“I hate caves.”

Alex, Amara, Charlie and a small troop of warriors hovered silently amongst the trees on the east side of the valley, watching the small clearing leading to Clinthorpe cave with a sense of foreboding.

The furthermost cave in the system, deeper into the valley than the others and sheltered by the thickening forest; theoretically Clinthorpe should have been able to fend off the worst of the rapidly approaching winter weather. But the chill that enveloped the deserted clearing sank deep into their bones, numbing them from the inside out and several of the warriors shivered involuntarily as they carefully scouted around the edges of the treeline.

The silence hung heavy and unnatural in the air. Even the natural sounds of the forest faltered into a lifeless, empty void around the cave.

The only sound that penetrated the ominous quiet came from the wind. It continued to attack the forest in a steady stream of increasingly frigid air that rattled through the trees. The branches, bare of leaves, clattered together like thousands of tiny bones tied together with invisible string, unsettling their wolves and putting them all on edge.

Alex, tucked into a hollow at the base of one of the trees, found himself gritting his teeth every time the branches above him began to rustle – the disjointed, hollow melody creating vivid images of skeletal spectres, calling to them from beyond the grave. To make things worse, a smell drifted on those winds towards them – sweet, sickly and foul. There was no sign of any rogues.

“They couldn't have sent us to Sweet William, could they?” he continued to mutter to himself as they waited for his Alpha's signal to move in. “Nothing dangerous about a cave with a name like Sweet William – sounds like a flower." He sniffed. “Nothing dangerous about a flower.”

Charlie shot him a look of grim amusement as he repeatedly tested the edge of his blade between his fingers. “Wolf Bane's a flower,” he reminded his Gamma quietly. “Then there's Nerium Oleander, the sweetly scented killer... Aconitum, otherwise known as the devil’s helmet – "

“ – Hemlock, Foxglove,” Amelia continued morbidly from her place on his left, never taking her eyes off the squat outline of the cave entrance. “White snake root, Belladonna...” she frowned and leaned round the Gamma to peer at Charlie. “What's that long purple one they nicknamed Dracula's flower?”

“Black Arum,” Charlie said with a tight grin. “The root burns to the touch.”

Alex looked between them sourly. “Thank you so much,” he said flatly. “It must be comforting to know that the pair of you are a minefield of useless information. You should go on a date sometime, you must have loads to talk about.”

“Be nice,” Amara murmured placidly. “You'll hurt his feelings.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows at her. “How are you not cold?” he snapped. She'd stripped down to a thin tunic in anticipation of the fight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the biting winds that made most of the warriors huddle further into their thick coats.

She looked down at her bare arms and shrugged. “I’m fine.” A little discomfort was cheaper than replacing yet another expensive outfit if she had to shift mid-fight.

“You're turning blue,” Charlie noted critically.

“And you're bleeding,” she retorted, eyeing the trickle of blood running from his finger where his blade had nicked the skin.

Charlie frowned. “That's your fault,” he said sticking his finger into his mouth to stem the flow.

“My fault?” Amara hissed with a sudden flair of anger. “How is it my fault? You need to learn to handle those blades before you play with them!”

“I handle my blades just fine,” Charlie argued fiercely, his voice muffled by his finger. “I'll show you if you like!”

Alex sighed heavily, hit with a sudden insight to how Blake must feel dealing with himself and Marcus every day. “My point,” – he emphasised, prodding his finger on the roughly drawn sketch of the cave system before Amara could react – “is that a name like Sweet William doesn't have the same effect on a wolf as a name like Clinthorpe. At Clinthorpe I'd expect trouble. Rogues, mercenaries, witches – ”

“ – complete silence and not a living thing in sight?” Charlie asked dryly, his tight grin hiding the tension they were all feeling.

