Calin stood in the empty farmhouse, his chest still heaving with rage, his mind already racing with plans for the hunt ahead. The shattered remains of the chair lay scattered around his feet, a testament to his fury.
He turned to leave.
And froze.
The air had changed.
It pressed down on him like a physical weight, thick and suffocating. His wolf stirred uneasily beneath his skin, instincts screaming a warning that his mind was slow to process.
Then he saw them.
Figures emerged from the shadows of the surrounding forest—silent, fluid, deadly. They moved with the precision of a well-trained unit, their movements synchronized, their eyes fixed on the wolves in the clearing.
Calin's breath caught.
His hand shot out, signaling his wolves to form a defensive circle.
But the figures kept
