The Alpha sat alone on the rocky outcrop, his eyes a deep, cavernous black, his expression bleak. None of the wolves dared approach him. Most moved around him as though terrified the slightest sound would turn his gaze upon them. Only his lieutenants remained close by, and even they trod on hesitant paws.

The events at the Craggs had shaken the pack to the core, none more so than its powerful leader, and they waited with baited breath to see what he would choose to do next.

Blake stared at the white cold on the ground, his turmoil of emotions making him oblivious to the chill in the air as he processed the afternoon’s shocking events.

Nothing had prepared him for the contents of that envelope, the sharp sting of a betrayal he’d never expected and, even now, struggled to understand. No amount of training had prepared him for one of his own turning against their pack.

Despite having known there was a snake amongst them for several weeks, the moment of revelation proved as shocking as if he'd remained oblivious to their treachery. Wolf and man moved as one, the storm in their eyes threatening a retribution long overdue.

Almost as though he himself had a hand in the encroaching winter, the wolves glanced in awe between their Alpha and the heavy, snow laden clouds that rolled and eddied above him. Like waves in a stormy sea, battered and manipulated by the winds, they reflected the bleak mood that enveloped the makeshift camp.

The Alpha remained oblivious to their whispers, his thoughts unravelling every decision he'd made since Issac had thrust those photos in his hand...

Despite the overwhelming desire for vengeance that turned his stomach in its eagerness to be satiated, Clinthorpe was the obvious priority. Alex's desire for secrecy, and the coordinating waves of anxiety rolling off Charlie, convinced Blake to tackle the mystery surrounding the furthermost cave first. It would give him time to consider his next move carefully before acting on his instincts.

It took a matter of moments to organise his remaining warriors to begin clearing out the cave. Ensure several trusted warriors were in position to keep an eye on Kaden, their new and unexpected guest took much longer, by which time Marcus and Charlie had gained a good lead on him.

He set out after them, glancing down at the photos one more time, still astounded that even his, admittedly exceptional, control had withstood Rothan's rush of fury once they'd both registered what they were looking at; images of Alpha Syrus entertaining a member of his pack.

The reminder prompted Rothan to growl deep in his mind, a primal call to action.

Many of the images could be argued as perfectly innocent – explained away by the flurry of diplomatic excursions and trade fairs that had taken place across the region over the last two years.

But, there were dozens of them, the dates on the photos stretching back months, and Blake recognised Syrus’s familiar and opulent study in the background of more than one covert photo, the subjects far too friendly for the usual diplomatic relationship.

More alarmingly, several more recent images showed the same pack member deep in conversation with Gareth, the effluent Beta of Elmwood. There could be no reasonable excuse for such a get together without Blake's knowledge, especially when a flurry of covert pictures featured an exchange of thick envelopes – evidence so damning there could be no explaining it away.

Issac had been right to insist that he lay eyes on them first, he mused as he picked his way through the undergrowth. If Marcus had seen them...

It would be over and done with already, Rothan growled, for once at odds with his human counterpart.

Yes, and he'd be ostracised for it, Blake reminded the disgruntled wolf firmly.

Not by us!

No, it would be out of our hands, Blake sighed. Simon isn't a rogue we could slaughter without consequence. He’s pack. It must be done right.

He felt Rothan's deep rumble of protest. In the time of the Shadow Wars, every Alpha had the right to deal with their own pack members as they saw fit. Whether the punishment be corporal, imprisonment or death, there were no consequences – an Alpha's power was absolute.

After the formation of the Elder council, the new laws forced the packs into line. For the most part corporal punishment was still widely accepted, though frowned upon by some packs, and for more serious crimes banishment was commonly chosen – often by the culprits themselves, eager to escape the alternatives.

But it was universally accepted that for an act of treachery, there could be only one outcome and to uphold the laws, the Elder's demanded absolute proof of guilt – the Alpha forced to justify his every action to the council.