“Exactly,” Alex nodded shortly, his eyes raking the tree line. “Now, if you two don't mind – " He jerked his head towards the all too-quiet clearing “ – we've got a job to do.” He left them to it, picking his way around the treeline to the next group of warriors, hoping get a look at the cave from a different angle.

There was a grunt, a sigh and a muffled yelp behind him that suggested his companions had successfully settled their little disagreement, then the familiar scent of Amara following his trail, moving across the ground in almost complete silence to catch up to the closest group to the entrance.

From here, they were close enough to trace the rough lines in the rock and follow the gnarled tree roots that bucked and twisted halfway up the steep slope to anchor their trees in place. High on the ridge above the scouts lay in wait just in case any fleeing rogues attempted to scramble up and out of the way.

“It's deserted,” Amara said unnecessarily, staring out at the empty clearing.

“I don't think so,” Alex said softly as the rancid, sickly smell wafted towards them on a gust of wind. “There's something inside.”

White with strain, the tension proving too much, one of the closest warriors spun around towards the thick undergrowth. “Where are they all?” she hissed at no one in particular.

“Not here,” her companion answered thickly. “Can't you smell it? The only thing in that cave is death.”

Amara stared at them a moment, her lips moving silently. “I’m going to check the perimeter again,” she muttered finally, a shiver running down her spine as the wind made the branches rattle once more.

Alex went back to staring morbidly into the clearing from his new position, tracking the reports seeping in through the pack link. So far neither of the other caves had yielded any form of resistance either, and Alex had received to go ahead to move forward. But something made him hesitate. The findings at the other caves seemed fairly mundane, if a little confusing. Whereas here a trickle of ice ran down the Gamma's spine every time he turned his eyes on the cave entrance.

His wolf chuckled at his discomfort, kneading his sharp claws voraciously inside Alex's mind. He was eager to get on with the search and didn't share his human's fear of enclosed spaces.

Stop that, Alex muttered inwardly. You’re making my head ache.

He stared broodingly towards the cave. They had expected heavy resistance here. Not necessarily in large numbers – Tungl had the more extensive cave system – but Clinthorpes passages were winding and tight, full of bolt holes and hidden crevices were a lean wolf could easily hide, and Alex was an expert in fighting in tight quarters.

A true siege master, the Gamma could hold out against an invading force inevitably if handed the right position. Had Alex been on the Tor the day of the ambush there was no doubt they would be there still, happily hold up behind his impenetrable forces and taunting the dwindling number of rogues that dared take him on.

Therefore it seemed logical that Alex would know how to break any resistance found digging in inside the natural labyrinth of tunnels.

It was true, Alex had been forced to reluctantly concede – this was his area of expertise. After scouring the rough sketch Fenrik had drawn for only a few minutes, Alex had not only identified all the bottlenecks, ambush points and potential siege positions, but formulated a silent plan in his head detailing how he'd improve on the natural defences if he were holed up inside.

It was just... why did it have to be caves? Why couldn’t they have taken to camping in some nice ruins instead? The idea of being trapped under a mountain of solid rock made his skin crawl. He could almost feel the weight of the rock pressing down on him, restricting his ability to draw a full breath, cocooning him in cold, dark stone. He shivered, the movement shaking the droplets of morning dew from his clothes.

“I was right, the place is completely deserted,” Amara said tersely five minutes later as she circled back around the cave. “There's no fresh scent. No new tracks – barely any indication the rogues spent much time down here at all, actually.”

“All this nothing is starting to make my teeth ache,” one of the warriors grumbled, scuffing the ground beneath him as he paced nervously between the trees.

“They've been here for something,” Charlie disagreed. “There's a clear trail leading back up the valley, and it had plenty of use a few days ago.”

Alex stared into the dark cavern, his jaw locked and a look of tense indecision across his face. “I hate caves,” he muttered to himself once again. “Alright, spread out,” he ordered his men. “Let’s get on with it. Search the tunnels, get light into every corner of that cave. Something is still here... and I want to know what it is.”

