Greykin Valley

| 1 | In Pursuit of the Target

When Damon was sure his packmates were fine, he veered left and caught up with the bikers Wilson was amongst.

But gunfire echoed behind him. Rifles and machine guns, yelling voices, and another fiery explosion. His wolves could handle it.

He fixed his eyes on Wilson. The brown-haired man was in the centre of the chase, following directly behind Alastor. There were seven other bikers to deal with first, though. As much as Damon wanted to adorn his Prime form and slaughter the lot of them, he had to keep his wolves in mind. He wasn't going to risk them.

With a short burst of several snarls, he let his packmates know that it was time to separate these hunters from their target.

Simultaneously, Bly ran to the west, Ezhno to the northwest, Lance to the east, and Alastor to the northeast. The hunters immediately split to chase after them, but Wilson didn't budge. He kept driving forward, seemingly unshaken by the breaking pack and by the fact he was now on his own.

But that was when a cold shiver struck Damon. His instincts were telling him that something was wrong—that something was coming—and that was when Wilson sharply turned his body, equipped his bow, and fired an arrow at him all in the space of a single second.

Damon's reflexes were unmatched, though. He dodged to the side, and when Wilson gripped his bike's handles and skidded around to face his direction, the Alpha jumped at a tree and propelled himself off it. He smashed into Wilson and his bike before he could try to fire another arrow, and when Damon and the hunter tumbled across the ground, the bike ran over a fallen log and crashed into the snow below.

The Alpha slowed his tumble by slamming his paws onto the ground, and the moment he got up and turned to face Wilson, he watched the hunter scurry to his feet, and once he was standing, he pulled his revolver from his side.

Of course Wilson was going to try and fight. But his little revolver wouldn't do him any favours.

Damon wouldn't give him a chance to aim. The Alpha burst to the left, and when Wilson fired, his bullet hit the tree Damon just passed. The hunter fired again and again and again, but Damon effortlessly dodged each bullet, and when he reached Wilson, he lunged at him—

Wilson's body suddenly transformed, and when Damon collided with him, he found himself brawling with a beast his own size. It roared and hissed, managing to slam its huge paw against his muzzle in his moment of confusion, and when it went for his throat, he used his back leg to kick the striped creature's neck and backed off.

And then he saw what his target had become.

In Wilson's place stood a tiger just as big as him, its blue eyes shimmering in the dark as it glared right at him. Orange, white and brown-striped fur, sharp and tall lynx-like ears, and a jaw full of teeth just as sharp as Damon's. Wilson was a muto tigris.

Things just got a whole lot more complicated.

When Wilson roared ferociously, Damon responded with a vicious snarl; his loathing for this man drastically increased, and he now felt even more protective of Jackson. He didn't want to let this creature near him—a creature that had long been rivals of wolf walkers. There was no way Wilson was going to accept Jackson.

They charged at each other, and the moment they clashed, the tiger went for Damon's throat again—how predictable. Damon slammed his paw against Wilson's face, sending him to the ground; he pinned the tiger before it could get up, but that was when he hesitated, keeping himself from sinking his teeth into the beast's throat. Muto or not, this was Jackson's friend—this was the target he needed to deliver to the Venaticus.