He’d set out to hunt, hoping the familiar thrill of the chase would drown out the relentless echoes of the recent raid, the bitter taste of defeat—and Enyo’s words, her touch, which lingered like a thorn lodged deep beneath his skin. Frustration gnawed at him. He tried to focus, zeroing in on the scent trail of a young stag, the musky smell leading him through the forest. But his mind kept drifting back, haunted by memories of her low, taunting voice, the sensation of her breath against his fur, her lips, and that damnable offer he couldn’t make sense of. And then there was that other woman, the one from the Syndicate, her mocking grin etched into his memory, fueling a strange hunger in him, a violent urge to rip that smirk off her face. He felt something raw and unfamiliar around her, different from what Enyo had done to him.

His jaws twitched as he crept closer, his instincts alert, movements honed to the point of second nature. Yet with each step, his mind betrayed him, tugging him back to those tangled moments he couldn’t shake. Enyo’s words had stirred something he couldn’t understand, and he cursed himself for the curiosity she’d sparked—something unfulfilled gnawing at him from the inside out. The satisfaction he’d once found in tracking his prey felt dull now, the thrill muted under the weight of his own confusion. He shook his head sharply, baring his teeth, irritation flaring beneath his skin.

Redrum’s breath halted as he spotted his target—the stag, grazing in a small clearing, blissfully unaware. He dropped lower, muscles bunching, ready to pounce. But as he prepared to strike, contradiction flashed in his mind. Why had those two experiences been so similar, yet vastly different?

That hesitation was brief, but enough. The stag’s head shot up, ears pricked, nostrils flaring. With a powerful kick, it bolted into the underbrush, leaving him staring after it, claws digging into the dirt as rage pulsed through him. He snarled, the sound ripping from his throat, a vicious release of pent-up fury. The chase was gone, and with it, the fleeting distraction he’d craved. Once again, he was left with that gnawing emptiness, that maddening question.

Panting heavily, Redrum prowled in a circle, a feral need to chase down something—anything—to break the spiraling thoughts clouding his focus. He wanted to tear out the confusion, but it only coiled deeper, rooting itself in ways he couldn’t untangle. The hunger was different this time. Enyo had planted one kind of ache—a twisted curiosity, but the Syndicate woman left something else—a craving for violence, for the taste of revenge.

He cursed softly, breath coming in sharp bursts as he stared into the shadows, feeling, for the first time, utterly at a loss. The thrill of the hunt had abandoned him, leaving in its place a challenge he was unprepared to face.

He needed a new target. And he knew just where to find one. The run from the Mile-high woods to the battlefield felt short, the distance paling against the questions plaguing his mind. Lifting his muzzle to the sky, to the fading light above, the fresh mark from the Syndicate woman’s knife splitting his cheek pulling into a bitter half-smirk, he released a call. A challenge to anyone who heard it. Blood guaranteed in the moonlight.



"Murder"

Rot Gut Whiskey's Gonna Ease My Mind

Tarnish gave up. The fuck did he care what the spires were about? It wasn't like he could stop them or prevent the red sun rising, or the weird way prey was behaving. He'd done what he could within his control and now fate would cast the bones to fall as they would. Tarnish didn't have the energy to rage against what would be. Instead he gave the strange going on's a wider berth. Perhaps he'd wander back at a later date but for now it was someone else's problem.

Eager to get his mind off the eerie changes in the world he headed to the Battlefield. Clouds dragged across the red sun, painting the sky in deeper shades. He heard a call for a challenge and stalked toward it, his form a dark shadow on the land with the only hint o flight reflecting off his eyes. He arrived to see a red-pelted yearling and he grinned, white teeth creeping over his lips. "And what do we have here? Which pack are you supposed to be from?"

Citadel was once again sneaking out when he heard the call. The promise of blood on the battlefield. A wolf that wasn’t going to hold back. He grinned, thrilled at the implied promise as he changed trajectory and trotted towards the field and the wolf-no, wolves- that waited.

The still growing pup looked up at the strangers, a grin on his maw, and a sly assurance about himself. He didn’t think he could lose, and had no intention of doing so here. “I’ll take you on. I’ll take either of you on.” He added boldly. Looking to the red wolf that had called, and the darker wolf that had also answered.


"Citadel"