They came like a thief in the night with no warning. One moment, my Pack were thriving and happy, and the next, it was up in smoke with the screams of the dying rising to the heavens. Rogues have been the bane of werewolves' existence. They were creating havoc and killing the innocent. They are like cancer that won't go away no matter what you do. Our Pack, the Running Creek pack, is located far south of the state. We have heard about the plague of the rogues in other places, rumours of it encroaching towards our borders, but my father never took it seriously. His mistake. My father, God bless him, was an idealist, a man who rarely advocated violence. Our Pack lived in peace and harmony. Everyone was treated equally, whether you were an alpha, a beta, or an omega. My mother, ruling beside him, was a kind-hearted omega whose love for her Pack was felt by all in the Pack. Her smile was like the sun's touch, and everyone yearned to bask in its brightness. They were good leaders a
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