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Chapter Seventy three

The Blood Moon pack, generally a vibrant shade of wolfish energy and fellowship, was cloaked in a silence so thick, it was nearly suffocating. The howling of wolves, generally a symphony of power and dominion, had been replaced by whispers and nervous talks. The fear that had gripped them the former night remained strong, fueled by the monstrous rage their Alpha, Draven had unleashed upon the woods.

The night had been an agonizing ordeal for Draven. The memory of his brutal change and the tearing of his clothes and the insatiable thirst for blood that had consumed him were the memories that haunted him come the dawn.

The pack house which was generally a place of comfort and warmth was now a scene of desolation. The massive oak door, once an evidence to the pack's strength was shattered splintered wood littering the entrance. It was a grim remainder of Draven's escape, his hopeless need to escape the confines of his own mind and the crushing weight of the curse the previous night.

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