Warner had zero control over his body.
It still felt as if he’d mutated into one giant, pulsing nerve that was made only of desire.
Desire for fucking.
Desire for meat.
For blood.
For ripping and tearing into soft flesh.
The darkness was in the driver’s seat.
He knew this wasn’t right. Dark Champion or not, these cravings were increasing in intensity and he refused to believe that the powers that be would unleash this kind of darkness with no way to stomp on the breaks.
He was as big of a danger to human and supe populations as Peter’s pack.
It didn’t make sense.
Be quiet.
Be still.
All is as it should be.
We will hunt them down and tear them apart.
No more pain.
No more hunger.
Stop fighting.
Westwood told him to stop fighting.
Mari told him to stop fighting.
Lenore and the witches had told him to stop fighting.
Maybe surrender was his only option.
He caught the scent of a small pack and he saw what was going to happen to that pack in his mind’s eye. In this territory, they would be under Woolven protection, unless they managed to dark across the border.
The pack wasn’t infected as far as he knew, but that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that he didn’t want to fight it anymore.
If he surrendered, he wouldn’t have to bear witness to what this beast did.
And he’d finally be sated.
He tracked them now, using his superior predator’s skills. He could pick up more scents at a greater distance, he could see more than just heat signatures in the dark, and he could move faster than he’d ever dreamed.
It felt good and right to use these skills. It was like stretching after a long, restful sleep.
He ran them down, these hapless wolves.
Ran them down and burst upon them like a lion would a herd of injured gazelles.
He tore through them easily and with great pleasure. War noted one or two of them escaped, but that didn’t matter to him. In fact, it was good. Let them tell the story—his story. Let them carry it back to a hunter.
Or the council.
Then this would all be over and the rest of the pack would be safe.
The darkness pushed at his consciousness, and he realized it was locking him away. Pushing him down so he didn’t have to watch what came next.
He was a coward.
Warner Woolven was nothing like the story said. He was nothing like the wolf he thought he was or the wolf he wanted to be.
That should’ve been a rallying cry, but it wasn’t.
Instead, it opened a door to a deeper place where he didn’t have to feel this shame or sorrow.
It opened a door to oblivion.