The freezing fog of the Alberta hills rolled over the execution grounds like a shroud woven from silver ashes. The scent of ozone, damp earth, and the metallic tang of dried blood hung thick in the air.
At the center of the clearing, Varg stood in his massive, monstrous black wolf form. His dark fur was matted with the dirt of the previous night's battle, his heavy chest heaving with an insatiable, psychotic bloodlust.
He was pacing restlessly, a giant shadow shifting against the gray dawn, his paws leaving deep rinds in the frost-covered grass. His ink-black eyes were entirely blown out, completely feral; he was a beast waiting for the final permission to tear throats apart. Behind him stood the entire lineage of the Northern wolves, their jaws parted in silent, vibrating growls, their eyes locked on the prisoners.
And right beside Alpha Samuel, who stood completely undisguised and standing tall in his human form, I took my place.
I hadn't shifted.