“Speak for yourself,” one of the older warriors muttered, his hackles rising every time his nostrils picked up the foul stench lingering around the mouth of the cave. But he obediently snatched up a torch and a bundle of kindling from the packs, following two of his companions into Clinthorpe’s gaping maw.

Alex watched the warriors enter the cave, his senses heightened by the unnatural silence and approached far more cautiously than he usually would – all his instincts telling him he wasn't going to like what he found inside.

A scrap of cloth caught his eye in the bushes, and he paused, reaching down to pluck it out of the tangled undergrowth. A ragdoll. Crudely put together with large stitches and multiple scraps of worn material, the vacant button eyes stared up at him, accusingly. Whoever had owned it had drawn a criss-cross pattern of thin, red lines across the torso adding to the overall creepiness.

No wonder they threw it away, he shuddered, filled with a sudden desire to hurl the thing as far over the trees as he could.

“This place is seriously interfering with my calm,” Charlie admitted, coming up beside the Gamma. One hand gripped the shaft of a knife with white knuckles and he stared at the doll in silent disquiet.

“You're not alone,” Alex grunted, throwing the rag monstrosity back to where it came in disgust.

“What do you think?” Charlie ventured, scenting the air, his nose wrinkling at the arid smell. “Animals? Deer maybe? I doubt the rogues dispose of carcasses the way we would.”

“Lucky us, we get to find out.” Alex said under his breath. He clenched his jaw tight and glared at the solid rock as though daring it to close in on him, then followed the light of the torches into the black beyond.

Inside the smell of blood grew worse. Much worse. The main cave was deceptively small, some sort of model of the caves had once taken up most of the space – most of the wood broken up for firewood. Information boards lay in a forgotten pile near the entrance, and Alex could still read some of the faded writing detailing the ancient burials the humans had discovered in the caves.

The years had taken their toll on the cave. Sometime after the museum had closed, teenagers had ventured into the valley spraying crude graffiti across one of the walls. The faded letters still showed through the thick layer of moss that crawled up the sides of the cave in an almost deliberate attempt to conceal it.

Around the edges of chamber, thin stalactites hung in clusters from the deceptively high ceiling – pale and sharp, they created the illusion of a jaw full of teeth, further heightening the caves ominous appearance.

Their counterparts, the stalagmites, rose up out of the ground below. Hundreds of years of constant dripping building up the mineral deposits into graceful columns that stretched upwards towards the dangling teeth. In an act of senseless vandalism, a large proportion of them had been needlessly hacked down to crude stumps by the rogues, the rubble strewn across the floor with careless abandon.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realised there were narrow passages running off the main chamber in multiple directions, he knew from the sketch that smaller caves and niches branched off each one, burrowing deep into the rock face. Many of the entrances had been clumsily sealed off with mud and rocks and from deep within, rose the reek of death.

There were no signs the rogues had ever camped here. He ran his hand across a familiar etching scratched deep into the rock that suggested the passages had once been guarded by a bored sentry – the tribal like marks hauntingly similar to those found on the trees where patrols stopped to regroup – and a heavy, musky scent in some of the corners clear evidence of wolves liberally marking their territory.

But no signs of everyday life. This cave had a different, darker purpose.

Alex followed one of the passages towards an open chamber, squeezing past one of the warriors who seemed to be having difficulty keeping his stomach under control. When he peered into the opening, he realised why...

Amara had remained outside, nervously scanning the forest for any signs of danger. Unlike her fearless Gamma, she had no qualms about admitting her disquiet in enclosed spaces and had no intention of setting foot inside the cave if she could help it.

One ear attuned to the sounds of the forest, the other focused on the rumours of a lone rogue found deep in Tungls caverns that were spreading like wildfire through the pack link, she waited patiently for her companions to emerge from the darkness.

Her eyes widened in surprise when two of the warriors reappeared outside the cave, retching uncontrollably into the bushes and she turned wary eyes on the entrance where the sickly scent continued to seep out into the forest.

