The scent of death hung heavy in the morning mist.
Adonijah crouched at the edge of the clearing, his golden eyes scanning the carnage before him. Three deer lay scattered across the forest floor, their bodies twisted in unnatural positions. But it wasn't the sight of death that made his muscles tense—it was the wrongness of it all. The metallic tang in the air, the way the grass beneath the carcasses had withered to an ashen gray, the complete absence of scavenger birds that should have been circling overhead.
This was the work of the blight.
He rose silently, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the corrupted ground. At twenty-five, Adonijah had learned to read the forest like others read books. Every broken twig, every disturbed leaf told a story. But this story made no sense. The deer hadn't been hunted—they had simply died, as if the very life had been drained from them.
A twig snapped behind him.
Adonijah spun around, his hand instinctively moving to the silver knife at his belt. Through the trees emerged a familiar figure—Rhys, one of the few pack members who didn't immediately look away when Adonijah appeared.
"The Alpha wants to see you," Rhys said, his young face etched with worry. "Right now."
Adonijah nodded, but his eyes lingered on the dead deer. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. The familiar weight of his silence pressed down on him like a physical thing.
"It's bad, isn't it?" Rhys asked, following his gaze to the clearing. "The blight, I mean. It's getting worse."
Another nod. Adonijah gestured toward the deer, then made a sweeping motion with his hand—a gesture Rhys had learned meant "spreading."
"Damn," Rhys muttered. "Malachi's going to blame this on you too, you know. He's been telling everyone that your... condition... is what's bringing this curse down on us."
Fire flashed in Adonijah's golden eyes. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rhys thought he might actually speak. Instead, Adonijah turned and began walking toward the pack's central territory, his long strides eating up the ground.
The Shadowfang Pack's main camp nestled in a natural amphitheater carved from ancient stone. Generations of wolves had made this place their home, and the very rocks seemed to pulse with the memory of countless gatherings. As Adonijah approached, he could see them assembled—dozens of pack members arranged in a loose circle around the central fire pit.
At the heart of the gathering sat Alpha Gideon, and even from a distance, Adonijah could see how the years had bent his father's once-proud shoulders. The old alpha's breathing came in labored gasps, and his hand shook slightly as he raised it to acknowledge Adonijah's arrival.
But it was the figure standing beside the Alpha that made Adonijah's blood run cold.
Malachi.
His cousin stood with the casual confidence of a man who believed the world owed him everything. Broad-shouldered and imposing, Malachi commanded attention in a way that Adonijah never could. When Malachi spoke, people listened. When he laughed, others joined in. When he pointed an accusing finger, the pack followed his gaze.
Right now, that finger was pointed directly at Adonijah.
"And here he comes," Malachi announced, his voice carrying easily across the gathered wolves. "The silent shadow. Tell me, cousin, have you seen what your presence has brought to our hunting grounds?"
Adonijah stepped into the circle, feeling the weight of every gaze upon him. Some faces held curiosity, others fear, and a few—too few—showed sympathy. He looked toward his father, hoping for some sign of support, but Gideon's eyes were clouded with pain and something that might have been regret.
"Three more deer found dead this morning," Malachi continued, beginning to pace around the circle. "Withered. Corrupted. And where do we always find these signs of blight? In the areas where our cursed pack member has been hunting."
A murmur rippled through the gathering. Adonijah felt his hands clench into fists. He wanted to defend himself, to explain that he had been tracking the blight, trying to understand it, not causing it. But the words remained locked inside him, as they always did.
"The ancestors are angry," an elderly pack member called out. "An alpha who cannot howl brings nothing but misfortune."
"Exactly," Malachi seized on the comment. "For twenty-five years, we have harbored this... aberration. And for twenty-five years, our pack has grown weaker. Our territory shrinks. Our young disappear. And now this blight spreads like poison through our sacred lands."
Adonijah stepped forward, his golden eyes blazing. He looked directly at his father, then at the assembled pack. When he opened his mouth, everyone leaned forward, hoping—perhaps for the first time—that he might actually speak.
But only silence emerged.
Malachi smiled coldly. "You see? Even now, when his pack needs him most, he has nothing to offer. No words of comfort. No roar of defiance. Just... emptiness."
"That's enough." The voice came from the edge of the circle, clear and strong. Kira stepped forward, her healer's satchel slung across her shoulder and her dark eyes flashing with anger. "You speak of curses and blame, but what have you done to solve our problems, Malachi?"
"I've done what any true alpha would do," Malachi replied smoothly. "I've sought allies. Formed alliances. Made the difficult decisions that our current leadership has been too weak to make."
Something in his tone made Adonijah's skin crawl. There was a smugness there, a satisfaction that spoke of secrets and hidden knowledge.
Alpha Gideon struggled to his feet, his weathered face pale with the effort. "My son," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "perhaps it is time—"
He never finished the sentence. A violent coughing fit seized him, and when he pulled his hand away from his mouth, Adonijah saw blood on his palm.
The pack gasped collectively. In the stunned silence that followed, Malachi's voice rang out clear and commanding.
"The Alpha is dying," he declared. "The blight isn't just in our lands—it's in our leader. And until we cleanse ourselves of all sources of corruption, we will continue to wither and die."
He turned to face Adonijah directly, his grey eyes cold as winter stone.
"The pack laws are clear. An alpha must be able to call his wolves to battle, to hunt, to gather. He must have a voice that can be heard above the storm." Malachi's lips curved into a cruel smile. "Since you have no voice, cousin, you have no right to lead. And since your presence brings only misfortune... perhaps you have no right to remain at all."
The words hit Adonijah like physical blows. Around the circle, he saw heads nodding in agreement. Even some who had once shown him kindness now looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes.
But as despair began to settle over him like a familiar cloak, Adonijah noticed something else. Elder Morwen, ancient and wise, was watching him intently from the far side of the circle. Her weathered face showed no agreement with Malachi's words. Instead, she gave him the slightest nod—so small that only he would notice.
It was a nod that said: *Wait. Your time is coming.*
As if summoned by some unspoken signal, a young pack scout burst into the circle, his fur still matted with morning dew from his wolf form.
"Alpha!" he gasped, falling to one knee. "The Bloodmoon Clan... they've crossed our borders. They're less than a mile from the eastern boundary, and they're not alone."
The pack erupted into concerned murmurs, but the scout wasn't finished.
"They have humans with them, Alpha. Armed humans. And something else..." His voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "Something dark. Something that makes the very air feel wrong."
In the chaos that followed, as pack members shouted questions and demands, Adonijah caught Malachi's eye. For just an instant, his cousin's mask slipped, and Adonijah saw something that chilled him to the bone.
Malachi wasn't surprised by this news.
He was pleased.