The tension in the camp was thick as the pack braced for whatever approached. The guttural growl grew louder, accompanied by the crunch of heavy footsteps breaking through the underbrush. Shadows played across the sunlit clearing, cast by the tall trees encircling the camp. The midday sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays glinting off the weapons and armor of the Primal Hunting Ground’s hunters.

  Brynna tightened her grip on her bow, her sharp eyes locked on the treeline. “It’s not just one,” she muttered through the mental link, her voice a calm warning. “Three—maybe four. All lycanthropes.”

  Thoran growled low in his throat, stepping forward. His towering lycanthrope form radiated strength, his claws gleaming faintly under the bright sunlight. “Whoever they are, they’re testing us.”

  Kaela stood at the center of the camp, her aura glowing faintly in the daylight as her chants carried on the warm breeze. The spiritual energy she projected enveloped the pack, bolstering their strength and sharpening their focus. “We don’t attack until we know their intentions,” she said firmly, her voice resonating through the mental link.

  The pack stood their ground, forming a defensive line around the camp. The Moonlight Hunters took elevated positions, bows drawn, while the Feral Claws shifted to their wolf forms, snarling and ready to strike. The tanners and herbalists retreated to the safety of the dens, their work temporarily abandoned.

  The first figure emerged from the treeline—a massive lycanthrope with dark, matted fur and piercing yellow eyes. His hulking form was followed by three others, smaller but no less intimidating. They moved with purpose, spreading out to encircle the camp.

  The lead lycanthrope stepped forward, his posture rigid but non-threatening. “Primal Hunting Grounds,” he rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. “We mean no harm. We seek the Alpha.”

  Kaela’s glowing aura dimmed slightly as she stepped forward, her tone steady but commanding. “The Alpha is not here. What business do you have with the Primal Hunting Grounds?”

  The lead lycanthrope’s gaze swept over the camp, lingering on the fresh kills and the faint scent of blood that hung in the midday air. “We are travelers from the Shrouded Fang, seeking refuge. We’ve been driven from our territory by invaders and have no place to call home.”

  Thoran growled, his sharp claws flexing. “Refuge? Convenient that you show up after the hunt. What guarantee do we have that you’re not here to take what we’ve earned?”

  The lead lycanthrope held his ground, his yellow eyes meeting Thoran’s with an unwavering intensity. “We came unarmed,” he said, spreading his massive hands to show his claws were retracted. “We are not here to fight. If you deny us, we will leave.”

  Kaela’s gaze didn’t waver, but her voice softened slightly. “If your intentions are true, you’ll wait until the Alpha arrives. Your fate will be decided by him.”

  The lead lycanthrope nodded, stepping back to join his companions. “We will wait.”

  The tension in the camp remained high as Myron and Ragnar arrived, their muscular frames cutting through the bright clearing. The midday sun gleamed off Myron’s glowing Alpha insignia, a faint beacon of authority that seemed to soothe the pack’s collective tension.

  “What’s going on here?” Myron asked, his voice calm but edged with steel.

  Kaela stepped forward, gesturing toward the newcomers. “They claim to be from the Shrouded Fang, seeking refuge. Their leader says they were driven from their territory by invaders.”

  Myron’s sharp gaze shifted to the lead lycanthrope. “What’s your name?”

  Darek’s yellow eyes flickered for a moment, a shadow of something darker flashing across them before he bowed slightly. “Darek,” he said, his voice carefully measured. “Alpha of the Shrouded Fang, though my pack is now scattered and broken. We came here hoping for safety and the chance to rebuild.”

  But behind those words, his mind was elsewhere. On the night his pack was hunted down.

  One week ago.

  The Hollowclaw Clan had always been strong, but no one expected them to move so ruthlessly. In secret, they had been conquering the smaller lycan clans, absorbing their warriors and expanding their reach. By the time the Shrouded Fang realized what was happening, it was too late.

  Darek still saw the fires, smelled the blood-soaked earth. His warriors fell like prey, torn apart by those they once called allies. The Hollowclaws had come from all sides, overwhelming them with sheer numbers. His pack fought, bled, and died—but they were never meant to win that battle.

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  Only a handful survived. Those who could run. Those who had no choice but to flee.

  Now, his pride burned with the weight of defeat.

  But even in exile, Darek was still an Alpha. His instincts told him one thing: survive, adapt, retaliate.

  And so here he stood, before an outsider—an adventurer from beyond these lands, a rising Alpha of his own. Myron held power, influence, and most importantly, a pack that still stood strong.

  Darek clenched his fists, keeping his expression neutral. He would use this outsider, grow stronger under his protection, and when the time was right... he would have his revenge.

  He forced himself to lower his gaze, masking the silent promise in his eyes. The Hollowclaw Clan thought they had crushed him.

  They were wrong.

