Chapter 8: The Moans from the Tent
Leon’s POV
The night air cut through my lungs like frozen blades as I ran through the forest. Ethan kept pace beside me. Tracking should have been simple in the fresh snow. But Skye's trail was strangely faint, like we were chasing a ghost.
"Anything?" Ethan's voice broke through the sound of our crunching boots.
I shook my head with frustration. "It's like she's not even here." I had never seen a trail this hard to follow. Even humans left some trace. They left sweat or fear. But Skye's trail was like snow itself. It was cold, fleeting, and almost invisible.
"Maybe she hasn't shifted yet," Ethan said with tension in his voice. "That could mess with her scent."
I kept thinking about my father's warning. He had told us about rogues near our border. These rogues were wolves without packs or laws. They lived in chaos with no honor or restraint. And now Skye was out there alone. She might cross their path.
A wolf's howl cut through the trees. It was sharp and foreign, not from Frostshadow. Ethan and I locked eyes. We turned toward the sound and ran faster. If rogues had seen her or worse...
The howl came again. It was closer now and joined by another. My heart pounded as we reached the top of a ridge. Below us in a clearing, we saw the glow of a fire. We slowed down and crouched low with our senses alert. The scent of smoke mixed with something musky and wild.
Voices—low, rough—carried on the wind, along with a sound that turned my blood to ice: a woman’s moans, punctuated by soft sobs, drifting from a weathered tent near the fire.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “What the hell…”
We moved quickly and silently to close the distance. Two figures sat by the fire. They were rogues in human form. The fire's light cast shadows on their faces.
The tent’s canvas glowed faintly, casting sharp silhouettes: two bodies, entwined, moving rhythmically. The woman’s gasps grew louder, her voice raw, desperate. My mind spiraled, a sick dread coiling in my gut.
Skye? !
No, it couldn’t be. But the thought rooted me, my heart a block of ice.
“Cover me,” I whispered to Ethan, my voice barely audible. He nodded, his hand on his blade.
We surged forward. The rogues by the fire jolted, scrambling to their feet, but I ignored them, my focus on the tent. I ripped the flap open, dagger ready, and froze.
A red-haired woman—plump, flushed, her skin slick with sweat—lay sprawled beneath a rogue. Her breasts heaved, thighs spread wide, his cock buried deep as he thrust with a grunt. She screamed at the sight of us, shrill and piercing, her eyes wide with shock.
The rogue cursed, pulling out, his erection glistening in the dim light as he fumbled for a weapon.
Relief crashed through me, sharp and dizzying. Not Skye. Thank the Moon Goddess, not Skye.
“Who the fuck are you?” the rogue in the tent snarled, yanking a blanket over himself. The woman clutched at the fabric, covering her heavy curves, her face a mix of fear and indignation.
The two by the fire closed in, their voices rough. “What’s your problem, bursting in like that?” the taller one barked, his lean frame tense, a scar slashing from eye to jaw. “You Frostshadow pricks think you own the whole damn forest?”
Ethan stepped forward, his blade glinting. “You’re on our land. Explain yourselves. Now.”
The taller one, lean with a scar slashing from eye to jaw, raised his hands. “Hold on, Frostshadow wolves. I’m Beck. Just having some fun, alright? A bit of whiskey, a fire, a whore to warm the night. Didn’t know we needed your permission to fuck.”
The woman bristled, her voice sharp. “I ain’t no whore! I’m here cause I want to be.” She glared, adjusting the blanket, her red hair tangled around her shoulders.
The rogue from the tent, still half-covered, smirked. “She’s got a tight cunt and a louder mouth. Worth every penny.” He gestured crudely, his hand mimicking a thrust. “What, you jealous? Want a turn?”
My fist clenched, the urge to smash his face nearly overwhelming. “Shut your mouth,” I growled. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me what you’re doing here and if you’ve seen a silver-haired girl. Young, traveling alone.”
The younger rogue by the fire shifted nervously, his eyes darting. “We ain’t seen no girl. Been here all night, just… relaxing.” He glanced at the tent, then away, as if embarrassed.
Beck raised his hands, placating. “Look, we’re just passing through. Heading to Fairbanks, that tavern up there. They don’t care about lone wolves. We didn’t mean to step on your toes. No girls, no trouble. Swear it.”
I studied them, my senses screaming. Rogues lied as easily as they breathed. Seven years ago, rogues sold out our pack to vampires, costing us twelve lives, including my mother. I couldn’t trust a word from these filth.
“You’re coming with us,” I said, my voice cold as the snow underfoot. “Until we find our pack member, you’re under Frostshadow watch.”
“That’s bullshit!” the rogue from the tent snapped, standing now, his blanket slipping to reveal a muscled chest. “We ain’t done nothing!”
Ethan’s eyes flashed wolf-gold. “Not your call. Move, or we drag you.”
The rogues exchanged glances, their defiance wilting under our gaze. They knew they were outmatched—two Frostshadow wolves against three rogues was a fight they’d lose, and they’d feel the full weight of our pack if they tried to run.
“Fine,” Beck muttered, kicking snow over the fire. “But you’re wasting your time. We don’t know shit about your girl.”
The woman, now dressed in a loose sweater and boots, huffed. “I’m not going nowhere with you lot. I got business in Fairbanks.” She crossed her arms, her curves straining the fabric.
“You’re free to go,” I said, my tone flat. “But these three stay with us.”
She hesitated, then grabbed a satchel and stalked off into the dark, muttering curses. The rogues grumbled but fell in line as we marched them back toward Frostshadow territory.
Skye was still out there, her trail as faint as ever, and these bastards’story didn’t sit right.
My gut told me they knew more than they were letting on—or that something worse was waiting in the snow.