Outside the cabin, the wind howled through the trees, and the cries of the wolves could be heard in every direction.
She didn’t want this. She thought they would never leave their own territory to look for her. Now here she was, waiting for them.
It wasn’t easy being a naturally occurring lycan. Packs had structure and traditions. Naturally occurring lycans didn’t happen often, and when they did, packs formed to keep the pure blood…well…pure. They were the top of the werewolf hierarchy. Unlike those people bitten or scratched by a werewolf, naturals were not controlled by the lunar cycle. And they had more than just one form. There were at least four wolfen form they could take. The packs were highly protective. The males domineering.
She had broken all of that. She didn’t want to be there, with who they said she needed to be with, doing what they said she needed to be doing. She was past prime breeding age. She didn’t want that at all.
So she fled. She started a new life. A good life. She loved it.
And it was all coming to an end now.
The pack wouldn’t be denied.
She’d either have to give in, or let the transformation happen. Even in Crinos form, she was no match. She could take two, maybe three down, but there was at least eight out there. All males.
She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest outside the small cabin. She made peace with fate.
It was time to die fighting.