Black Moon

Prologue: Slaughter

Hello people!

WHAT COMES NEXT IS VITAL FOR THE BOOK PLEASE READ!

Yes, I know that this first chapter doesn't make the rest of the book seem good, but I promise it gets better. Please just give it a chance and read my horrible prologue!! Please!

I am totally aware that this is on third person and that you don't know the wolves' names. That's kind of the point, but only for the prologue. The rest of the book is in first person, sooo yeah! Hope you like it and keep on reading.

He growled savagely before bursting the seams of his deerskin clothes and turning into his werewolf.

"My mate and pups are in danger!" screamed the little voice in the back of his head that he had realized a long time ago was usually right. Something was wrong.

Teeth bared, he took off through the North American night, slipping soundlessly through the bushes. No one would see him, as his coat was pure black.

The wind smelled of blood and death, and the little voice told him that once he got back, it would be kill or be killed.

He burst through the underbrush and into the current campsite, and to his dismay, saw exactly what he had feared. His beloved mate was fighting for her and their pups' lives. They were all so precious to him, especially his mate; without her, he would simply die. There would be no avoiding it, whether it be from suicide or from refusing to eat, he wouldn't want live long. Not without her.

And his pups. All of his pups. They all had their mother's beautiful russet coat, with not one speck of black fur. He didn't mind it, not in the slightest, for he loved them with all his heart. In human form, their hair was the color of autumn leaves, but in wolf form, they looked like little balls of red fluff. All of them were a spitting image of their mother. All but one. Despite having his mother's ginger hair, the pup had pitch black eyes with gold flecks in them. It wasn't a natural sort of thing; it would be like finding a bright blue orange peel instead of an orange one. He had the eyes of a black wolf. But it didn't matter whose eyes the pup inherited, his father loved them all to pieces, and he would die a million times over for every single one of them without even thinking.

His own wolf hadn't made an appearance until he was five, at least three years late. It was a trait that only his family line possessed, and his little one with the black and gold eyes hadn't shifted until just last week.

He couldn't lose his mate or his kids to some filthy rogues. And so he leapt into battle to defend his pack.

The twenty members of their pack were hugely outnumbered by the thirty or so rogues. Rogues were usually lone wolves and very docile, but sometimes desperate wolves banded together to take down a pack. This was one of those unlucky instances.

He fought, feeling claws rake his side, but ignoring them. He was the alpha and he needed to protect his family, not to mention his fellow wolves. It was his duty, and he would die before seeing any of them perish in this attack.

While he was fighting, he noticed something about these wolves. They weren't rogues. Not only was this fact strange, it was downright wrong. Other packs rarely attacked each other, and if they did, it was usually easily negotiated and one pack would move on. It was, after all, 2000 B.C.

No. This was an organized assault. And, as he sank his teeth into the throat of another wolf, he noticed that most of them were coming for him. Actually, that's not what it was. All of the wolves were being targeted: males, females, pups cowering behind their parents...everyone.

This wasn't a battle or a skirmish easily talked out of. This was a slaughter.

As a short break in the fighting happened, he saw a blonde human standing behind all of the attacking wolves. He wore a smirk and suddenly, the fighting ceased. Without hesitation, he darted over to his mate, nuzzling her bloodied snout. She was instantly soothed by the contact with her mate.