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Jackson woke when Damon stirred. A thick fog had surrounded the area of the gloomy forest the small pack was sleeping in, and as a cold wind brushed past, it carried upon it a feeling of trepidation.
Something was wrong.
"Damon?" he asked quietly.
The white wolf lifted his head and stared into the murk. Jackson watched his eyes move, scanning every inch in front of him. But what was he looking for?
"Damon?" he asked again.
Damon didn't reply; he kept searching...and when he adorned the vacant stare he had in every serious situation, he said, "We have to run."
Jackson didn't question why. Damon's words struck him with fear and desperation to do as he was told. As the white wolf climbed to his paws, Jackson shifted into his wolf form and followed the Alpha around the car.
Damon gathered everyone up in no more than a minute, and when he said, "Hunters," to them, terrified stares struck their tired faces.
Everyone ran with Damon, hurrying through the woods, panting and gasping in fear as each time they looked over their shoulders.
Jackson looked, too. But he couldn't see anyone.
There was a smell, though.
A smell he'd detected before...from the top of the mountain when the pack came over to this side of Greykin.
The hunter camp. The camp in which Riker's group might be. Was it them? Were they the hunters chasing them?
It was then that Jackson saw the silhouette of a man in the murk.
A shimmer of silver.
And the flicker of a flame.
A flame which grew nearer and hearer and—
The flaming arrow flew straight over Jackson's head and hit the ground a few feet in front of him. It exploded on collision, sending the frozen dirt everywhere.
"Jackson!" Tokala yelled and snatched his leg just in time to pull him out of the way.
Jackson stumbled but kept running, and when Damon yelled at everyone to run faster, he did his best to keep up.
But another arrow hit the ground; more arrows flew from behind them, colliding with the trees, too. A whole storm of dirt, snow, and tree bark erupted in front and beside them—it was like they were running through a warzone!
Then came the voices of men. Jackson couldn't tell how many there were, but by the sounds of it, there were a lot.
Weapons started firing. The loud boom of rifles grew closer and closer as the sound of churning tires edged nearer.
"Keep running!" came Damon's voice. "We can lose them on the mountain!"
Jackson stared ahead, and when he spotted the mountain they were approaching, his fear was accompanied by hope. All they had to do was run a little more to reach it.
But the sound of a revving bike came from Jackson's right, and when he looked over there, he saw the shadow of two men riding a motorcycle within the fog.
The same sound came from the left, and he saw the same thing over there, too. He watched the bike speed up, driving past the pack and ahead of them. The hunters were trying to cut them off, weren't they?
He set his eyes on the Alpha. "Damon!"
But then everything happened so quickly.
Damon seemed to have seen the riders Jackson did, and when the Alpha sped up and collided with the men and their bike, Tokala went for the second bike on the right.
Everyone else kept running for a few more seconds, but a rain of fiery arrows fell a few feet in front of them—and no one had a chance to try and escape. The arrows exploded when they hit the ground, and the force of the blast sent the wolves flying off their feet in different directions.
The world around Jackson became a distorted blur. He landed with a thump; his body felt numb, and his senses ran away from him. But the ringing in his ears cleared up in time to let him hear the sound of an approaching vehicle. He could hear yelling voices, firing weapons, and snarling wolves, and his heart was racing.
He had to get up and join the fight. But he couldn't move.
A jeep came to a halt close to where he lay. The doors opened and slammed shut once a group of six men hurried out, and fear began to choke him as he watched their boots head his way.
One of them cocked a gun.
Another reached their hand down towards his face—
A monstrous growl echoed in Jackson's left ear; the men stumbled back—their voices sounded alarmed—and in the blink of an eye, the five of them were thrown off their feet, and blood splattered down over Jackson's muzzle and on the snow in front of him.
Massive white paws approached him, and when he managed to look up, he set his sights on Damon. The Alpha was in his Prime form, covered in what Jackson hoped was only the blood of the hunters he'd slain. But as Damon helped him get up, four more jeeps came out of the smoke, and from them came more than twenty men.
"Get to the mountain," Damon told him.
As much as Jackson wanted to help, he had no idea how to fight humans in his wolf form, and he knew he'd get in the way. And as he watched Damon burst forward and reach a group of four hunters in no time at all, he became convinced that Damon was able to handle this.
So, he did as he was told. He shook off as much of his fear as he could and started running through the battleground. He could see Tokala tearing a man apart; Brando and Enola were working together to take out another man, and so were Wesley and Ezhno. And then he saw Rachel leading everyone else away. He had to catch up to them.
Jackson raced through the fire and smoke; he did his best to avoid contact with any of the hunters, and when he saw a man turn and notice him, he dodged the guy's arrow and jumped onto an empty jeep. Then, he propelled himself forward, leaping right over the man, and when he landed, he swerved around one tree and then another, dodging more of the hunter's fiery arrows.
But when he glanced behind him, he saw the man's face.
And to his utter dismay, it was a face he knew far too well.
He came to an abrupt halt, sliding across the snow as he turned his body so that he was facing him, and then stood there like a deer in headlights.
And as the man aimed his bow at him, Jackson uttered as his jaw dropped, "Wilson?"
A flash of crimson light erupted from the centre of the battle, stealing Jackson's vision.
The ground rumbled, the sounds of yelling voices, snarling wolves, and firing weapons fell silent, and Jackson was forced onto his stomach when he felt something cold and heavy wrap around his neck. But all he could think while he lay there was: had he really just seen Wilson?
His vision started clearing, and the moment he was able, Jackson frantically looked around for the man he thought was his friend. But what he saw struck him with both horror and confusion.
Damon's wolves were all down. Those he could see had silver shackles on all four of their ankles and silver collars around their necks. Alastor, who was one of the only conscious wolves, was trying to pull free of his bindings, but a man dressed in black overalls stepped out of the smoky gloom and smashed his fist into his face, knocking him out with a single blow.
