Alessia Stocklin and Ezra Withers are polar opposites, but they can certainly agree on one thing: their mutual hate for each other.
He's an Alpha deadset on killing every rogue he comes across, while she's a vigilante - known as Nightshade - intent...
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By the time the fighting started to dial down, the sun had risen, beating down relentlessly even in the early hours of the morning. Sweat rolled off my forehead, dripping down the base of my spine. My skin burned at the touch, flushing red from carrying countless bodies that were almost double my size.
My body grew weary from the constant cycle of dragging bodies away from the action only to either help them with their suffering or mend a wound only to have the wolf show up not much later with a fresh new wound to attend to.
Greg and us Enforcers stood side by side as we watched Ezra bite into the last rogue's — a Feral's — neck. The rogue lunged toward Ezra, but Ezra intercepted the wolf in mid-air. His jaws clamped down hard on the wolf's neck.
It was a fatal blow.
We won. Although, with the piling number of bodies from Ezra's pack, I wouldn't consider it a cause for mass celebration. Instead, a somber wave washed over everyone as the work to clean up the bodies began.
The more able-bodied Warriors escorted and lifted the most severely injured wolves back to Solaris' facilities where they could receive the life-saving medical attention required. As Greg gave orders of where to cart the wounded off to, I frantically searched for Apollo.
I spotted the bushy tip of his tail and went sprinting toward him. Engulfing his wolf in a hug, he gave a playful lick to my neck. Whipping off Apollo's gross slobber, I exhaled. "You're not injured, are you?"
With a quick glance at Apollo, I could tell he came out of the battle mostly unscathed. He had the habit of doing that. He had the habit of going into life-or-death situations and coming out almost as if he had never even entered them in the first place. He had a few bumps and bruises but they were already healing, nothing that his body would not attend to naturally; upon seeing this, I breathed lighter, knowing Apollo lived to see another day.
Before releasing Apollo from my embrace, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something shiny; the same kind of shimmer I saw the last time I encountered a Feral. Letting Apollo go, followed my budding curiosity. I gave Apollo a quick smile before heading over to where the gleaming object was.
It was another syringe. It was identical in looks to the syringe found in the Feral's body just a couple days before.
No one gave me a second glance as I shoved the medical instrument into my pocket. Craning my neck, I tried to see if there were any more lying around, but my brief search came up empty-handed.
Heaving a sigh of defeat, I noted all of the Feral's bodies had morphed into their human forms. Many of the bodies looked almost indistinguishable from the ordinary rogues that were scattered about. However, I could identify the black veins poking out of a few of their paling skin.
It was a pattern: the black veins and syringes. I was certain someone was behind the Ferals. With the evidence provided, I was certain Ferals were not a natural creation. Leaning heavily on my gut, I knew who was behind it.
