Greykin Valley

| 1 | In Pursuit of the Target

WARNING: This story contains depictions of violence, gore, and/or death that may be upsetting to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

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| Damon, before the chase |

Damon despised hunters. As he watched each man and woman laugh, drink, and clean the weapons they clung to so dearly, all he could think about was tearing them apart. They spat at the Caeleste locked in cages and grinned proudly at their latest catch. But not one of them had any idea what was about to happen; no hunter in that camp could fathom the idea that they were now the prey.

He waited in the cover of the brush for the signal, watching Wilson's every move. Damon's hatred for the hunters swiftly shifter to Jackson's friend; he wanted to tear him to pieces, too. But Jackson cared about him, so Damon was going to have to do his best to control his protective, possessive feelings.

Wilson walked out of the tent and started talking to one of his comrades, and when they discussed what bounties were left to capture, Wilson's comrade mentioned something strange—

But then came Tokala's piercing howl.

There was no time for Damon to ponder now. It was starting. Everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing and listened.

The howls of Wesley, Brando, and Enola followed, and with their calls, the hunters burst into action. They yelled orders at each other, hurrying around, snatching their pathetic little weapons, and starting up their vehicles.

Damon began his prowl. He stayed low to the snow-covered ground, moving silently, keeping his eyes fixed on Wilson. However, he needed to remind himself that he couldn't kill Wilson; he had to ignore the growing urge to dispose of him before he could become a threat to his and Jackson's relationship. But he loved Jackson too much. He couldn't take his friend away from him.

His target loaded up on arrows and checked the silver revolver on his side was loaded, and climbed onto one of the motorbikes.

At least he wasn't in a jeep; he'd be much easier to single out now.

The hunters moved out. First, a wave of those on bikes sped into the murky woods, followed by several jeeps, and then the rest of the bikers drove off. Wilson drove off.

Damon sprung forward and began his pursuit. He swerved through the trees, focusing his sights on Wilson, and when he was joined by the rest of his hunting party, he waited for the perfect moment to begin the attack.

That moment came when Brando's second howl told him they were a klick away from the hunter camp.

He looked to his right. Rachel, Dustu, and Leon nodded. He looked to his left. Ezhno, Lance, Bly, and Alastor nodded. They were ready.

"Go!" Damon called.

At his word, Rachel caught up to one of the bikers and lunged at him. She pulled him off his bike as he screamed in shock, and when the rest of the bikers turned their heads and saw her kill their comrade, the rest of the wolves moved in.

All of the bikers swerved and tried to drive after Rachel—who was now running deeper into the woods—but Dustu and Leon cut the man driving beside Wilson off, letting only four of them chase her.

At the same time, Lance jumped out of the murk and pulled the biker furthest to the left off his bike, and when the bike crashed into a tree, the explosives in the saddlebags went off, shaking the ground at their feet.

What remained of the backline fell for it. They turned away from Dustu and Leon and started chasing Lance, Ezhno, Bly, and Alastor.

To keep the jeeps from turning back, Dustu and Leon raced forward and grabbed their attention, and just as Rachel did, they raced off in a different direction, taking half the jeeps with them.