Page 86 of Full Moon
As we run, I hear the faint chatter of my pack-mates through the bond—their excitement, their nervousness, their trust in me to lead them true. I open myself to it fully, letting their thoughts and emotions flow into me like tributaries joining a great river.
It's surreal to think that just six months ago, I couldn't do this. Couldn't hear them. Couldn't feel them. Couldn't lead them. Now, the pack feels like an extension of myself, three hundred hearts beating as one. My thoughts guide their actions as we become a single entity moving across the frozen landscape, a predator too large and too powerful for anything to stand against.
The wind shifts suddenly, bringing with it the rich, musky scent of prey animals up ahead. I stop, dropping low to the snow, my ears pricked and my senses on high alert as I gauge the distance and direction.
The thrill of the hunt courses through me like lightning, and my wolf howls with joy inside my chest.
The moose herd,Astrid communicates through the pack bond, her voice clear in my mind despite the mile between us.At least forty of them. More than we've seen in years.
Divide up like we planned,I command, my thoughts rippling out across the bond to touch every wolf under my protection.Drive the herd to the southern pass. My mates are waiting for us there. Today, we eat.I watch as my pack splits into three groups, each moving with swift purpose to circle around the unsuspecting herd. They flow like water around obstacles, silent as shadows despite their numbers.
Go with the others and lead the main pack,I tell Astrid, meeting her ice-blue eyes across the snow.I'll start the moose running.She dips her head in acknowledgment before joining the furthest group, her silver-white fur disappearing into the landscape like a ghost.
I creep forward alone, staying low, my fur blending seamlessly with the snowy ground beneath me. My heart pounds against my ribs as I inch closer to the herd, their scent growing stronger with each careful step—musk and sweat and the green smell of partially digested vegetation.
I can hear the moose now, their massive hooves crunching through the thin ice crust that formed overnight. They graze without fear, unaware that death stalks them on silent paws. Then—in a burst of movement that sends snow exploding in every direction—I leap up from my hiding place, barking and growling at the lead moose with all the fury of winter itself.
The massive beast rears up in surprise, its antlers sweeping the air as it tries to identify the threat. For a frozen moment, time seems to stop—the herd poised on the edge of flight, my pack closing in from three sides, the wind holding its breath.
Then the moose turn and run. The thunder of their hooves fills the world as I chase them, barking and snapping at their heels, driving them toward the pass where death awaits. My pack-mates materialize from the snow on either side of the herd, ensuring they stay on course, funneling them toward the trap we've prepared.
The exhilaration of the chase fills every fiber of my being. My muscles burn with effort, my lungs heave with the cold air, and I feel more alive than I have ever felt before. This is the best day of my life, second only to the day I met my mates. For the first time, I truly understand what it means to be part of something bigger than myself—a vital piece of a powerful, united pack.
I push forward with everything I have, every stride a powerful drive against the frozen earth as we guide the panicking moose toward the ambush point. The air is crisp and biting against my fur, but I'm filled with a sense of purpose that burns hotter than any cold could touch.
My heart pounds in rhythm with the thundering hooves around me, and I know—bone deep and blood certain—that securing this hunt is essential for my people to survive the harsh winter ahead. Four moose is the minimum. Anything less, and some of my wolves will starve before spring.
I focus on two older moose lagging behind the rest of the herd, their legs trembling with each labored step as they struggle to keep pace. They're weaker than the others, their breath visible in great white plumes, their eyes rolling with fear and exhaustion. These will be some of the ones we take down once we reach the pass. I maintain my position behind them, keeping them with the herd, ensuring they don't break away before we reach the trap that awaits.
Ahead, Torben's bear silhouette rises on the ridge like a mountain made flesh—a formidable figure against the stark winter sky that makes the lead moose skid to a halt in terror. Beside him, Khal leans into the bear's massive side, using him as a shield against the relentless wind while his crossbow gleams in the pale light. Seeing them there, waiting for me, fills me with a fierce, possessive love that threatens to overwhelm everything else.