If Marcus allowed his need for revenge to override the laws of Council, and killed the traitor, he'd face trial in front of the Elders. Nothing could stop him being stripped of his rank and shunned by all outside his own pack, and Blake wasn't about to let that happen to his friend.

His wolf grumbled quietly to himself, his natural instincts warring with their duty as Alpha. In a wolf pack traitors were dealt with swiftly, violently, immediately and with the full support of the other wolves.

Humans felt an overwhelming need to talk about things first, something Rothan found largely perplexing. It was all so unnecessary.

Blake largely ignored him, knowing his rumblings would release some of their combined tension and allow him the control to focus on the task at hand. Still, he could already feel a headache forming and he winced as he caught sight of his companions picking their way around the ridge.

“ – just can't understand why anyone would want to live in a cave by choice,” Marcus was saying to the young warrior, oblivious to the approaching storm. “It's cold, it's dark, it's damp, it's dirty... tell me, where's the appeal?”

Charlie shrugged, a wave of hair flopping over his left eye haphazardly. Although still pale, he looked decidedly less green than he had done just a short while ago and he listened quietly to his Beta's ramblings as they traversed the steep slope down towards Clinthorpe.

“Maybe they're like the human eco warriors, living off the grid and all that?”

Marcus snorted. “Then they need to learn to tidy up after themselves... have you seen the mess they've left behind back there? It's going to take days to clean up.” He paused as he bypassed a root sticking up out of the steep hillside. Gnarled and deformed, it seemed determined to impede their way down, and when Marcus's foot slipped, it let loose a shower of gravel that skittered noisily down the slope.

Charlie grabbed his arm to steady him and they exchanged a glance of consternation, staying silent until the path evened out once more.

“ – And don't get me started on the mercenary camp,” Marcus continued. “It'll be a miracle if the humans don't stumble on one or the other before we're done fixing the mess.”

Charlie shrugged again, slowing his pace as he sensed the Alpha coming up behind them. “I wouldn't worry about it. They'll just think it's vagrants or teenagers – ” he cast a side-long glance at the Beta. “ – Or Eco warriors.”

Marcus snorted.

“They'll put a disgruntled article in the local paper. Some local activists will start a petition to make sure the ruins are better protected from now on – more security, fences, that sort of thing. Then, in true human hypocrisy, no one will be willing to pay for it, interest will die down, and it'll all go back to normal within a couple of weeks... maybe a month.”

The Beta looked at Charlie with impressed curiosity. “Did you breathe even once during any of that?”

Charlie offered him a satisfied grin, which faltered as the Alpha caught up with them.

“Anything I should know about?” Marcus asked, peering at Blake's stony face as he fell into pace beside them.

“Later,” Blake grunted. One crisis at a time.

Marcus raised an eyebrow but said no more about it, returning instead to ruminating over the mystery that was the rogues way of life.

Blake listened to their banter half-heartedly as he tried once more to reach out to Alex, but was met with nothing but silence. Irritated by the lack of communication, he quickly scanned the link, picking up only the usual background conversations between the warriors.

“ – a prisoner? What kind of prisoner?”

What do you mean what kind? The locked up kind, of course! A rogue, left behind in the panic...”

“ – I'm telling you, it's one of that Elmwood lot. They found him at the bottom of a deep pit...”

“Where did they all go?”

“I heard they're all up at Clinthorpe... no one's reported back yet.”

“You don't think – ?”

“Could be. The Alpha's gone down there to – "

With a roll of his eyes and a wolf's unerring sense of propriety, Blake politely tuned them out. Fenrik was right about one thing. They gossip like a gaggle of old women.

None from Clinthorpe though, Rothan pointed out. Alex must have threatened dire consequences to keep them from adding to all the speculation flying around.

He’d better have a really good reason for keeping me in the dark, Blake grumbled.

Rothan sighed. There were times when his human took longer to reach the obvious solution. Why don't you just use the code? Tell Alex the meal is almost ready?

Blake blinked and swore silently to himself. I hadn't thought of that.

