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The elder's eyes flash with fury as you ignore him. "You'd just leave me here in the dirt after all I've done for you? All the faith I've put in you?"

"Something's wrong, Ahote," you say, watching the old man carefully.

"What's wrong is that you've insulted your elder for the last time!" He lurches forward with inhuman speed and his claw-like fingernails dig into your skin as he stares up at you wildly. "I…I can't…" he whispers before howling out in pain. "I can't control it!" Bones pop and stretching skin groans as Ahote shifts, a fine gray coat of fur sprouting out in waves over his wrinkled skin. You pull away, for a moment fearing that the elder's grip may be too strong. He howls as you break free and turns with the grace of a serpent to track you as you fall backward into the grass below.

"Ahote!" you call out desperately as he begins to stalk forward, brandishing his claws with a sinister clinking. "You're going feral! You have to get yourself under control!" You flashback to a memory of the secret room Ahote showed you where the elders exorcise their demons and suppress the power of their inner beast. He'd always seemed to have so much control over his rage. If he's vulnerable to this string of feral outbursts, anyone is!

Ahote has always been a wolf of logic and I know he's in there somewhere. I have to convince him that I'm not an enemy!

Talking things out with an enraged werewolf is doomed to failure. I've got to take him down quickly with as little damage as possible to keep him from doing something he might regret.

There's only one language a feral werewolf understands other than violence: I transform myself and rebuke Ahote with a show of dominance.

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Bones snap and skin stretches as long red hair sprouts along your arms and legs. Before long Ahote has shrunk in size as you tower several feet taller than the height of your human form. The elder falls back as you roar defiantly and trips over a gravestone in an uncoordinated heap. When he picks himself up again, his breathing seems to have steadied and his bloodshot eyes stream tears of rage and confusion. He howls as his body contorts and eats inward at itself, fur receding as bones snap angrily. When you feel like it's safe to move in again, you take hold of his hand. Gently. Carefully.

"Holstein," he rasps dryly. It sounds like he hasn't had a drink of water in days. "That…was not a natural attack." He doubles over and coughs. When he pulls his head back up you notice the ground is spattered with blood. "Someone is doing this to us, Holstein, and if we don't find out who it is—soon—we're all going to die. Or worse…we'll become the animals the humans always feared we were."

Several other wolves have crowded around you now and two of them kneel down to load the elder into a litter for transport to medical. As you watch them take Ahote away, a twinge of feral anger grips your heart, and deep down in the depths of your guts you can feel your own beast shift in its slumber. You close your eyes and try to think of something peaceful—some moment in time that you can latch onto. Fragments of memories flash through your mind. A home destroyed by the ravages of war. Haken's bloodthirsty slaughter. The human scientists cutting into your pack with their surgical steel. Tiva's disfigurement. Warden Washburn and his inhumane treatment of Sonoma. Peaceful moments elude you with an almost deliberate artfulness, and your stomach churns as rage rises and threatens to consume you.

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Chapter 8 Groundwork

"I believe in what we're doing here. Teaching wolves how to defend themselves against the military and monsters in lab coats is too important to give up on because we fell apart. If we can't be lovers, can we at least be partners for the greater good? It's what your father would have wanted." - Bly, to Jolon on the founding of their Haven dojo

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One, two, three-four-five…You count off a staccato rhythm as soldiers and wolves are thrown backward to the ground, each body held aloft briefly by a hailstorm of bullets and dancing jerkily in a mockery of life before falling, never to rise again. You crouch, hidden within a thicket as stinging nettles and brambles rake through your red fur, catching and clawing you away as if to shepherd you from the carnage. You resist their pull, steadily slinking forward, ducking periodically as the night is pierced by dueling searchlights from the helicopters above.

You pause for a moment, narrowly avoiding being spotted as you duck low, muzzle scraped by thorns and long lupine legs cramped by the arduous crawl through ground-cover. You clutch a small metal cylinder to your chest with your left hand, cradling it against sudden jolts as you resume movement again, the killing fields to your right a cacophony of furious screams and feral howling. The attack had come quickly with little warning, and when you learned who commanded the charge you'd felt the cold sting of betrayal. You'd been prepared to face your father's mercenaries again, ready to defend yourself against the blind hatred of militarized zealots, but even in light of recent events you hadn't expected this level of force to be arrayed against you.

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"Keep your head down," a breathy female voice calls from behind you. "We're getting close now. The target is in the clearing up ahead."

"How can you even tell?" you mutter. "It's so dark I can barely see anything that's not in the spotlights." You'll only get one shot at this. If she's wrong…but then again, you'd learned not to underestimate Maker. You can almost picture her rolling her eyes.

"You should be grateful they attacked at night," she says with a grunt, swatting aside a thorn-studded bush as she crouches beside you. "If the sun was out this would be much more difficult." Her face glows ashen in the peripheral glare of a nearby searchlight. "Either way, we're only going to have one shot at this. Are you sure you chose the right target?"

Maker's comment gives you pause. The past month has been a blur of activity from Ahote's political aspirations to Sonoma's ever-increasing paranoia and subsequent locking down of the camp. The feral attacks had declined in frequency, but they'd left everyone on edge and slow to trust. Fractures between factions had widened into chasms and everyone was wondering if the center would hold. The Circle of Elders no longer trusts any orders coming from Sonoma's warriors, and the former prisoners have become largely disillusioned with the competence of their liberators. This has left the Haven wolves in an uncomfortable position in-between, while Inferi's Metalheads are looked on with scorn by most everyone else.

"Holstein?" Maker asks again. She sounds concerned now. "The target. I need your confirmation."

"I heard you, Maker," you whisper, voice nearly drowned out by the clattering sound of gunfire. You hate that you have to do it, but you made your decision and there's no going back now. "Let's take her down."

One Month Ago

You stare at the closed door to Ahote's office in the elders' cabin, wracked with indecision. In the days since Ahote went feral and attacked you, he'd sequestered himself in his room, sending runners for his meals and only emerging to answer the occasional call of nature. This morning Elder Hanska approached you, his old eyes crinkled with worry. He wanted you to come and talk to Ahote. To forgive him. Now that you're here, you're not sure if you can face him.

Ahote was there for me when I needed it back when we were in Haven. The least I can do is forgive him now.

I owe it to the Elders' Circle to fix things with Ahote so they can move on with their plans.

It would be in my best interests to keep a powerful ally and have the elders owe me a favor.

I can't do this now; it's not worth it. The last thing I want to risk is for him to attack me again.

Screw Ahote and the elders! Their time is over and I'm tired of picking up after their mistakes!

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