My pack. My mates. My people.
We are close to our goal, and I am prouder of them than I have ever been of anything. As the last of the moose herd clears the entrance to the ravine, my pack maneuvers with practicedprecision, wolves appearing from nowhere to block every escape route. I follow in behind the herd, feeling the vibration of forty sets of hooves through the frozen earth beneath my paws.
Torben's Kodiak drops down from the ridge to join me, his massive form landing with a thud that shakes snow from the ravine walls. We bump shoulders—a brief acknowledgment of our shared purpose—and continue deeper into the trap we've set. The moose mill in confusion, their massive bodies pressing against each other as they search desperately for an exit that doesn't exist. The walls on either side are sheer ice, unclimbable, inescapable.
A tripwire snaps with a sound like a bone breaking, and the herd erupts into panic. They turn to flee, but Torben rises on his hind legs—fifteen feet of muscle and fury—and releases a roar so thunderous that the ravine itself seems to shake. The sound reverberates off the ice walls, amplifying, building, becoming something almost physical. Snow and ice cascade from the ledges above in a glittering curtain. The moose halt, their survival instincts battling against the primal terror of that sound. They don't know which way to run. They don't know they're already dead.
I seize the moment. I launch myself at the lead moose with every ounce of strength my winter wolf body possesses, my jaws opening wide as I aim for its throat. My canines sink through fur and flesh and find the hot pulse of life beneath, and I feel the rush of blood in my mouth—copper and salt and something wild.
The moose thrashes violently, its massive head whipping side to side as it tries to shake me loose. Its hooves flail, sharp enough to gut me if they connect, and I feel one graze my shoulder with enough force to leave a bruise beneath my fur. But I hold firm.
My claws dig into its flesh, anchoring me in place, and I thrash with my whole body, using my weight to tear deeper into the wound. My world narrows to the struggle—the taste of iron on my tongue, the scream of the dying beast, the visceral dance of life and death that my wolf was born for.
Beside me, Torben's bear moves with deadly precision, his massive claws sweeping through the air to cut the legs out from another moose before it can flee. The beast goes down hard, and Torben is on it in an instant, his jaws closing around its throat with a wet crunch that silences its cries.
I catch glimpses of his movements amidst the chaos—a blur of brown fur and rippling muscle, the flash of claws and teeth, the spray of crimson against white snow. He fights like he was born for this, my gentle bear, all trace of his usual softness buried beneath the predator that lurks in every shifter's heart.
The moose beneath me rears up in one final desperate bid for survival, its hooves flailing as it tries to dislodge me. I cling tighter, feeling the strain in my muscles, feeling the wounds I'm inflicting tear deeper with each thrash. The blood that stains my white fur is warm—startlingly so against the biting cold around us. It soaks into my coat, painting me crimson, transforming me into something savage and beautiful and utterly lethal. I am locked in this deadly embrace, fighting with every ounce of strength I possess, and somewhere deep inside me, my wolf sings with joy.
This,she whispers.This is what we were made for.
My moose and Torben's succumb to their wounds at nearly the same moment, their massive bodies hitting the ground with impacts that shake the ravine floor. The air is thick with thescent of pine and blood and fear, and the surviving moose press against the far wall in terror, their eyes rolling white.
But I'm not done. Torben and I exchange a look—a flash of amber eyes meeting ice blue—and a shared understanding passes between us without words. There are still three healthy moose trapped in this ravine, and we need at least two more kills to feed the pack through winter. With a silent agreement that flows through our bond, we lunge for the largest moose in unison.
I leap high, my muscles coiling like springs as I aim for the throat. Torben dives low, his claws slicing through the air in a gleaming arc to take out the moose's front legs. The beast goes down with a crash that shakes snow from the walls, and before it can even begin to rise, we're on it—Torben's massive paws pressing it to the ground while I tear into its throat with savage efficiency.
