Chapter 6 Blood for Blood
The forest was restless that night.
Shadows moved between trees like whispers of the past, carrying the scent of metal and fear. Blake could smell it before he even saw it—a new presence, sharp, deliberate, and wrong. Something in the air made the hair along his spine rise. The pack felt it too, stirring uneasily, their ears twitching, noses lifting to the wind.
"Something's coming," one of the younger wolves murmured in low growls.
Blake didn't answer. He stood taller, muscles coiled, black fur bristling like a storm cloud ready to break. His thunderous heartbeat pulsed through the clearing, a warning in itself.
He had learned patience, control. But tonight, patience would not save them.
The smell grew stronger. Smoke. Blood. Fear. The alpha circled nervously, ears flat. Something was wrong—wrong enough to make the wolves tense, to make even Blake's instincts scream in warning.
From the darkness, two humans emerged. Hunters. Not careful ones—they were reckless, arrogant. They laughed, unaware that death stalked them with black fur and glowing eyes.
"They don't belong here," Blake growled, his voice low and rolling like distant thunder. The sound shook leaves loose from branches, echoing across the forest like a warning drum.
The humans froze. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, squinted into the shadows. "Did you hear that?" he asked.
The other, younger, cocked his rifle. "Probably just an animal. Nothing that matters."
Blake stepped forward. The ground seemed to tremble under his weight. Each step was deliberate, slow, deliberate, and deliberate again—measured, dangerous. His eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, reflecting cold steel and fury.
The younger hunter aimed his gun.
Blake snarled.
It wasn't just a warning. It was a storm breaking loose.
The shot rang out. The bullet tore through the air, but Blake was faster. Too fast. He moved before thought, closing the distance in an instant. Claws as long as daggers cut through the underbrush like wind, snapping branches, tearing leaves.
The young hunter's eyes widened in terror as Blake struck, ripping the rifle from his hands and smashing it into the ground. Sparks flew, metal bent, wood splintered. The hunter fell to his knees, frozen, choking on fear.
"Run," Blake said, his voice rolling like thunder. "Run if you can."
The hunter didn't. He raised his hands weakly, but it was too late. Blake struck. Claws raked across the man's chest, deep and precise. Blood sprayed, warm and metallic, and the hunter screamed, falling backward onto the cold forest floor.
The taller man raised his weapon again, shaking. Blake's eyes locked on him. The forest went silent, waiting. The air felt like iron pressing against the chest.
"Do you think you can fight me?" Blake growled, every word vibrating through the trees. "Do you?"
The man hesitated. Fear had rooted him to the spot.
Blake's claws slashed the air, and a storm of power exploded from him. The man stumbled, his gun useless, his movements sluggish against Blake's precision. Another swipe—this one cutting through his shoulder, tearing flesh. He screamed, falling to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
The pack moved behind Blake, circling. Young wolves growled in tandem with his roars, old wolves bared teeth in silent warning. They had learned their place: he protected them, and they followed him without question.
The smaller hunter crawled toward his companion, trying to drag him out of the clearing. Blake's voice thundered again, shaking the forest to its roots.
"Do not touch him!"
The hunter froze. Blake's massive figure loomed over him, glowing eyes unrelenting, muscles tense, claws glinting under the moon. He moved forward, faster than thought, and in one motion, knocked the man's hands away from his friend.
He did not hesitate.
A single claw tore across the man's chest, splitting armor and flesh alike. The scream was cut short as Blake slammed him into a tree, the trunk cracking under the force. Branches snapped, leaves fell in showers, and blood splattered across the bark.
Blake's chest heaved. Rage and instinct flowed through him like fire and water.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, thunder in every syllable. "Why bring death to my family?"
The hunter whimpered, choking on blood. "I… I didn't—"
"Don't lie!" Blake roared. His shadow fell across the clearing like night itself. The forest trembled beneath the sheer power of his presence. "You think I am just a boy lost in the woods? You think I am weak?"
The man shook, too terrified to answer. Blake's claws hovered inches from his throat. His voice rolled like distant storms.
"Look at me," Blake growled. "I am not Sam anymore. I am Blake. Protector. Punisher. Guardian. You bring harm… you die."
And death followed swiftly.
Blake's claw swept forward. The man never saw it coming. Flesh and bone met with finality. Blood sprayed like rain across the forest floor. The hunter's body crumpled, lifeless.
Blake stood over him, chest rising and falling with heavy, controlled breaths. The pack stepped closer, circling the clearing. Wolves sniffed the air, ears twitching, sensing the death but not recoiling. They waited for their leader's command.
The alpha wolf approached Blake, bowing its head in recognition. Blake lowered himself slightly, brushing a claw against the alpha's muzzle. Respect passed between them silently. The pack recognized the balance—the predator, the guardian, the one who had risen from abandonment to authority.
Blake's gaze drifted across the clearing. Blood soaked the earth. Trees bore the scars of claws and rage. The moonlight reflected off the wet foliage, and for a moment, the night felt infinite.
He thought of Sam—the boy who had once cried alone in the cave. He thought of every night spent shivering, every day spent starving, every heartbeat filled with fear.
Blake growled softly, almost a whisper, almost a promise.
"No one hurts my family," he said. "Not ever again."
He lowered his head to the ground, sniffing the scent of blood, of fear, of life snatched away. The forest accepted it. The pack howled, their voices joining his in a symphony of dominance, warning, and unity.
The remaining hunter—barely alive, trembling on the edge of the clearing—looked up at Blake with wide, terrified eyes. Blake's glowing gaze pierced him to the core.
"Why?" the man whispered. "Why kill them?"
Blake's voice exploded like thunder, shaking the leaves from the trees and echoing across the hills.
"Don't ask me!" he bellowed. "Ask my mother! Ask my father!"
The words were a storm. Each syllable carried the weight of betrayal, abandonment, and years of unspoken rage. The hunter's jaw dropped, tears mingling with the blood running down his face.
Blake stepped closer, claws scraping the forest floor.
"They left me to die," he said, voice low now but still rumbling like a drum of judgment. "They abandoned me. And every one of you—every one who comes to harm what I love—will face the same fate. Blood for blood. Pain for pain. Fear for fear."
The man whimpered, unable to move. Blake turned away, his form massive and dominant in the moonlight. The pack followed silently, surrounding him in respect and loyalty.
Blake lifted his head, sniffing the air. The forest was alive. Every rustle of leaves, every small creature moving in fear, was a part of him now. He was no longer the lost boy Sam. He was Blake—the storm, the shadow, the monster they whispered about in fear and awe.
The night stretched on. Blake prowled the perimeter of the clearing, the surviving hunter too terrified to move, trapped in silence and trembling. The pack stayed close, shadows moving like extensions of Blake's own body.
For the first time, he felt the full weight of his power. It was terrifying, intoxicating, and necessary.
He glanced down at the young wolf whose life he had saved. The creature licked his hand weakly, trusting him completely. Blake's chest swelled with something unfamiliar: pride. Not the boyish pride of Sam, but something sharper, harder, rooted in survival and strength.
The forest whispered around him, leaves rustling like applause. The night had been won. The pack was safe. The balance restored.
And Blake—born of pain, hunger, rage, and loss—had drawn the first line in the blood of those who dared threaten what was his.
He lifted his head to the sky, letting out a howl that shook the trees, shattered the silence, and warned every creature for miles:
This is my forest. My pack. My world.
And anyone who dared challenge it would pay in blood.