  Myron crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “Refuge comes with conditions. If I allow you to stay, you’ll contribute to the Primal Hunting Grounds. Your pack will follow my laws and swear loyalty to me.”

  Darek’s yellow eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. “We’ll abide by your terms. We have nothing left to lose.”

  “Good,” Myron said, his voice firm. “Your strength will be tested tomorrow. For today, you may rest. Kaela will assign you a place to stay. If any of your pack violates our laws, there will be no second chances.”

  Darek bowed again, his massive form radiating gratitude and cautious respect. “Thank you, Alpha. You won’t regret this.”

  Myron nodded his head, acknowledging the situation. Turning to Kaela, he asked, “Did you all complete the quest?”

  Kaela inclined her head respectfully, her voice calm but confident. “Yes, Alpha. The pelts have been secured, and the tanners are already processing them.”

  He hummed thoughtfully, the weight of responsibility momentarily lifted. “Good work,” he said, his tone firm but approving.

  Shifting his attention to Ragnar, Myron’s expression hardened with purpose. “Since this hunt is done, let’s go on our own hunt now,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He gestured toward Darek and his three wolves. “You four will join us. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Ragnar’s ears flicked at the command, his sharp golden eyes narrowing as he turned his attention to Darek and his remaining wolves. His stance shifted slightly, adjusting his weight—subtle, but instinctive, ready for movement at a moment’s notice.

  A test.

  Not just for Darek, but for all of them.

  It had only been a few days since Myron became Alpha, but Ragnar had already seen the way he handled things. Decisive. Direct. Always watching. This wasn’t just about measuring Darek’s skill—this was Myron making it clear that joining the Primal Hunting Grounds wasn’t just about survival. It was about proving yourself.

  Ragnar exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as his claws flexed against the dirt.

  He had been part of Myron’s pack for only a short time, but it was enough to see the difference between an Alpha who simply led and an Alpha who built something greater. That was why Ragnar followed him.

  But Darek?

  The exiled Alpha stood tall, his posture steady, his expression unreadable. Too composed for someone who had just lost everything. No desperation, no bitterness—just… focus.

  Ragnar’s gaze sharpened.

  Darek wasn’t just here to survive. He wanted something.

  Ragnar wasn’t naive. He knew the way of the wild—loyalty was earned, not given. If Darek wanted to stay, if he wanted a place in the Primal Hunting Grounds, he would have to prove himself.

  Without a word, Ragnar dropped to all fours, his massive form shifting in an instant. His bones realigned, muscles stretched, and thick dark fur rippled across his body as he assumed his true form.

  A towering wolf stood where he once had, golden eyes glowing in the dim light.

  He flicked his tail once—a silent signal to Myron.

  He was ready.

  More than that—he would be watching.

  Because trust wasn’t built in a single hunt.

  And if Darek had other intentions?

  Ragnar would be the first to sink his teeth into his throat.

  Darek straightened at the words, his yellow eyes glinting with a mixture of surprise and determination. “It will be an honor to hunt by your side, Alpha,” he replied, his voice steady, though the slight bristling of his fur betrayed his eagerness.

  “Then prepare quickly,” Myron ordered, his commanding tone brooking no argument. “We leave immediately. You’ll either prove your worth or show me why you don’t belong in this den.”

  The air around them shifted as Ragnar moved to Myron’s side, his hulking form exuding a silent readiness. The tanners and herbalists paused briefly, their eyes following the Alpha and his hunting party as they began their preparations. Darek signaled his wolves, each moving with quiet efficiency to ready themselves.

  Kaela stepped closer to Myron, her aura faint but steady as she spoke softly. “Be careful, Alpha. They’re eager, but eagerness doesn’t always mean control.”

  Myron’s gaze flicked to her, a faint smirk on his lips. “I know, Kaela. That’s what this hunt will determine.”

  With that, the group moved toward the edge of the camp, the midday sunlight filtering through the trees and casting long, sharp shadows across their path. Thoran, still in his lycanthrope form, appeared from the treeline, his claws flexing eagerly. “We’re ready when you are, Alpha,” he growled.

  Myron nodded once. “Let’s move. The prey won’t wait for us, and neither will the lessons these newcomers need to learn.”

  The group melded into the forest, their movements silent and calculated. The bright light of the day offered little cover, but under Myron’s leadership, they moved like predators born to the shadows. Darek and his wolves followed closely, their eyes scanning the dense woods for any sign of prey.

  The test had begun. In the heart of the hunt, loyalties would be tested, strength measured, and the Primal Hunting Ground’s future decided. Myron’s gaze swept over the pack and the newcomers, his thoughts sharp and focused.

  The hunt was more than survival. It was judgment. And by the time the sun set, Myron would know whether Darek’s wolves deserved a place in his den—or a swift death in the forest.