Chapter 10: Blood and Bait

Lucien's POV

Her game's my edge. I woke with it clawing my gut, Selene's green eyes glinting from yesterday, her voice too smooth, her nails twitching like she'd rip my throat or slip free any second. She's plotting, escape, maybe my blood on the dirt, and damn it, it's got my pulse pounding, heat sinking low. I stood in the clearing, paws sinking into mud, dawn bleeding red through the pines, pack snarling around me, fur bristling, claws flexing. The air stank of musk, pine, bloodlust thick in my throat, my wolves, my fangs. Jace's report burned in my skull, Dax and his strongest hunting her scent, Ironclaw's den wide open, defenseless, begging for my jaws. I grinned, slow, cold, teeth glinting, cock stirring in my shifted skin. She's leverage, my bait, and today I'd shred them with it.

Yesterday chewed at me, her in the war room, stepping close, maps rustling, voice sliding over my plans like she could unravel them. I'd snarled, watched her smirk, hated how her scent hit, wild, earthy, how my gut twisted, cock stiffened in my hide. Damn it all. She's prey, Ironclaw's stray, my claw to twist, not some mate to claim. But she's stirring me, clawing me, and yesterday wasn't just talk. That hum, the quill tipping, her laugh too fast—she's scheming, kill me or run, maybe both.

I flexed my shoulders, scars stretching through fur, chest heaving slow from fights I'd won, fights I'd bled for. She'd try it, I'd catch her, and damn it, the thought hit hard, heat surging, cock thickening, pulsing raw. I wanted her to lunge, wanted her to bolt, wanted to pin her, feel her snap, taste her growl.

I turned, claws raking mud, pack falling in, eyes glowing, snarls low. "Ironclaw's weak," I growled, voice gravel, cutting the air, ice-blue slicing through the red dawn. "Dax took his wolves, chasing her, left the rest for us. We hit now, hard, end it." Vira's hackles rose, mossy stench wafting, claws gleaming in the dirt. Ragnar snorted, fur bristling, pack tightening, ready to rip. My grin widened, cold, feral, claws flexing, scars pulling tight. Selene's con, her threat, it's my fang now, her scent my strike, Ironclaw's blood my feast.

She's caged, pacing, scheming, but she's mine, her game my win, and today I'd gorge on them with it.

The hunt was fast, brutal, wind tearing through the pines, paws pounding earth, pack silent but ravenous. Ironclaw's den loomed, dens low, scents faint, too faint, guards sparse, Dax's absence a hollow lure. I slowed, fur bristling, ice-blue scanning, heart slamming cold, not hot, something off, wrong, gnawing my bones. The wind carried nothing, no fear, no fight, just stillness, thick, heavy, dead. My grin faded, suspicion flaring, cock pulsing, damn her, damn this quiet. "Hold," I snarled, low, rough, pack freezing, ears twitching, claws sinking deep. Vira growled, soft, uneasy, Ragnar's tail flicked, pack tense, my wolves, my senses, my kill. I sniffed, slow, deep, earth, pine, but no blood, no life, nothing real, nothing right.

The air shifted, faint, a whiff of musk, not ours, not weak. My hackles spiked, ice-blue narrowing, scars flexing as I crouched, claws gripping mud, excitement burning, heat coiling, damn it, damn this stillness. "Something's wrong," I growled, voice gravel, pack tightening, eyes darting, shadows too still, dens too quiet. Pups should've cried, old wolves should've shuffled, but nothing, silence, a lie. My pulse kicked, hard, suspicion clawing, Selene's face flashing, green eyes daring me, her game twisting me, cock stiff, aching now, damn her, damn her pull. She's the lure, escape or kill, but this, this wasn't her, this was off, too off, too cold.

I stepped forward, claws silent, pack behind, fur bristling, ice-blue cutting the red haze. "Spread," I snarled, low, rough, tail flicking sharp. "Vira, left, Ragnar, right, I take center. Spare pups, old ones, rip the rest." They moved, shadows in the dawn, claws glinting faint, my wolves, my pack, my hunt. A den loomed, low, dark, I lunged, claws slashing earth, jaws snapping, expecting flesh, finding air, nothing, empty. My snarl ripped free, loud, raw, pack echoing, dens bare, no blood, no fight, no life, just silence, thick, mocking. My grin twisted, cold, feral, suspicion surging, heat coiling, cock throbbing, damn her, damn this game, damn this quiet.

A pup yelped, faint, far, my ears twitched, ice-blue flicking, Vira's growl cutting through, "Empty here, Lucien." Ragnar's snarl followed, "Nothing, gone."

My chest heaved, scars flexing, excitement fading, suspicion hotter, something's wrong, bad, this wasn't Selene, this was planned, baited, not hers, theirs. I turned, paws crunching, fur matted, ice-blue scanning, red dawn bleeding darker, air shifting, musk growing, not ours, not weak, alive, close, too close. My grin faded, cold, feral, claws flexing, heat surging, damn it, damn them all. She's caged, scheming, but this, this was Dax, his play, my blood, my trap, my mistake.

The earth rumbled, sudden, hard, snarls exploded, trees splitting, Dax's wolves crashing through, fast, fierce, golden fur flashing, his roar cutting the air, not hunting, waiting, primed. My pulse slammed, hard, ice-blue widening, scars flexing as I froze, pack snarling, claws up, trap sprung, my doom locked tight. "Form up," I roared, voice gravel, pack snapping in, fur bristling, eyes wild, caught, surrounded. Dax lunged, claws gleaming, wolves behind, strong, too strong, not gone, here, now, feral, endless. Shadows moved, more, too many, dens opening, wolves pouring out, fresh, fierce, everywhere, cutting us off, no way out, no hope. I snarled, low, rough, throat tearing, excitement gone, cock cold, damn him, damn his game, damn my blood. It's his trap, his win, and I'm caught, bleeding, hopeless, done.