Going Rouge

NIGHTVEIL PACK, MOONWORT VILLE.

The scent of blood and bones hung thick in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and earth. Bodies - some breathing, some not - were carted into the tent, the ground slick with crimson.

Selene had never minded chaos. The panicked shouts, screams of pain, wet crunch of bones being set back into place - it was strangely soothing.

She had learned patience in places like this. Learned to fight the primal urge to let her fangs descend, to sink them into a pulsing vein, and take what she wanted.

'Control it, Selene.' Her wolf growled, coiling inside her like a shadow.

"Selene!"

The desperate voice yanked her back into the present.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a bowl of water before she turned - a face she barely recognized. Light brown skin smudged with grime and blood. Tangled curls, wild and unbound. Eyes too dark, too tired. She couldn't tell if the cause was her inability to recall the last time she fed or the influx of bodies being carted into the tent.

A figure staggered toward her.

One of Nightveil's Betas. Blood soaked his tunic, the scent so thick it almost choked her. It wasn't all his - but that was little relief.

He collapsed into her arms. He was too heavy, too big, but she held on. A Beta's strength should have kept him upright. That it didn't sent a spike of dread through her.

Selene hauled him onto a cot, her hands already moving, assessing, working. All around her, the other healers scrambled - too few, always too few.

Nightveil had never been a strong pack. Its strength laid in the wealth of its land. For centuries, others had eyed it, threatened it, but war had never come.

Not until now.

They had never expected war nor experienced it, Selene had believed Nightveil was blessed by the Moon Goddess herself.

Unlike other Packs, they weren't trained for war and battle. Their people had known peace and extended it to other species as well. It wasn't just werewolves that were considered Pack and protected by Alpha Byron.

It wasn't just werewolves fighting to protect Nightveil.

It was home and the only place Selene belonged.

Until the members of the Council began to turn against each other.

The past decades have been brutal. The Council was divided, Alphas scrambling for power, clawing at each other with no regard for the fragile peace barely holding between them.

With Alphas choosing sides in the conflict, Alpha Byron had insisted neutrality to protect his Pack. He didn't believe there would be any blood shed.

He was wrong.

And at the center of the chaos was Stormclaw Pack's new Alpha.

Darius Volkhar.

Vicious. Bloodthirsty. A wolf who saw weakness and struck before it could beg for mercy.

Nightveil had believed in peace.

They believed wrong.

And now, they paid the price.

The Beta's breathing was ragged, each rise and fall of his chest a battle. Selene pressed her hand against the worst of his wounds, feeling the heat of infection already setting in. Too much blood lost. Too much damage.

Her tongue flicked over her lips, and her gaze drifted-to the vein pulsing faintly at his neck.

Dread coiled in her gut and settled there, heavy and unmoving. It had only been moments since she detected the infection, but his veins were already turning green. A sign it was too late.

Her wolf growled. 'Get away before it spreads. Before you take it in.'

Selene didn't move.

It was not in her nature to give up on lost causes. Nor to listen to logic when something inside her whispered that she could fix this.

Even if it meant exposing herself to whatever nightmare Darius Volkhar had unleashed on the battlefield.

She pushed the thought away. Not now. Garrick needed her now.

"You did well coming to me, Garrick." Her voice was steady, though her mind raced. Buy him time. Keep him awake. "Can you shift?"

His lips parted, but only a weak rasp escaped. His body shook violently beneath her hands.

She cursed under her breath. His wolf was fighting the infection - and losing. Shifting wasn't an option.

Whatever this infection was, it was killing his wolf at a rapid pace. Selene inhaled sharply, feeling his wolf's agony, its whimpers thrashing against the pull of death. The pain was so all-consuming that it didn't even register her presence or give off the instinctual uneasiness at the presence of her other half.

Too fast. The infection was moving too fast.

Selene clenched her jaw. If she did nothing, he would be dead in minutes. If she tried something, she might kill him faster. Or worse.

Her fingers tightened on his arm. You can fix this.

She left Garrick's side for only a moment, her hands moving in a frantic blur as she pounded herbs into a thick paste. The sharp scent of crushed roots filled the air, mingling with the stench of blood and decay.

Behind her, Garrick convulsed.

Whatever this infection was, it wasn't made just to kill the werewolves on the battlefield.

It was killing the wolf inside them.

Selene forced herself to stay calm - even as the sound of other healers echoed around her, their voices laced with desperation.

"It's spreading too fast."

"We're losing them!"

"What the hell did they do to our people?!"

The infection was winning.

"Selene!"

She snapped her head up but didn't stop grinding the herbs. Lyria Ashwyn, one of Nightveil's healers, a petite Omega, ran toward her, sweat glistening on her brow, dark curls plastered to her bloodstained skin.

"We need you at the fifth tent!" Lyria's voice trembled, raw with urgency. "There are too many injured-"

"I can't leave!"

Selene grabbed the mixture and forced Garrick's mouth open, pouring it past his cracked lips. His body jerked violently, a strangled sound ripping from his throat as she held him down. He might be a Beta, but Selene was not far behind in strength.

Lyria's expression darkened. "You of all people know how quickly this infection is spreading."

Selene knew where this was going.

"We don't know what's happening, and we need to tend to those who can still be saved." Lyria's voice shook with barely restrained fury. "We can't waste manpower on bodies we should be burning!"

Selene stilled.

Lyria fought back tears. Her friends, people she had grown up with, were dying on these very cots. But if they didn't make a choice - if they didn't let go of the ones who were already slipping away - there would be no one left to save.

Selene couldn't accept that.

"No." Her voice came out firm, unwavering. "I will stay here and heal these people. That is my job."

Lyria flinched, then inhaled sharply.

"In this tent alone, there are over seventy infected and thirty showing symptoms. The other tents have the same numbers or worse. If we don't save who we can, we all die."

Selene did the math in her head. Over seventy percent of Nightveil's population was already sick.

They wouldn't survive this.

Her chest tightened, but her resolve did not waver. "My answer is still no."

Lyria's hands curled into fists. "It's Alpha Byron's order. You can't say no."

Silence stretched between them in the midst of the chaos surrounding them.

Selene's jaw clenched.

Before either of them could say another word, the earth trembled.

A shriek - inhuman, deafening - ripped through the night, a sound so unnatural that every healer, every wounded soldier, froze where they stood.

The tent shuddered, its wooden poles groaning under an invisible force. Outside, wolves howled in unison, but it wasn't the call of warriors rallying to battle. It was fear.

Selene's breath caught.

Lyria's eyes widened. "What the hell was that?"

Then - a second shriek.

This time, it was closer.

And it was coming straight for them.