And there was no sign of the Alpha.
Jackson's heart raced faster, and his breaths became harder to take as panic consumed him. He located some of the hunters—they were confronting several other men dressed in black overalls.
"This isn't your business!" a bearded hunter shouted.
"If you don't turn around and get back in your little jeeps, you'll be on the ground with them!" the man wearing black overalls retorted.
While they argued, Jackson's eyes frantically scanned each man's face—
There he was...the guy Jackson saw just before the crimson light exploded. And there was no denying it. The man standing in camouflage clothes and with a bow over his shoulder was the same man he'd grown up with. His brown hair was a little longer and his face was covered in stubble, but it was Wilson. He was standing over there with the rest of the hunters, watching as three of the uniformed men gathered the rest of them up.
Jackson was filled with shock, relief, and desperation—he had to get to him! But when he tried to stand, the uniformed man he didn't even notice was at his side this whole time slammed his boot on his back and kept him down.
"Stay the fuck where you are," he growled.
"What the hell is going on here?" came another voice.
Taking his eyes off the guy above him, Jackson watched a tall and broad man step out of the hunter crowd. He wore a fur coat and boots to match, and on his back sat at least three different rifles. And just as the man had asked, Jackson was wondering: what was going on? Who were those other men? And how had Damon's pack been so easily subjugated?
"These vermin are ours!" the hunter claimed, gesturing his arm towards Bly, Lance, and Leon, who were all unconscious and restrained, each with a uniformed man at their side just like Jackson.
But before the guy who just opened his mouth to speak could respond, someone else stepped out of the uniformed crowd. He looked a lot younger than any of the people on his side of the battlefield, and his hair was as white as the snow, shaved on each side of his head, and long on the top with his fringe hanging over half his right blue eye.
He wasn't wearing a black uniform, though. Instead, he wore a black, high-collared Balaur Blană leather jacket lined with sherpa, and small leather straps were wrapped around the sleeves. His high-neck sweater, trousers, and boots were all black, too. From his appearance alone, he looked like a stuck-up rich boy Jackson would find at one of Eric's parties, and it made him wonder, what the hell was a guy like him doing out here?
For a moment, the white-haired man glared at the tall hunter...but his expression quickly turned into a condescending smile. "You're fucked," he said.
The hunter laughed and glanced at his group, some of whom chuckled with him.
Wilson didn't laugh, though. He just stood there.
"W-Wilson!" Jackson called—
"Shut up!" the man beside him grunted, pressing his foot down on his back.
It was no use anyway. Wilson wouldn't be able to understand what he was saying.
"I'm fucked? Why don't you take your band of pigs here and fuck off back to your cushy little city?" the hunter mocked. "These wolves are ours. You cunts have no say over what we do to wolves."
"What makes you so certain that's true?" the other man asked.
The hunter held out his arm and gestured to the area behind the uniformed men. "All I see are wolves, man."
"Hmm...are you sure?" the other guy asked, glancing around.
"Am I sure?" he scoffed, shaking his head. Then, he swiftly pulled a silver pistol from his side and pointed it at the man's face. "Maybe I should just blow your face off right here and take them!"
But in the blink of an eye and before his men prepared to defend him, the white-haired man snatched the hunter's throat; a faint red aura appeared around his hand, and just as all the hunters aimed their weapons at the uniformed men—who all stood weapon-less and ready to pounce—the hunter in the white-haired man's grip pointed his pistol at his own head.
"I asked you a fucking question," the man growled.
The hunter slowly turned his head towards Jackson.
Jackson felt terror surge through his body. Not only had he just seen fangs in the white-haired man's mouth, but the hunter's once-green eyes were now completely black. And why was he pointing his own gun at himself? It looked like he was being controlled by the other guy...but was that even possible?
"Are you sure they're all werewolves?" the white-haired guy reiterated.
"Riker?" one of the hunters questioned.
"What are you doing to him?!" another called.
The man pointed at Jackson. "That one there is a demon hybrid, making this Venaticus business, and not yours. Now get the fuck out of here while you're still able to do so," he warned, and then shoved the man back.
The Venaticus....
Jackson wasn't sure what terrified him the most: the fact that the Venaticus had found him...or that Wilson was backing off with the rest of Riker's men.
"W-wait!" he insisted, trying to get up. "Wilson!"
"I said, shut up!" the man beside him snarled and kicked the side of his face.
A ringing rolled around inside his head and his eyes blurred. The pain now throbbing in his head gripping him tightly, but he tried his best to fight it. He had to get up—Wilson was right there!
But he was slipping away. He could feel the man's vicious kick claiming his consciousness, and this time, there was no sign of Damon. No one was coming to help him.
He tried to fight it, but the strength was leaving his body, and all he could do was lay there and watch Wilson walk away. His friend climbed into one of the jeeps with the rest of the hunters, and then he was gone. He was out of Jackson's reach once again...and there was nothing he could do about it.
Suddenly, a loud, monstrous roar broke the silence, and the white-haired man and his allies—who had been coming Jackson's way—swung around to face whatever was coming for them.
Jackson couldn't see much through his fading vision, but he did see a large blur of white moving around and heard one of the men yell the word Prime.
Damon?
Strange, distorted sounds began firing around him; crimson, ashen, and blue lights flashed in every direction, and the sounds of yelling voices and savage snarls grew fainter and fainter.
Damon was there—it could only be Damon. He was fighting; he was going to stop the Venaticus, wasn't he?
Wasn't he?
A pained yelp sent terror striking through Jackson's heart, and the last thing he saw before the darkness stole his sight was the blurred white mass falling among the crowd of dark figures.
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