Clearly, his wolf sniffed.

The code system had been created years ago by Blake's father. Bragging about a successful hunt let the pack know they'd spotted enemy wolves nearby, predicting heavy rains provided early warning of humans in the area and a call to meal let the wolves know that back up was approaching their position. If there were any enemies nearby listening in, communication like this would provide no useful information to the outsider, while still passing on basic messages and instructions amongst the pack. Alex may not be responding, but hopefully, he was listening.

As the trees thickened around them the winds died down and a eerie silence settled around them. When the occasional gust clattered through the branches, they stooped down towards the ground like skeletal fingers bursting into applause as they past. The conversation between the wolves died down as the atmosphere washed over them and Blake found himself approaching the cave with sense of ominous foreboding.

“Well, that's not creepy at all,” Marcus murmured eyeing the bare branches in apprehension. He drew his winter coat around him. “Is it just me, or is it actually getting colder?”

“You have no idea,” Charlie shuddered. “I've just remembered why I was so happy to leave.

Blake exchanged a worried glance with Marcus. “Charlie, what exactly are we walking into?” he asked cautiously as the clearing came into view.

In reply the branches voiced their scattered applause once more and Charlie looked almost haunted as he turned to glance back at his Alpha. “They're all dead,” he replied cryptically. “All of them.”

What – ?

As the trees thinned out, the cloying smell of death hit them. Marcus spat a curse; and it became all too clear why Charlie had been so much on edge.

The nearby warriors were working on several half-built pyres, their faces pale and disturbed.

They paused to watch the Alpha pass; all showing a clear aversion to stepping too close to the entrance of the cave, skirting around it like they were afraid it would attack them if they got too close.

“This can’t be good,” Marcus murmured. He gestured to the growing piles of dry wood.

Around the circumference of each pyre ran a shallow channel of bare earth. Carefully designed to help prevent the flames reaching the nearby trees, they would be doused with water before the pyres were lit. Small bundles of funeral herbs had been scattered amongst the growing piles of wood – Sandalwood, oak, mullen, lemon balm and rosemary.

A familiar, pungent smell rose above the fetid miasma coating the clearing, and Blake recognised the scent of purification oils, most recognisably, sage and thyme. The traditional funeral preparations for werewolves, pack and rogue alike.

The preparations of the oils were a heavily guarded secret, but Blake knew they contained certain chemical compounds that would ensure the flames grew hot enough to reduce a body to nothing but ash. In these days of advanced human technology it was essential that any funerals conducted outside the borders left no traces behind.

Rothan wrinkled his nose in disgust. The heavy smell of death disturbed him far less than the pungent foliage used to cover it up. Death was a natural consequence of life, the human drive to disguise it created aromas far more offensive to a wolf's sensitive nostrils, in his opinion. He whined his discontent and Blake resisted the instinctive sudden urge to shudder.

Please don't do that, Blake complained. You're setting my teeth on edge.

It's making my eyes water, Rothan grumbled.

Unpleasant though it was for his wolf, the herbs were selected as much for their appealing scent as for their spiritual properties – the smell of burning flesh was not how most human relatives wished to remember their loved ones and, as the herbs burned, they released a unique combination of aromatic scents that helped mask the noxious aroma. He shook off his wolf's discomfort and turned his attention to the cave.

Amara emerged from the ragged opening, the look in her eyes when she spotted her Alpha one of utmost relief. She tilted her head towards the Gamma, who had settled himself on a nearby outcrop of rock and appeared to be working his way steadily through a large packet of beef jerky and Alex nodded a terse greeting to the new arrivals.

Blake strode towards him, his eyes narrowed. As he approached the entrance the smell of death grew ever stronger and it mixed offensively with the pools of oil one of the warriors had splashed around the entrance. His wolf growled, hackles rising in protest.

Stop that, Blake snapped.

He glared up at his Gamma who showed no signs of climbing down from his lofty perch and swallowed the irrational urge to take a swipe at his friend.

