Caleb’s POV
I joke around with my mother constantly, and she adores how I interact with my brothers and sister. But everyone in our pack knows the truth - she never truly healed from losing Briar. When she discovered she was pregnant with the twins, she kept it secret for months. She feared the judgnt, worried people would think she had moved on and forgotten about Briar.
Nothing could be further from reality.
She carries Briar’s photograph everywhere - tucked in her purse, placed beside her bed. So nights, I hear her on the veranda, whispering to that picture when the loneliness becos unbearable. Those are her darkest monts, when the grief crashes over her like a tidal wave.
I was only five when Briar vanished, but the mory burns sharp and clear. I watched my mother nearly shatter completely. If not for my father pulling her back from the edge, I might have lost her too.
Now, staring at these surveillance photos of the hunter my mother spotted, I feel certainty settling in my gut. This woman has to be Briar. The resemblance to my mother is undeniable - the sa bone structure, the sa eyes. And my mother was the only one who saw her face clearly.
There’s ancient folklore among our kind about recognizing family mbers even after years of separation. Most dismiss it as superstition, but I wouldn’t bet against my mother being the first to prove it true.
"Caleb." Wyatt’s voice cut through my thoughts as he knocked and entered without waiting.
"Yeah." I slipped the photos into a drawer.
"Chopper’s ready. Ti to move." He stepped aside as I grabbed my gear.
The helicopter waited in the field beside our packhouse. Wyatt and I sprinted across the grass with the other warriors, lifting off within minutes.
Wyatt has been my constant companion since I returned to this pack from my mother’s territory years ago. We attended school together, caused trouble together, and when I claim the Alpha title, he’ll stand as my Beta. I trust him with my life, which is why we tackle every dangerous mission as a team.
We might act like idiots most of the ti, but when situations turn deadly serious, there’s nobody I’d rather have watching my back.
Three hours of flight ti brought us to our destination pack. The pilot tried reaching them on radio frequencies, but only static answered. We approached their landing zone displaying our pack insignia clearly - they would recognize us as allies, not threats.
But as we touched down, I realized communication wouldn’t be an issue.
The territory stretched empty in every direction. No guards patrolled the periter. No movent near the packhouse or surrounding buildings. The silence felt wrong, unnatural.
"Split into teams of three. We’re clearing this entire territory." I issued orders as boots hit the ground.
I headed straight for the packhouse with two warriors flanking . We kicked down the front entrance and swept each floor thodically. First level clear. Second level clear. Third level clear. The basent dungeon yielded nothing but dust and shadows.
We erged into daylight just as Wyatt ca running from the opposite direction.
"Hold up." His expression stopped cold.
"What did you find?"
"Everyone’s in the eting hall." He pointed toward the large community building.
I pushed past him, taking the front steps two at a ti. Nothing could have prepared for the scene inside.
The entire pack population had been herded into this single space. n, won, children - all dead. Bloody drag marks across the floor told the story of those wounded or killed outside before being brought here. The hunters had gathered them like livestock for slaughter.
I pulled out my phone and called my father imdiately, switching to video so he could witness this massacre firsthand. He instructed to docunt everything, photograph every detail for evidence.
"What about the bodies?" I asked.
"Your call, son." The line went dead.
I turned to address all eighteen warriors. "Find shovels in the yards. Start digging graves in that field beside the packhouse."
They dispersed without question while Wyatt remained to help with the grim task ahead. I needed to photograph every victim - every murdered man, woman, and child. Wyatt understood how difficult this would be, offering silent support.
At least the children lay with their mothers. I would bury families together so they could remain united in death. They would want it that way.
"No ssages left behind," Wyatt observed, scanning the carnage.
"Hunters don’t need to leave calling cards. Only they operate with this level of brutality." I continued docunting the scene.
"Why spare our pack?" he wondered aloud.
"Good question. I’m sure my mother is trying to figure out that exact thing right now."
Wyatt faced directly. "Is it wrong that I actually pity these hunters when your mother catches them?"
I let out a dark laugh. "You shouldn’t feel sorry for them. But I understand what you an. She’s going to destroy them completely."
After the graves were dug, we fashioned makeshift crosses for each burial site, marking the field as a proper cetery. We owed them that dignity at minimum.
The helicopter ride ho passed in complete silence. Nobody spoke after what we had just witnessed and done. But providing those people with proper burials felt like the only decent response to such senseless violence.
The hunters had made their ssage clear through action rather than words. Now it was our turn to respond.
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