Young Writers Society

Chapter 1: Pack

The girl slammed into her opponent at full force, knocking him to the ground. Before he could even recover, she was on him, fist raised. Around her, the howls and snarls of wolves around her egged her on. She punched him, then again, and again. He struggled against her grip, growling.

She would survive.

The boy slammed up his knee, jabbing her in the stomach. The girl fell back. He grappled her, fighting to pin her down so he could get his vengeance. The wolves around them started getting louder, encouraging him. She fought back as adrenaline pumped through her veins. They locked in combat, each matching the strength of the other.

She suddenly released him and dodged out of his way as he stumbled forward. Within seconds, she was behind him. The girl grabbed his chin in one hand and held his torso straight with the other.

The wolves yowled in excitement.

She would survive.

She snapped his neck.

He fell to the earth, limp and lifeless. The girl howled, raising her hands in victory.

She had survived.

All her life had been in preparation for this moment, when she was pitted against all the other wolf-children in the Pack. The last survivor was the only cub to become a werewolf and be initiated into the Pack.

Among wolves, killing was just another part of life. Kill food to survive, kill the weak, kill the different that would attract predators, kill the humans who hunted them. It didn't matter who, what, or how old you were. You were a wolf and that was the end of it.

She had won, and, for the first time in her life, knew she wasn't facing a likely death sentence. Every year, the Pack held an initiation. Every twelve-year-old human child that the wolves had taken in got pitted against one another. Only the last survivor was turned wolf and became part of the Pack. In the world of wolves, the single, most important law was that the strong survived and the weak were killed, for a pack was only as strong as it's weakest.

She had survived.

Grimm, the girl's worg mother, stepped forth from the crowd, her lycanthropic mate, Lupus, by her side. Eoin, the alpha, also approached her. Finally, the ceremony had come.

"I hereby name the wolf-child of Lupus and Grimm victor of the Ru'leth!"

She knelt to her alpha, bowing her head. He slipped a ritual dagger made of what legend said was made of dragonfang and handed it to her. "Rise, victor."

Obediently, she stood. Gripping the knife in her hand, she grimly sliced open her palm, then handed it back to Eoin. He passed the ancient blade to Lupus who followed suit.

Lupus extended his had to his daughter. She took it, clasping his hand as their blood mixed. As of now, she was a wolf.

"I hereby name thee Agrona, harbinger of death!"

The wolves around her howled, chorusing to the stars above. Now, she had a name. Agrona, the harbinger of death. Not unfitting, she thought. Fighting had always been her strong point- that's why she'd survived this long. The human cubs in the Pack were not treated like fellow wolves- they were treated like the omegas. No, worse than the omegas. She'd lived off scraps and fought every night to survive. Only during the day did she receive refuge in the den of her parents to sleep. Other than that, she'd been on her own.

But now...Now she was a werewolf. Truly. Finally, she'd met success. Real success.

________________________________________________________________________________

When they'd first taken the cub in, Lupus and Grimm had brought the babe to Eoin to see whether they should keep her or simply kill the intruder. But Eoin saw great potential in the girl. He knew she would play a large part in the future of the wolves in the following years. So he told them to keep her. To never reveal to anyone what he'd seen. So they did.

But four weeks after the initiation, Agrona still hadn't changed, nor shown any signs of becoming a lycanthrope. Few fought the wolf within and survived, and certainly not without great sickness and struggle. Agrona, however, seemed completely unaffected by the wolf blood in her system. And she still wasn't a were-beast.

Finally, Grimm went to Eoin for guidance. That was when he realized she wasn't going to help the wolves in the coming years. There were few who could resist the wolf like she had, and they were Hunter-borne. Borne of the day, honor, discipline, and protection. Their destiny was to destroy the Pack and lead the humans and their allies to great victory. Now, one had emerged.

"Kill her," Eoin told Grimm. "She is Hunter-borne. We can't let her live. I'm sorry."

"Yes, Alpha." Her voice was emotionless.

"The responsibility falls to you and your mate, as she is your cub. My sincere apologies, Grimm, and to your mate, but what must be done must be done."

"Yes, Alpha."

"Good luck and may Winter give you strength."

"And may Ragnar guide you, Oakheart." As proper for a wolf of lower rank than the one they conversed with, she called him by his last name. She bowed her head and left.

