The grey wolf moved with vigilance, scanning the darkness of the forest behind it. A handful of rogues lingered close, circling him like shadows. After sweeping its gaze around and finding nothing, save for a small rabbit that bolted at their presence, the wolf turned and padded forward, the rogues trailing behind.
Zion followed patiently, unconcerned about walking into a trap. Even if it ca to that, he was alone and confident in his ability to break free from an encirclent.
Once, he had been the frontline’s best scout, often sent on high-risk reconnaissance and infiltration missions.
Although many werewolves and even Alphas looked down on him before, his abilities spoke louder than their scorn. That was why, despite the disdain and dissatisfaction surrounding him, they also feared him and relied on him.
Ti and again, he was sent on dangerous missions with his subordinates. Just like that one ti when he infiltrated the Vampire Lord’s castle and rescued Claire.
Blending seamlessly into the night, suppressing his presence, and moving with silent precision were second nature to him. Unless he faced a high-ranking vampire capable of sensing even the flow of blood in his veins, Zion had little reason to fear being discovered.
Using the night as his cover, Zion set aside his mission to check all the marked sites. Right now, the priority was uncovering who these werewolves were working for, was it truly the dark witches or the vampires?
This information was vital, and he knew Addison would understand if he returned a little late. And sure enough, the group didn’t disappoint. The mont Zion saw who they were eting, a low growl almost slipped past his maw. Inside him, Shura stirred, bristling with fury at the sight of that person.
As Zion forced his emotions under control, his gaze locked on the grey werewolf and the rogues trailing behind him. The grey wolf shifted into his human form, which shows his tan skin glistening under the moonlight, muscles rippling with the kind of strength forged in battle, not training.
Every scar, every defined line on his body spoke of countless fights, of bloodshed and victories carved through force and fear. Zion could recognize it instantly. After years on the battlefield, fighting alongside werewolves from countless packs against the vampires, he had seen warriors shaped this way.
His own body bore the sa proof. That was how he knew; this was no ordinary opponent.
After all, muscles built by simply lifting heavy weights might look impressive, but they were superficial; they looked stiff, bulky, and lacking real flexibility.
True strength was forged in combat, where every strike, every clash honed the body into smooth, defined lines, less bulging, but layered with ridges of hardened muscles. The grey wolf bore all those marks.
Seeing this, Zion’s vigilance sharpened. He could already tell this one was far stronger than the scarred brown wolf who had infiltrated his territory weeks ago.
"You’ve arrived. Tell —did you find what I asked for? And what about the princess? Have you still not caught her, when she can’t even shift?!" The man standing before the grey wolf demanded, impatience dripping from his tone. His eyes glead with scorn, the condescension in his gaze unmistakable.
"We followed your plan, Sir Greg," the grey wolf replied cautiously, "but unfortunately, the Alphas escorting them were both powerful and capable. They managed to leave the Forbidden Forest unscathed. Even after we searched the rubble, we found no traces of the black fairies or the light fairy. We can only assu that either they were killed... or taken away—"
Crack!
The report was cut short as Greg’s hand lashed across his face, the force of the blow sending the grey wolf stumbling backward.
"Are you telling I’m the incapable one here? That my plans were flawed, and not your pathetic execution of the task?!" Greg roared, his chest heaving with fury.
Yes—the man before the grey wolf was none other than Greg, the sa coward who had fled Zion’s territory, with an arm missing. Even now, he remained maid, his left side empty where the limb had once been. But compared to the Greg Zion rembered, this one was far more violent, far more unstable.
Perhaps it was the humiliation of being driven from the Midnight River Pack, or the bitter fact that his arm had been torn off by Shura. Unable to retrieve it in his escape, he lost the chance to have it reattached. The limb had long since rotted away, and with it, any shred of composure he once had.
What remained was a man consud by rage, his temper growing worse and worse with each passing day.
One thing was certain now: Zion’s suspicions had been confird. Greg was indeed working with the faction that wanted to abduct the Princess. And not only that... they were also after the dark and light fairies hidden in the forbidden forest. More cunning still, they intended to use others as pawns to seize them.
’Ha! Truly crafty of him,’ Zion sneered inwardly, his eyes narrowing into a cold glare fixed on Greg.
Shura, restless within Zion, clawed furiously against the ntal barrier erected inside Zion’s mind, desperate to break free. Its hunger to tear Greg apart was too obvious, fangs itching to sink into flesh.
The hatred Shura held for him overflowed like a raging tide, but Zion fought to suppress it. If he lost control, the bloodlust would spill from his body, exposing his presence.
"Not now, Shura. Hold still..." Zion coaxed, his ntal voice firm yet calm, trying to smother the murderous intent radiating from his other half.
"Why should I?!" Shura’s snarl reverberated through his thoughts. "I want to avenge my mate! That bastard deserves more than a missing arm—I should have gutted him alive, made him suffer every ounce of pain he inflicted on her!"
"Believe , I want nothing more than to gut that bastard alive," Zion muttered inwardly, his tone edged with the sa fury Shura carried. "But right now, we have a mission. We need information, information that will keep our mate safe. If we kill him now, the ones above him will just keep scheming, and we’ll be left blind."
"Instead, we use him, squeeze every bit of intel we can, and then—then—we’ll rip him apart. Do you understand?"
He knew if he failed to rein Shura in, the beast would burst out of the shadows and tear Greg’s head clean from his shoulders. And if that happened, they’d lose the very secrets being revealed before them, secrets far more valuable than Greg’s miserable life.
After a brief internal struggle, Shura finally grumbled, "I understand..." before retreating to the far corners of Zion’s mind, sulking as it licked its fur in frustration. It wanted blood, but for now, it could do nothing.
The mont Zion managed to bury his killing intent, the Grey Wolf’s head snapped up. His eyes swept the surroundings with sharp vigilance, as if the stinging slap Greg had dealt him monts earlier didn’t exist. Greg, oblivious as ever, continued to fu, unaware they were being watched.
Zion’s flare of bloodlust had lasted no more than a heartbeat, yet the Grey Wolf had still caught it. That single reaction was proof enough: this was no ordinary fighter. His senses were razor sharp, far keener than the rogues trailing at his side, who hadn’t noticed a thing.
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