Oblivious, Alex took another piece of jerky out of the packet, the rustling obnoxiously loud in the otherwise eerie silence.

“What are you doing?” Blake asked his Gamma in the most patient voice he could muster.

“Lunch,” Alex replied unceremoniously. He shook the bag in their direction. “Want some?”

The picture of serenity, he lounged casually back against the rocks, a thick fur around his shoulders as he chewed thoughtfully on a piece of beef.

“How are you eating?” Charlie exclaimed, his face wrinkled with disbelief. “After seeing all of – and – and smelling – and – and – ” His brow folded into frustration as he waved his arm across the clearing. “How can you eat?” he asked again.

Alex simply shrugged. “What can I say? I'm blessed with a strong stomach. Besides, I'm hungry.”

Something about his voice prompted Blake to take a closer look at the usually equanimous Gamma, taking in the subtle but unnatural stiffness in his friends shoulders and the, almost imperceptible, tension that knotted his brow.

It was the stark, beleaguered look, one never seen behind Alex's eyes before, that made the Alpha pause and hold back the reprimand forming on his lips. He cast a worried glance towards Marcus who’s returning frown spoke volumes.

“Are you coming?” Marcus asked, concern lacing his voice.

Alex’s eyes flickered towards the entrance. “I'd rather not,” he responded casually. “I think I've spent enough time in there for one day.”

“Let's get this over with,” Blake grunted, brushing past Charlie.

With a speed that astonished the observing warriors, Alex jumped down from the rock and stopped him, his carefree facade vanishing to be replaced by a face grimmer than Blake had ever seen it. “Brace yourself,” he warned.

Blake stared at him a moment, scanning his friend’s closed expression for answers that weren't forthcoming, then ducked around him into the cave, headlong into a storehouse of the dead.

Corpses were piled everywhere. Rogue, wolf, human – there appeared to be no noticeable distinction between the rotting bodies lying discarded on the cold stone floor.

Alex had been not been idle in Charlie's absence.

Each entrance had been opened. Every cavern scoured for signs of life. The stone forming a natural crypt, each sealed cavern revealed at least one, sometimes multiple victims. The wolves under his command had fought against their nausea as they discovered corpse after corpse, carefully removing them from their tombs and carrying the remains to the central cavern.

Rats ran everywhere, able to slip through the nooks and cranny, taking a morbid and gruesome advantage of the easy feast. Most didn't even flinch at the intrusion by the wolves, no doubt used to company much rowdier than theirs.

Blake mentally counted them up as he stared around in horrified disbelief; thirty four lay side by side amongst the stalagmites of the main chamber and, judging by the flickers of light coming from the tight passageways, the warriors still hadn't completed their search.

Doc stood amongst the corpses, his glasses balanced on the very edge of his nose, his normally stoic face, sombre and grim. He waited in silence as Blake picked his way carefully through the remains, his sharp old eyes noting the flickers of emotion that crossed the Alpha' face without comment.

Blake forced his features into an expression of controlled unconcern and took a closer look at the lifeless bodies, so well preserved by the cold. Each had suffered the same fate. Limbs and torsos cross-hatched with thin cuts that showed no signs of healing, their lives cut short by a single, deeper slice across the throat.

“What did this?” Blake asked, concentrating hard on concealing the horror that rose up within him every time his leg brushed up against one of the icy limbs. He had seen death before, wielded its cold embrace and inflicted it on rogues by the dozen. But this? This was something else entirely.

“My best guess? they’re sacrifices,” Doc told the Alpha. Blake raised an eyebrow and Doc hurried to expand his explanation. “The smallest of the caves hosts the remains of a pagan alter, right at the back. Ancient, of course, preserved by the humans as part of the old museum. But, I'm sad to say, showing all the signs of recent use.”

“Witches?” Blake growled immediately. Though his voice rang through the air, there was no echo, the sound muffled by the stench of flesh, maggots and burning sage.