Chapter 13: Dax's Shadow

Chapter 13: Dax's Shadow


Dax’s POV

Blood still clung to my claws, thick, dark, Lucien’s wolves staining the dirt where they fell, their snarls silenced, their pack broken. I stood at the edge of Ironclaw’s den, golden fur matted with sweat, chest heaving slow, steady, the air heavy with death and victory. My wolves moved around me, dragging bodies, piling them high, a warning, a trophy, their growls low, satisfied, mine. The trap worked, snapped shut just as I’d planned—empty dens, baited silence, then us, crashing through, tearing his world apart. But he slipped out, that scarred bastard, with two of his mutts, limping, bleeding, alive. My lip curled, teeth glinting, fury simmering low, hot, clawing at my gut. He shouldn’t have made it. I’d wanted him dead, crushed, his ice-blue eyes blank, his pack dust under my paws. 

I paced, claws raking the mud, golden fur catching the gray light spilling through the pines, my den looming behind, stone and earth, strong, unbroken. The wind carried their scent still, faint, fading—Lucien, Vira, Ragnar, slinking back to their hole, tails tucked, beaten but breathing. My growl rumbled, deep, rough, chest vibrating, rage coiling tight, sharp, endless. He’d come for me, thinking I’d chased Selene’s ghost, thinking I’d left Ironclaw bare, defenseless, ripe for his jaws. Fool. I’d fed him that lie, let it sink in, let him charge, and I’d gutted him for it—almost. Almost wasn’t enough. My claws flexed, scars pulling across my shoulders, old wounds from fights I’d won, fights I’d bled for, fights he’d walked from too. Not this time. 

Kael padded up, fur dark, eyes glinting, blood streaking his muzzle, my second, my steel. “They’re gone,” he said, voice low, steady, paws sinking into the mud beside me. “No trail, no scent—twisted through the trees, lost us.” I stopped, golden fur bristling, ice cutting through the gray, locking on him, fury surging, hot, feral. “Lost us?” I snarled, voice gravel, stepping close, towering, chest brushing his shadow. “They’re half-dead, bleeding, and you lost them?” His ears flicked, head dipping, not cowering, just yielding, knowing my bite. “Too much ground,” he said, voice calm, firm. “Mud’s thick, blood’s everywhere—they’re not coming back soon.” 

I turned, claws gouging earth, pacing again, golden fur rippling, rage boiling, damn him, damn his luck. “Soon’s not good enough,” I growled, voice rough, throat tight, eyes scanning the trees, the ridge, the silence. “He’s alive, Kael—he’ll lick his wounds, rally what’s left, come for us again. I want him done, finished, buried.” My teeth bared, cold, feral, chest heaving, scars flexing, victory souring, twisting, because he’d slipped my jaws. Selene was still his, caged, her scent a taunt, a knife in my side, and he’d use her, twist her, keep her from me. My growl deepened, fury coiling, hot, raw, endless. She’s mine, Ironclaw’s, my blood, and he’d pay for taking her, pay for breathing, pay for escaping. 

I crouched, paws sinking, golden fur brushing mud, eyes narrowing, mind turning, sharp, cold, plotting. The trap was good, clean—emptied the dens, pulled my wolves back, let him rush in, thinking he’d won. His pack shattered, bones scattered, but he’d clawed out, that scarred bastard, tougher than I’d spat, smarter than I’d figured. My lip curled, teeth glinting, rage simmering, low, burning. I’d underestimated him, once, not again. He’d hide now, lick his wounds, but he wouldn’t stay down—Lucien never did, not after scars, not after blood, not after me. I’d hunted him before, scarred him, left him bleeding, and he’d come back, always, damn him, damn his spine. 

“Get Rhea,” I snarled, voice gravel, standing, golden fur bristling, ice cutting through the gray, Kael nodding, moving fast, paws thudding. She’d scout, sniff him out, find his hole, his weakness, his end. My chest heaved, scars pulling, blood drying on my claws, victory close, not complete, not yet. Rhea loped up, fur silver, eyes sharp, lean, silent, my shadow, my blade. “He’s out there,” I said, voice low, rough, golden fur catching the light, towering over her. “Find him, his den, his wolves—don’t come back without it.” She dipped her head, silver fur glinting, gone in a flash, paws silent, hunting, mine. 

I turned, stalking back, den rising, stone walls cold, strong, Ironclaw’s heart, my heart. My wolves parted, eyes glinting, growls low, watching me, waiting, loyal, fierce. I stopped, claws scraping stone, golden fur rippling, chest heaving slow, steady, fury coiling, tight, hot, plotting. Selene. She’s why he came, why he struck, why he’s still breathing. I’d wanted her back, her fire, her fight, Ironclaw’s steel, but I’d wanted him dead more, his pack dust, his threat gone. My claws flexed, scars pulling, rage surging, damn her, damn him, damn this game. She’s caged, pacing, plotting, and he’s got her, twisting her, using her, keeping her from me. 

I climbed the rise, stone rough under my paws, gray spilling over, den sprawling below, my wolves moving, sharpening claws, licking wounds, ready again. My growl rumbled, low, rough, golden fur bristling, ice narrowing, scanning the trees, the ridge, the silence. He’d come for me, thinking I’d chased her, thinking I’d split my pack, left my throat bare. I’d played him, turned it, broke him—almost. My teeth bared, cold, feral, fury burning, hot, deep, endless. He’d slipped out, limping, bleeding, alive, and that gnawed at me, clawed at me, damn him, damn his luck. I’d finish it, finish him, take her back, take it all. 

Kael returned, paws thudding, fur dark, eyes glinting, stopping short, head dipping. “Rhea’s on it,” he said, voice low, steady, chest heaving slow. “She’ll find him, Dax—he’s got nowhere to hide.” I nodded, golden fur rippling, ice cutting through the gray, locking on him, fury simmering, low, hot. “Good,” I growled, voice gravel, turning, pacing, claws raking stone, plotting, planning, burning. “When she does, we move—fast, hard, final.” My chest heaved, scars flexing, blood drying, victory close, mine, soon. 

I stopped, golden fur catching the light, eyes narrowing, mind turning, sharp, cold, ruthless. He’d hide, heal, rally, but I’d be there, waiting, watching, striking. My wolves would flood his den, claws tearing, jaws snapping, blood spilling, his blood, hers if she fought, theirs if they stood. My lip curled, teeth glinting, rage coiling, hot, feral, endless. Selene’s mine, Ironclaw’s, and he’d pay for taking her, pay for escaping, pay for breathing. I’d end him, break him, bury him, and she’d come back, willing or not, her fire mine, her fight mine, her howl mine. 

The wind shifted, carrying a faint howl, Rhea’s, sharp, distant, cutting through the gray. My ears twitched, golden fur bristling, ice blazing, chest heaving, fury surging, hot, raw, alive. “She’s found something,” Kael said, voice low, steady, paws shifting, ready, mine. I turned, stalking down, golden fur rippling, claws scraping, wolves falling in, eyes glinting, growls low, ready again. “Move,” I snarled, voice gravel, chest heaving, ice cutting through the gray, plan locked, strike set, end near.