Lunar Legacies: The Eleven

8.

Darian’s soldiers

Theodore crouched low behind a stack of rusted metal crates, his breath shallow as he watched Darian’s followers move about the dimly lit warehouse. The air smelled of dust and old machinery, and the distant hum of a generator echoed softly through the space. He tightened his grip on the energy detector in his hand, its subtle pulse guiding him toward the right crate that held a piece of the key—one of the few remaining fragments needed to awaken the ancient evil.

His heart pounded as he crept forward, his every move calculated to avoid drawing attention. One wrong step and they would notice him. He was so close to the crate, but as he reached the edge of another metal stack, the sound of hushed voices caught his ear. He froze, leaning closer to hear them better.

“They’re moving on the camp tonight,” one of the men growled in frustration. “We should be out there, not babysitting this damn key.”

Theodore’s blood ran cold. The camp? His mind raced to the 10 young werewolves, the ones who had unknowingly gathered together—likely unaware of the impending attack. His thoughts flashed to Seth. He couldn't shake the strange connection he felt with him. Were they in danger?

“Orders are orders,” another man snapped. “Darian sent us here to protect the key. The others will handle the camp. If we don’t get this done, he’ll have our heads.”

Theodore's heart clenched. Darian’s other followers were already on their way to the werewolf camp. Time was running out. He wanted to abandon the mission and race to warn the others, but he knew he couldn’t. If they got their hands on this key fragment, it could mean the end for all of them. He had to secure it first—then he could help.

Silently, Theodore slipped into the shadows, making his way toward the crate the detector was guiding him to. He could only hope he’d be fast enough to stop both disasters from happening.

At the camp, the air was filled with laughter and warmth as the young werewolves and their families celebrated the extended weekend reunion. Music played in the background, and the smell of roasting meat wafted through the cool night air. Seth stood with Erik and Valerie by the fire, enjoying the moment, his earlier worries about the mysterious wolf momentarily forgotten. He glanced at his father, who was deep in conversation with the other Alphas, and felt a rare sense of peace.

But that peace was shattered in an instant.

A piercing howl split the night, followed by the sound of crashing trees and heavy footsteps. Dark shapes emerged from the forest, moving with inhuman speed and precision. Darian’s soldiers—twisted creatures of shadow and malice—descended on the camp from every direction.

Screams erupted as chaos ensued. The weaker pack members, those not trained for combat, were caught off guard, scrambling to safety. The Alphas sprang into action, their howls echoing through the night as they rushed to protect their families and packs. Seth’s father, Dean, stood at the forefront, his claws and teeth flashing as he tore into the nearest enemy. But the soldiers were too many, their strength overwhelming.

Seth's instincts kicked in, and he shifted into his wolf form, ready to join the battle. The others did the same—Valerie, Erik, Alisha, and the rest—all prepared to fight. But before they could engage, Dean's voice boomed through the chaos, commanding them to stop.

“Get the others to safety!” he shouted, his voice filled with urgency. “Protect the weaker members—we’ll hold them off!”

Seth hesitated, his wolf instincts urging him to fight, to defend his pack. But he knew his father was right. The Alphas were fighting a losing battle, and if they stayed, they would only be in the way.