Agrona was training as usual. That was all she did besides eat and rest, and sometimes she managed to skip even that. It wasn't that she had nothing else to do. Her goal was to join the ranks of the best warriors in the pack, like Valkyrie or Silvermoon. Despite the fact that there were other things she could be doing and sometimes was even tempted to, getting sidetracked wasn't going to help her accomplish her goal. So train she did. All night, every night.

Grimm trotted past her into their den. She hadn't told Agrona where she was going, and Agrona didn't really care anyways. She'd probably just been out hunting.

Brushing flaming red curls out of her face, Agrona grabbed her waterskin and took a gulp, then replaced the stopper. She turned to go back to her exercises when Lupus stepped in her way, his eyes glowing pale yellow in the darkness.

Agrona stepped back, sensing the imminent danger. Grimm stood behind her mate, baring foot-long saber-teeth.

"Apologies, Agrona. But we cannot afford to let you live any longer." And she leapt.

A rush of adrenaline shot through the girl, a deep-seated instinct told her to fight. No, kill. Color faded from the world around her...

________________________________________________________________________________

She ran for her life. The hunting howls of wolves sounded behind her, their forms cloaked by the shadowy night.

She would survive.

Agrona could see buildings not a half mile away. The lights were out, and the people were likely gone, evacuated due to the wolves' hunt. They had no way to know that it was her the Pack was after, not them.

Reaching the village, Agrona ran through the buildings with inhuman speed, searching for an escape. She ducked into the first door she saw, which happened to be the threshold to a small storage shed. She scrambled through the various crates into the back of the shack. In her haste, she slammed her toe into something metal. Wincing, she knelt to feel whatever it was.

Two rings connected by another hunk of metal. A lock, closing a trapdoor. An escape. She slipped a thin wire out of her pocket and got to work on the lock, cussing as she fumbled. Finally, after what seemed like an endless eternity, she opened it. Slipping the pick back into her pocket, she opened the door and ducked inside, locking it behind her.

She descended a ladder that led into an underground tunnel, relieved that she'd finally lost the wolves pursuing her. The tunnel was dark and dank, with no sound but the drip-drip of water from the ceiling. She fell back against the wall, panting.

She had survived.

Her relief was short-lived. The snarls and yips of wolves reached her ears from somewhere outside. She turned and fled down the corridor.

Could she survive?

Her bare feet slipping on the damp stone, Agrona stumbled and hit the earth, hard. Scrambling to her feet, she kept on running. Out of nowhere the corridor took a sharp turn and Agrona hurtled straight into what appeared to be a tavern.

It was a cavern, filled with smoke that lit the dim room. Tables were scattered haphazardly across the cave, filled with humans. They gambled, gossiped, drank, brawled, and bartered. All appeared to be commoners.

She slid to a stop in the entrance. The room went quiet as all heads turned her direction. She got the distinct feeling that she wasn't supposed to be there.

"Well, well, well. What 'ave we got 'ere?" A man drawled, standing.

Agrona growled deep in her throat in warning.

"A wolf, is it?"

She didn't understand his words. All she could understand was the edge of danger in his tone and the calm nonchalance meant to scare her.

"Say, wolf, what are you doing here in the middle of human land, hm?" When she didn't answer, he switched tongues to wolf and repeated the question.

"I am no wolf."

"Really, then? What are you doing speaking this tongue?"

"I am a wolf-child, but not a wolf. I was cast out after initiation, for they couldn't turn me."

"You rejected the wolf blood?"

"Yes."

"Is this the only tongue you speak?"

"No. Scanran."

"But not Common?"

She shook her head.

"How did you get in here?"

She held up her lockpick. That seemed to perk the man's interest.

"You, a child, picked the lock?" He asked incredulously.

She nodded.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. I will survive."

"So they hunt you?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"They call me Lynx. I am the Wildcat."

"So in other words you're the leader of the Thieves' Guild?" she'd heard of the Guild running small towns. Sometimes they worked to the poor's advantage. Other times, they stole from everything and everyone. It depended on who led it.

"Indeed I am. And what do you call yourself, wolf-child?"

"Agrona."

"The harbinger of death?"

"I fight well."

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in joining our Guild?"