Chapter 2- Stone’s Hunt

Stone’s paws slammed into the earth, the ground trembling with each stride as he cut through the darkness of the forest. He nearly lost his footing when a tree appeared too late in his path, the bark rushing toward him like a wall of iron. With a feral snarl, he drove his claws deep into the damp soil, muscles coiling with practiced instinct. He hooked a massive root, twisted his body at the last possible instant, and skimmed past the trunk with inches to spare. Bark grazed his fur, the near miss stealing precious seconds.

Above him, laughter cascaded through the branches, sharp and cruel. Carina. She looped back like a dancer on strings, weaving effortlessly through the canopy. Her movements were a taunt, graceful and mocking, each leap accompanied by the rhythm of her laughter.

“Pack report,” Stone growled through the mind-link, his voice rough as gravel.

Alistair, his ever-loyal Beta, was first to respond. “Jerrold’s circling in from the west. He’s moving toward your position.”

Then came Gunner, his most ruthless warrior. “Tracking Hadrianus. He’s shifted course north. He’ll cross the river soon.”

Jerrold. The name struck Stone like a hammer. That wretch had lingered at Carina’s side for seventy-five years, trained and coddled like a beloved son. She had shaped him into her favorite weapon, loyal and vicious. And Hadrianus—the ancient monster who had walked the earth longer than most kingdoms had endured—he was the true shadow in this game. Both had stood with Carina on the night Stone’s world burned. Both had bathed in the blood of his mate and child.

For a hundred years Stone had waited. For a hundred years he had sharpened his rage until it gleamed like steel. Tonight, a piece of that vengeance was finally within reach.

“I see Jerrold,” Alistair announced. “Closing in fast.”

Stone bared his fangs in a bitter grin. Of course. This was Carina’s trick, again and again—the same tired maneuver. Draw him out, divide his pack, scatter them like prey, then strike when their lines were weak. But he was no green pup anymore. He had learned her every move, mapped every feint, every lure.

“Ready?” Stone asked, voice low and dangerous.

“You don’t have to ask, Alpha,” Alistair replied, anticipation thick in his tone.

Stone’s grin widened, sharp as a blade. He surged forward, paws tearing trenches into the dirt. The wind roared in his ears as he wove between trees, his body a blur of fur and fury honed by centuries of war. Ahead, he felt the air shift, heard the thunder of Alistair’s heartbeat hammering through the link—fast, steady, focused, like war drums echoing across a battlefield.

Jerrold vaulted above, a streak of shadow across the treetops. Carina followed, her auburn hair flashing in the moonlight. They were angling toward the same tree—one of their pivot points, he realized. They would meet on that branch, launch in opposite directions, and collide headlong with him and Alistair.

Perfect.

This time, the trap was theirs.

“Target acquired,” Alistair’s voice rang through the link, tight with exhilaration.

Stone’s answer was a single word: “Now.”

The forest exploded with violence.

Carina’s shriek ripped the night as Alistair shot from the underbrush like a bullet. She and Jerrold landed on the branch, but before they could scatter, the wolves struck.

Alistair launched himself upward, claws slicing into bark. The tree groaned beneath his weight, cracking under the force. At the same moment, Stone slammed into the neighboring trunk, his massive frame rattling it to its core. Branches shuddered, snapping under the assault. Jerrold lost his footing with a startled cry.

He fell.

Before the vampire could hit the ground, Stone and Alistair were upon him. Two predators united, their bodies colliding with Jerrold in a blur of muscle and fury. Fangs sank into flesh, tearing, rending. Jerrold’s scream split the air, then broke into a wet gurgle as blood filled his lungs. It ended as quickly as it began. They shredded him until nothing remained whole, his body torn apart before his death cry could finish echoing.

Above them, Carina’s scream tore through the trees, raw and piercing. Real grief.

Good.

The wolves’ muzzles dripped with acidic blood, foul and burning against their tongues. Their stomachs churned, but they did not stop. They flung their heads back, howling their triumph, drowning out her wails of fury with the anthem of their victory.

“I will kill you all!” Carina shrieked, her voice cracking into madness. “Every single one you love—I will tear them limb from limb and scatter their remains from one end of this land to the other!”

“Good luck, leech!” Alistair roared back, laughter woven through his words. “I’ll enjoy scrubbing the ground with your ancient hide!”

Carina howled, her rage raw and childish as she hurled pinecones down at them. The pathetic missiles bounced harmlessly off trunks and leaves. Then, with a flash of movement, she vanished deeper into the forest. Alistair gave chase, disappearing like smoke into the night, hot on her heels.

Stone remained behind, his gaze fixed on what was left of Jerrold. Slowly, he shifted, fur receding, bones twisting, until he knelt naked in the blood-soaked dirt. His hands dug into the soil, trembling. The copper scent of gore clung to him, staining his skin, staining his soul.

And the memories surged.

His mate’s last cry. His son’s frightened eyes. The night their blood drenched his arms.

A sound escaped him, half sob, half growl, and he forced it back with clenched teeth. He seized handfuls of cold earth and hurled them at the ruined corpse a few yards away. His roar shook the forest, filled with pain that no vengeance could ease.

He had killed Jerrold. One of Carina’s favorites. One of her chosen. And yet… it was not enough. Nothing ever would be. His mate and child would never return. Their voices were gone, their warmth vanished from this world. The wound in his soul remained open, festering, eternal.

That night, Sten had died with them. The man he once was no longer existed. What rose from the ashes was something else entirely. Stone, Alpha of the WolfsBane Pack, bound by blood and vengeance. His creed was simple: retribution until the last of them lay in ruin.

“Alpha!” Alistair’s voice crackled through the link, tinged with astonishment and excitement. “She crossed the roadway! You need to see this—by the gods, you won’t believe it!”

Stone exhaled, dragging himself upright. The ache in his chest remained, but his wolf surged within him, demanding release.

He let it rise.

Muscle stretched and tore, bone cracked and reformed, fur exploded across his skin. His muzzle elongated, his chest expanding as the beast reclaimed him. Once, the change had been agony; now, after centuries, it was as natural as breathing. Within seconds, the wolf stood tall where the man had been.

Stone lowered his head, sniffing for Alistair’s trail. His paws lifted, ready to run—then he froze.

A whisper on the wind.

Sweet. Familiar. Impossible.

Adeline.

The scent wrapped around him, sinking into his chest like fire and ice. His wolf surged against his skin, a rush of primal instinct and aching emotion flooding his senses.

Alistair’s voice reached him again. “What is it?”

Stone’s answer was a rasp, almost a prayer.

“Her scent… it’s Adeline. She’s back.”