The Blood Claws Pack came like a storm's sharp wind—swift and deadly. The wolves' thundering paws we're like the beating war drums of ancient times.

The moon was at its peak, the Crescent Pack had rested early aside from the newly shifted wolves who still lurked around the central part of the town.

Many had retired early, too tired from the drills that the alpha had instilled for every capable wolf of the area—as if they were being prepared for an incoming war. Deep in the night, when they had barely entered their Dreamland, the sudden onslaught of a thick scent of blood wafted even to the confines of their...