Alex followed them, his face white, a bleak look in his eyes that warned Amara against asking too many questions. He stared sightlessly around the clearing a moment, lost in his own thoughts, then focused his eyes on the only warrior not emptying the contents of her stomach into the undergrowth. “Fetch the Doc,” he snapped at her, not adding any further explanation. “Don't take no for an answer.”

She nodded, her last fleeting thought as she fled the clearing one of annoyance – not at her Gamma for sending her away, but at herself for the wave of relief she felt as she left the sinister looking cave behind her.

Charlie stumbled out behind his lieutenant, his face a pale shade of green. He swallowed a couple of times, determined to get his stomach under control then turned to Alex. “How could they – I mean, how many are there?”

“I don't know,” Alex said. “Too many.”

Charlie shuddered. “I know I said carcasses but – I never thought – ” He let loose a low growl. “When we finally locate these rogues, they need wiping out,” He stumbled further out towards the tree line, his lungs craving the relief of uncontaminated air.

Alex cast bleak eyes on the two hurling warriors. “When you've got your stomachs under control, start building some pyres.” The two warriors exchanged relieved glances and hurried into the trees, eager to avoid returning to the cave for as long as possible.

“I think I'll help,” Charlie muttered. “We're going to need a lot of wood.”

“No,” the Gamma stopped him, a speculative look on his face. “Go find the Alpha. If the rumours are anywhere near accurate, he's up in Tungl with a prisoner.”

Charlie frowned as he struggled to control his trembling limbs. “Wouldn't it just be quicker to – ”

“I don't think we want this over the link just yet.” Alex watched as another warrior gave up the fight and staggered out the cave with horror filled eyes. He could only imagine the wave of fear that would sweep through the warriors once the rumour mill started.

Charlie nodded and dashed away, glancing repeatedly back at the cave mouth as though afraid it could somehow tear itself from the ground and follow him.

Alex grimaced and ordered the third, still gasping warrior to join the others gathering wood for the pyres. He turned to glare up at the jagged rock forming the entrance to Clinthorpe. The uneven curve of the arch had sheared away in places exposing the chalky white limestone and leaving behind sharp slivers of rock that combined to give it a menacing, toothy grin.

One of these days it would be nice to come across some rogues that don't require us to clean up after them, he muttered sourly to his wolf.

One of these days it would be nice to come across some rogues, at all, his wolf replied, the sulky tone in his voice expressing his disappointment at the lack of resistance.

*

When Blake finally stepped out of the mouth of the massive cavern, his eyes roamed across the clearing seeking somewhere quiet where could find a moment to gather himself. Instead, hovering aggressively in his line of sight, he found two wolves waiting impatiently to compete for his attention.

The two normally jovial warriors wore identically grim expressions. Charlie's skin had taken on an unnaturally waxy sheen in the weak sunlight that filtered through the heavy clouds above and shifted nervously on the spot, incapable of keeping all four of his limbs still at the same time.

Issac had leapt up from his rocky seat as soon as the Alpha emerged and could best be described as ‘tightly sprung' – his fists clenched so tightly the whites of his knuckles showed through the tightened skin, his jaw locked with the strain of holding himself in check. Blake half-suspected a sudden, loud noise would be enough to send both of them charging up the sides of the valley in an explosive release of pent up energy.

“You need to see this,” Issac insisted, waving a brown envelope in his direction.

“Alex needs you at Clinthorpe,” Charlie croaked at the same time.

He sighed. Weary and aching, he could have done without either of them at that moment. But, ever mindful of his duty, he squared his shoulders, drew on his strength as an Alpha and turned first to the pale and jittery Charlie. “Problem?” he asked.

Charlie shook his head. Then nodded. He swallowed thickly. “You need to see it. I can't – you need to see it,” he repeated, his face the colour of old ash.