edges stilled.
“Persistence.” He began evenly. “Is not loudly conquered.”
His gaze swept over them, steady and unwavering. “It does not panic when winter grows sharp. It waits. It moves when the moment demands it.”
He let the words settle. “We were patient. We pushed farther, and we trusted what we are.”
A faint curl of satisfaction touched his mouth. “And we were rewarded.”
A few approving growls rumbled through the crowd.
“I will not lead you into recklessness.” He continued. “I will not promise you ease, but I will promise you this. So long as I stand before you, I will seek what sustains us. I will not allow this pack to starve in fear.”
The wolves answered him with a unified howl that rose high and fierce into the night.
At the center of it, the bunny broke. A sob tore free from him, thin and hopeless. He bent forward against the binding, forehead nearly touching the snow-packed earth. His ears flattened entirely, his small body shaking so violently now it seemed he might simply come apart.
Someone near the back shouted, voice thick with anticipation. “Then let’s begin! Let us feast!”
Excited murmurs followed instantly, energy sharpening once more into hunger.
Mike did not raise his voice to silence them, he merely lifted one hand. The gesture alone quieted the clearing.
“I know you are eager.” He said calmly, and there was a flicker, just a flicker, of something almost amused in his eyes. “As am I.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the pack.
“But eagerness is not the wisest strategy.”
He turned his head slightly, looking at the bound omega by the fire as if appraising livestock. “He is thin.” Mike observed. “Stupid enough to wander alone in winter, but not yet enough to sustain us as he stands.”
The bunny’s head jerked up at that, eyes wide and glassy with tears.
“We do not know when the forest will offer us another such opportunity.” Mike went on, slowly. “To consume him now would fill bellies for a night. To strengthen him first would feed us longer.”
A thoughtful murmur replaced the earlier frenzy.
“We will tread carefully.” He concluded. “He will be kept, and fed. Let him grow soft again.”
The words fell like a sentence.
“Then, when the time is right, we will divide what he offers. Properly.”
There was hesitation, a few restless shifts of weight, a few glances exchanged. But then Karen’s voice cut through it, firm and assured. “Michael speaks wisely.”
All eyes turned to her again, trusting.
“We are hungry, yes. But we are not foolish. A week of patience may grant us twice the sustenance. We owe it to ourselves, and to our future, to think beyond tonight.”
Ted nodded once in agreement.
The tension eased. One by one, heads dipped in approval. Low sounds of assent replaced earlier impatience. The pack trusted its leaders, the hunger could be endured a little longer for a greater reward.
“Glory to Michael!” Someone called.
The chant was taken up swiftly.
“Glory to Michael!”
The fire flared brightly.
Mike inclined his head slightly, accepting the praise without overindulgence. “Take him.” He ordered calmly.
Jane and Chance stepped forward without hesitation, eyeing the prey.
The bunny tried to recoil, instinct screaming too late. But bound in the pelt, he could not scramble away fast enough. Jane seized him under one arm while Chance gripped the other. They hauled him upright, ignoring the way his legs buckled beneath him.
“Please–” He gasped, voice cracking. No one even seemed to hear.
They dragged him across the snow, away from the warmth of the fire, and toward the low structure at the edge of camp used for slaughter and storage. The door creaked open, showing the welcoming darkness yawning beyond.
The cheers continued behind them.
“Glory to Michael!”
“Long live the heir!”
Jane and Chance did not look back as they pulled the bunny inside. They released him only long enough to shove him forward. He stumbled, hit the packed earth floor hard, and rolled onto his side in the dim interior. The pelt tangled painfully around him.
The door slammed shut.
Outside, the celebration swelled louder, with the wolves raising voices and tankards toward their future.
Inside the slaughterhouse, the bunny lay trembling in the dark, listening to the sound of his fate being toasted beyond the walls.