Chapter 387

Maxwell sprinted at full speed, and the moment he burst out of the forest, a hellish sight greeted him: towers of flame devouring the houses, painting the ground in a blood-red glow. Rogues rampaged through the Golden Hue Pack’s territory, tearing everything apart as if determined to leave no survivors.
Without hesitation, Maxwell lunged into the chaos. His massive paws crushed skulls, and his powerful jaws tore through flesh, each movement swift and merciless. Rogues fell before they even realized what struck them, their lives snuffed out in an instant as Maxwell became a blur of death and fury.
The warriors following Maxwell froze for a moment, their eyes reflecting the burning houses ahead. But the bloodcurdling screams of the rogues jolted them back to their senses like a splash of cold water. Fury reignited in their veins as they remembered the attack that had ravaged their home.
Fueled by rage, grief, and frustration, they charged into battle with everything they had. Every slash, every strike carried the weight of their pain and anger. They became like wild beasts, driven by instinct, no longer thinking, only killing.
The rogues, though savage themselves, still possessed enough instinct to sense the danger closing in. Their skin crawled, but before they could retreat, death had already reached them. They fell like flies beneath the warriors’ unrelenting assault.
Unbeknownst to many, however, most of those within the fray weren’t true rogues at all. The majority were Greg’s men, wolves disguised as rogues, using the chaos and the blood of the real ones to make their deception all the more convincing.
But Maxwell didn’t care — nor did he have the time to think — as he tore through everything in his path, killing every rogue and intruder he saw while racing toward the heart of the pack’s territory. The deeper he went, the worse the destruction became; flames devoured one house after another, painting the night sky red. Get full chapters from.net
By now, Greg’s men had realized the homes were empty. Burning them no longer brought any satisfaction since no lives were being lost, only walls and roofs reduced to ashes. So, they turned their attention elsewhere.
If they couldn’t kill the people, they’d destroy their livelihood. The storerooms, the granary, everything essential to the pack’s survival, became their new targets.
Greg barked new orders, commanding his men to push deeper into the territory. His eyes, however, darted restlessly as he ran, searching for something, with a purpose that burned fiercer than the flames around him.
But before Greg could run any deeper, a massive red wolf suddenly lunged out and blocked his path. It wasn’t truly red; its fur was silver, now stained crimson from the blood of all it had slaughtered on its way here.
The beast stood tall and menacing, its eyes blazing with fury as it let out a low, guttural snarl. Steam curled from its mouth with every breath, and when it bared its razor-sharp fangs, the air itself seemed to tremble.
Greg didn’t flinch as he faced the massive wolf before him. From its sheer size and the overwhelming pressure it exuded, he could instantly tell that it was an Alpha. That realization only confirmed what he’d been searching for lay just ahead.
A sneer twisted across his lips as he barked an order for his men to attack the lone wolf and clear a path for him.
Obeying without hesitation, the rogues lunged at Maxwell, sinking their teeth into his limbs and flank to pin him down. Greg used that opening to slip past, but Maxwell’s sharp eyes caught the movement. His gaze darkened, fury flashing within them.
But Maxwell wasn’t just any wolf; he was an Alpha. No ordinary rogue could restrain him. With a vicious snarl, he twisted his body and clamped his powerful jaws onto the head of the rogue near his mane.
The sickening crunch
The moment he was free, Maxwell charged after Greg. And since Greg hadn’t shifted into his wolf form, no matter how fast he ran, Maxwell closed the distance with ease. The remaining rogues tried to pursue and block the Alpha, but they were quickly intercepted by the warriors Maxwell had brought with him, leaving Maxwell to face Greg head-on.
And when he finally caught a clear look at him, Maxwell’s eyes hardened. This was the man Levi and Zion had described. Not an impostor. Not a stand-in. The real Greg.
Maxwell shifted back into his human form, his gaze sweeping over Greg from head to toe. One of Greg’s sleeves fluttered loosely in the wind — empty. The sight alone made it clear his arm had been severed.
That explained why he hadn’t shifted; a werewolf’s human body mirrored its wolf form. With one arm gone, his wolf would also be crippled, its speed and balance ruined.
A faint, mocking snort escaped Maxwell as his eyes lingered on the missing limb. The gesture was subtle but sharp enough to cut deep into Greg’s pride. His jaw tightened, rage flickering in his eyes as he was forced to remember how he’d lost that arm in the first place.
He clenched his teeth, suppressing the urge to lash out. No matter how much his pride screamed at him to fight, his instincts warned him otherwise. Maxwell’s aura was just as overwhelming as Zion’s. And with his missing arm, Greg knew he’d be at a severe disadvantage if he engaged now.
“I didn’t know a cripple could still dream so big Maxwell said, voice dripping with smug mockery. He leaned in, watching Greg’s face for any sign of reaction, deliberately prodding the wound to make the other man squirm.
Greg’s eyes flicked around as if searching for something, and Maxwell’s smile faded. He had been baiting Greg on purpose; what worried him now wasn’t Greg himself but the thing Greg might be looking for. If Greg found it, they’d all be doomed.
But Greg didn’t answer. He only bit his lip hard, his body trembling with barely contained rage. He stayed still, not out of fear, but because he was waiting. Waiting for his men to slaughter the warriors Maxwell had brought with him, so he could use them as a wall to slip past the Alpha once again.
Unfortunately for him, things weren’t going his way. His men were the ones falling instead. The warriors of the Golden Hue Pack, driven mad by the loss of their brothers and the sight of their burning homes, had let their inner beasts take over.
They no longer fought with discipline or restraint; they tore into their enemies like feral animals, uncaring of the wounds they sustained. Their savagery made Greg’s men falter, fear creeping into their movements, and the moment that hesitation appeared, death followed swiftly.
Maxwell noticed Greg’s waiting stance and the growing pile of corpses behind him. He snorted, a cold grin spreading across his face.
When Maxwell realized that Greg had no intention of speaking, he decided there was no point in dragging things out; he’d just kill him. In a blur of movement, Maxwell vanished from where he stood and reappeared right in front of Greg, catching him completely off guard.