The Last Howl
The hunter thought it was over.
The bodies of the wolves lay in the snow, their blood steaming against the cold earth. He had tracked them for days, their howls haunting his nights. Now, they were silent. A mother, pups, the great black alpha—all taken by his rifle.
All but one.
He hadn’t seen the silver-eyed wolf watching from the ridge, his breath curling in the frozen air, his heart pounding with rage. The hunter had stolen everything from him. And so, the wolf would do the same.
The hunter’s wife was the first to vanish. Her footprints led into the woods, but she was never found. His eldest son, strong like his father, was next. A single scream, cut short, carried on the wind. The younger child was taken from his bed, his window left open to the bitter night.
Panic gripped the hunter. He barricaded himself inside his cabin, rifle in hand, eyes wild. He knew—this was no accident. This was something ancient, something primal. He had made an enemy of the wild, and now the wild had come for him.
Then the howls began.
Not the lonely call of a wolf seeking his pack, but something deeper. A voice of grief, of fury. A voice that spoke of vengeance.
The hunter ran.
Through the trees, over the frozen river, he fled toward the hills where his rifle had once cracked like thunder. But he was no longer the predator. The night belonged to the wolf.
And then he saw him.
A massive form, silver eyes burning in the dark. The hunter raised his rifle, but the wolf was faster. Claws raked flesh, teeth tore into skin, but the wolf did not kill. No, the wolf had something far worse planned.
He met the hunter’s eyes.
And then the hunter saw.
Memories that were not his flooded his mind—the warmth of his mate beside him, the playful yips of his pups. Then the fear, the terror as the rifle cracked. The scent of blood, the cries that faded into nothing. The hunter felt it all. The loss. The agony. The hatred.
He fell to his knees, weeping, his soul drowning in the pain he had caused.
The wolf circled him once, then threw back his head and howled. A long, mournful cry. A farewell.
The hunter sat in the snow, broken, as the silver-eyed wolf disappeared into the night.
He had been spared. But he would never be free.
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