Caught Between Them

Sun dipped low, painting the clearing in long, scary shadows. Then, the worst howl ever ripped through the air. Like, seriously, it wasn’t your average “woe is me” wolf cry. This was a full-on, bloodcurdling “we’re here to eat your faces” kind of howl. We all froze, the air thick enough to chew on.

“Rogues!” Logan bellowed, his voice like gravel grinding against metal. Talk about a party pooper.

Before he could even finish his roar, a giant, matted furball of a wolf with one ear looking permanently on vacation lunged at William, the newest pack scout. But Brock, bless his lightning-fast reflexes, zapped the beast mid-air with a jolt of sparkly electricity. The rogue yelped like a dog who stepped on a bee and went flying backwards.

Chaos erupted faster than you could say “rogue buffet.” Rogues, way more than there were of us, flooded out of the woods, their growls a symphony of bad breath and murder. The air smelled like blood and panic, which wasn’t exactly my favorite cologne.

Adrenaline hit me like a ton of bricks, wiping away any lingering anxieties from that morning. Training kicked in, my body moving on autopilot. Years of getting whacked with practice swords translated surprisingly well to whacking actual wolves. I parried a rogue’s attack, the weight of my own sword sending it flying back with a satisfying “thunk.”

The battle raged around me. Logan, a furry wrecking ball of claws and teeth, tore through the enemy ranks like a one-man demolition crew. His alpha strength was on full display, sending rogues flying with every swipe. Portland, our resident healer who looked more like a kindly grandpa than a dude who throws exploding pouches, darted between the fighting, tossing wolfsbane like confetti. We couldn’t afford for him to get hurt, not with this many rogue mutts around.

Fueled by the primal urge to not become kibble, I fought with the ferocity of a mama bear protecting her cubs. My movements were smooth, almost cocky, taking down rogue after rogue with surprising efficiency. It turns out all those “sparring sessions” with Brock actually paid off. Who knew?

Then, a flash of silver caught my eye. It was Sage, moving like a deadly ballerina on a bad day. But something about the way she fought sent shivers down my spine, not the good kind. Her moves were crazy good, like she’d been raised by wolves (which, hello, maybe she had?). There was a wildness in her eyes, a joy in the way she fought that was unsettling.

I watched, jaw slack, as she took down a particularly large rogue with one clean bite to the throat. The way her lips curled into a snarl, the glint in her eyes it was like she wasn’t fighting for survival, she was… enjoying it?

A cold dread settled in my stomach. The pieces of the puzzle were clicking into place, and the picture they were painting wasn’t exactly calming. Sage wasn’t some scaredy-cat refugee; she was a warrior, a predator built for battle. And the way she fought, the glint in her eyes… well, let’s just say it made me seriously question her whole “lost and lonely” story.NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

Panic clawed at the edges of my focus. Sage’s ruthlessness in battle was undeniable. Every move was a calculated execution, no hesitation, no mercy. She fought not like someone defending their territory, but like a predator honed for the kill. This wasn’t just survival, it was a dance of death she orchestrated with her opponents.

The sickening wet slap of a rogue impacting the ground with a broken neck stole my attention momentarily. It was Brock, a whirlwind of lightning and teeth, tearing through the pack with an efficiency so deadly it was almost beautiful. Then, our eyes met across the battlefield. A single, sharp look passed between us, a silent confirmation that this was more than just a rogue attack. This was a coordinated assault, a carefully planned invasion led by a wolf who, moments ago, had been masquerading as a helpless newcomer.

A primal snarl ripped from my throat. This wasn’t a fight anymore, it was a war. Every swing of my sword, every dodge, every desperate lunge was fueled by a new wave of fury. Sage. She was the reason these rogues were here, the one who had orchestrated this attack. Every fallen Portland wolf, every comrade left bloodied and broken on the ground, it was all on her.

The tide of the battle started to shift. Logan, wounded but enraged, let out a roar that seemed to shake the very trees. Portland, despite the ever-growing number of injured he needed to tend to, managed to land a perfect toss with a wolfsbane pouch, engulfing a group of rogues in a cloud of choking smoke. The Portland pack fought with the ferocity of cornered wolves, defending their territory, their home, their families.

Suddenly, a bone-chilling shriek pierced the air. I spun around, heart leaping into my throat, to see Sage pinned to the ground by a massive rogue, its jaws inches from her throat. Panic surged through me, but before I could even react, Brock was there. A blinding flash of light erupted, sending the rogue flying backwards with a yelp.

Sage scrambled to her feet, her eyes wild, her silver fur matted with blood. But this time, the blood wasn’t hers. It was the blood of the rogue she had just killed with a single, swift bite. My stomach churned. This wasn’t a damsel in distress. This was a predator saving her own skin.

The battle reached its climax. The last of the rogues fell, their bodies littering the clearing like gruesome trophies. We stood panting, bloodied, battered, but alive. The silence that settled afterward was heavy with the weight of the fallen and the chilling realization of what we had just faced.

Sage, her silver fur stained crimson, stood beside me. She turned, her eyes meeting mine. There was no fear, no gratitude, only a chilling glint of triumph.

“See?” she said, her voice barely a whisper but laced with a sinister edge. “We got rid of them, just like you wanted.”

My blood ran cold. “What… what do you mean?” I stammered, my voice barely above a hoarse croak.

Her smile widened, sending tremors down my spine. “Let’s just say,” she said, her voice dripping with malice, “you have me to thank for flushing them out.”

Before I could react, before I could even process the horrifying truth, she turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me with a chilling truth and a battlefield full of questions.