Second's

Chapter 1

Isolation can erode the mind. The lack of social interaction and conversation had left Leo wondering what his own voice sounded like, save for the ever-present monologue in his head. That voice never stopped—constantly nagging, like a scolding parent.

"Everything you do is wrong. Everywhere you go is a risk. Everyone you meet is dangerous."

His reality had quickly become lonely. The once-familiar sounds of pack life had faded. No more laughter from his packmates, no rush of footsteps to meals, no children playing outdoors. It was all gone. Now, he was the type of wolf he'd heard horror stories about as a pup. Rogues were described as crazed, dangerous, instinct-driven creatures who sought nothing but to kill, destroy, and survive.

They had no morals. No consciousness. No pack to keep them sane.

After two years on his own, Leo was starting to understand why rogues went feral. With no one to trust, no permanent place to call home, and no certainty of the next meal, anyone could lose their grip on sanity.

Including himself.

Sleep had become a battle. Every small sound sent him jolting awake. Hunger gnawed at him constantly, like a relentless beast clawing from the inside. With winter tightening its grip on the Wolven Forest, and frost covering the ground in thick sheets, hunting had become nearly impossible. Wolves were pack animals; they hunted together. A lone wolf was a starved one, and Leo felt the truth of that each morning when he woke to pick at the few remaining snowberries from the bush he'd been slowly depleting.

The only way to survive the bitter nights was by shifting into his wolf form. His thick white coat, inherited from his arctic wolf father, provided warmth and allowed him to blend into the snow-covered landscape. It was a small advantage, but one that kept him alive in the biting cold. Yet even that reminder of his father brought a pang of sadness. He could still see the disappointment in his father's blue eyes, the tears on his mother's face when the pack learned of their son's crime.

Instinctively, Leo massaged his chest, as if that would somehow soothe the constant ache of guilt. It clung to him, a shadow he could never outrun. Tears welled up, freezing against his flushed cheeks as he leaned back against the tree. His once neatly trimmed white hair now hung past his shoulders, a wild mess that he combed through with his fingers just to keep it from matting.

He had a small black bag he'd stolen from a nearby human village—a dangerous venture for wolffolk. Human villages were tight-knit communities, where everyone knew each other by name. Outsiders were immediately questioned and unwelcome. Leo had managed to slip in long enough to fill his bag with clothes, water, and some food rations before being chased out and labeled a thief. He hadn't had any human currency, so he took what he needed and ran, the shopkeeper's angry shouts echoing in his ears.

Leo had always thought of himself as a good person. But survival wasn't for the pure of heart. Rogues fought, stole, and killed—all to survive another day. Yet after two years of this endless struggle, Leo found himself asking the same question over and over: Why?

Why was he still trying to survive? He had nothing to live for. No one was looking for him, and there was no promise of hope. Every rogue he'd tried to trust had eventually turned on him, driven by their own selfish desires—whether it was for food, power, sex, or something else. Rogue societies attempted to function like packs, but without a true alpha to keep them in line, they were lawless and constantly at war over leadership.

Leo had never desired power. He didn't want to lead. But his natural status as an alpha made him a threat to others, even when he wasn't seeking conflict. So, he stayed away, venturing into rogue camps only when hunger or the cold became too unbearable.

He moved often, never staying in one place for long. Recently, he'd been using an old human campsite as shelter. The remnants of a bonfire and a tattered tent provided some protection from the elements. He'd done his best to repair the tent, using fallen branches to patch the holes and sticks as makeshift supports. But last night, the sound of distant gunshots had made it clear the camp was no longer safe.

As the sun rose, Leo packed his few belongings. He layered on his warmest clothing, pulled up his hood, and ate the last of the snowberries before setting off deeper into the forest. The gunshots had come from the left, so he went right—away from the humans he'd learned to fear.

The wind grew worse as the day dragged on. After hours of walking, Leo found himself surrounded by freezing rain and thick fog, the world around him a blur of cold and confusion. He raised his hand, squinting through the storm, desperately searching for shelter. His pace slowed as the wind battered him, making every step feel like a struggle.

His senses were dulled by the cold. All he could smell was the biting chill in the air, and the howling wind drowned out any sounds. He had no idea where he was going, only that he needed to find refuge before the storm worsened or nightfall came.

An hour passed before the rain finally turned to snow. The wind had softened, and the snowflakes fell gently now, a welcome change from the relentless ice rain. Leo stopped to catch his breath, leaning against a tree, one hand gripping his chest as he struggled to breathe in the freezing air.

As his senses slowly returned, an uneasy feeling crept over him. His heart raced, not just from the exertion, but from a deep-seated anxiety that settled in his chest. Something felt off.Closing his eyes, Leo focused, willing his ears and nose to work despite the cold. And then, he heard it.

The heavy crunch of paws in the snow. Low growls. Wolves. His species.

His breath caught in his throat. They were close—too close.

Leo pressed his back against the tree, his heart hammering in his chest. He fought to steady his breathing, but fear clung to him. Tears mixed with the rain still streaking down his face as he struggled to calm down.

Then he caught their scent. The unmistakable smell of pack territory. Panic surged through him as realization dawned.

The Nightfang Pack.

His mind raced. How had he stumbled onto their territory? Of all the packs in this forest, why this one? The Nightfangs were led by Alpha Sinclair—his childhood friend and the cousin of the wolf Leo had tried to kill.

Desperate, Leo slid down the tree, curling into himself. He wrapped his arms around his legs, trying to make himself as small as possible. The wolves were so close now, sniffing the ground, hunting.

Hunting him.