The Chinook helicopter took off at sunset leaving Wyatt Weylyn and his six-man team in the most remote, dangerous rugged terrain of the Hindu Kush mountain range of
Afghanistan’s Kunar region. He sniffed the chilled air and took in the aroma of timber and the distant scent of gunpowder as he scanned the surroundings with shrewd predatory eyes.

The jagged mountains were covered with thick forests and a narrow valley, making it an
excellent cover for insurgents. An extensive network of caves along perilous crevices made it impossible to locate the enemy. An unconquerable area that had spit on the faces of both the Russian and American military might.

Operation Druid Pack was a mercenary mission and hopefully the last Wyatt and his men would have to go on. They took only missions that were deemed impossible and without any chance of success by American or British military factions. If they succeeded they would walk away with twenty million bucks in cash. Wyatt had already gotten filthy rich from other so-called hopeless missions. He had more than enough money for running his one thousand acre wolf sanctuary in Montana. Why the hell did he agree to this one? It was hard to say no to Romulus. Still it would not hurt to have more money in his account. It was time he hired a full time veterinarian to find out why most of the cubs were dying.

And he supposed he felt bad for Colin Taylor, the son of the billionaire industrialist,
Randal Taylor. The well-meaning kid was flying on a good will mission with medicines when his copter was shot down. Wyatt and the entire on-line world watched as the surviving crew had their heads chopped off. Wise to who Colin Taylor’s father was, the terrorists now demanded an array of missiles and weapons or else Randal Taylor’s only child would be executed in the same brutal manner.

Wyatt took in the glow of the full moon. The rich scent of wood and earth reminded him of his true nature. The night was silent and dead cold. His men disrobed and crammed their black merc uniforms inside their harnessed packs. The gear was tailor made for the werewolf. Their clawed hands were just as dexterous in snapping the equipment as their human hands. He waited for them to shift first. As the alpha lycan or werewolf he had complete control over his shift. The lower ranked lycans were under the control of the full moon, the only time they underwent the change. Unlike Hollywood movies, their shift into the large bear sized werewolves did not include painful bone snapping, twisting, sinew ripping, skin tearing and or other agonizing effects. Their highly attuned nervous system safeguarded them from what could have been a painful transformation. Instead, the shift felt more like falling into a void and when reaching the ground feeling a rush of pleasurable sensations. His fierce looking men fell on all fours, moaning in pleasure as they shimmered into their wolf forms. Though their wolf senses stayed with them while in human form, the even greater heightened senses, strength and power of the child of nature, could only be compared to the climatic release of semen. They howled their joy.

Wyatt grinned. He secured his transmitter inside his pack and slipped out of his clothes. He stretched his muscular arms toward the sky and willed himself to shift. The tingle of the prickling wolf guard hairs on his back and the feel of fangs erupting from his gums made him growl with satisfaction. The surge of the wolf’s powers raced through him like a raging river. Release. He stood on two legs and howled. The echo thundered across the mountains. They had not caught the scent of humans nearby, but without a doubt their howls had to have been heard across the distant encampments. Afghanistan’s wolf population had dwindled to less than a thousand. The local wolves were not protected and had been relentlessly hunted. He almost hoped they would come looking to hunt his kind.

Wyatt, the largest of the lycans, called his men to attention in the language of the wolf.
His men had enough of their human minds to understand his spoken commands, though for now he would not risk the sound of human voices being heard by the enemy. They were all wolf. Wyatt retained his complete human intelligence, a characteristic of the alpha. They bowed their head to him, ready to obey the orders of their dominant leader. In reality they looked little like a real wolf. In addition to their bear sized bodies they had distinct elaborate tribal markings on their heads, legs and various parts of their lycan form. On his forehead

Wyatt had a blue Celtic Moon with an abstract dragon on each side. The bright blue markings were dramatic on his black fur. His forelimbs had tribal spirals markings from shoulder to paws. He turned his attention to the steep climb up the craggy mountains to a guarded cave where Colin was held. The ice-cold wind brought a hint of snow. Their thick fur could withstand the harshest subzero temperatures. Any man would have had a tough time in such adverse conditions. For wolves this type of hunt through the forested terrain in blizzard weather was in their blood. His pack gathered around him, ready for action.

Wyatt sniffed the air. The breeze brought with it Colin’s scent. At least he was still alive. The hostage’s father had until tomorrow at midnight to deliver the goods in exchange for the life of his son.

The pack waited for his signal. They were hungry and anxious to feed. This was the most dangerous part. His men were strong and healed fast, but they were still vulnerable to gunfire. It would take a bear gun to bring one down, a likely event with the military grade rifles and machine guns. The last thing he wanted was to lose one of his men. His alpha blood protected him from bullets but he could be downed until his wounds healed. His other concern was that in their werewolf mindless state they could in the violent chaos kill the hostage. The only way to prevent an accidental killing was to mark Colin with his scent.

This meant he had to enter the cave first. Please, let him be blindfolded. The plan was to shift, tranquilize him and call the Chinook to pick them up. The copter had to arrive after sunrise. It would be impossible to explain his savage werewolf pack to anyone let alone someone who had gunners ready to fire at the enemy.

They had avoided the human path and stuck to the forest. Their paws silently patted the earth as they ran to their target. Fortunately, the enemy was well hidden; there had been no men to take down along the way. From their cave they could easily spot anyone walking up. Two of his wolf men were above the cave entrance. A guard dozed at his station with an AK-47 sitting on his lap. His hands were close to the mounted machine gun trigger. Another man, a much larger man slept at the cave’s opening, wearing a grenadier belt over his shoulder. Wyatt moved closer with the stealth and quiet of a wolf stalking his prey. He sniffed the air and then listened to the breathing inside. Five inside and one restless hostage. His wolves lay in the thicket, the gray and dark coats blending with the night. Their yellow eyes were beacons of ancient hunger.

Wyatt stood not less than a foot from the man he now identified as an Al Qaida operative. He nodded at his wolves. They lowered their gaze at their target, ready for the kill.

He hoped most of the others came out as soon as he caused the distraction. His job was to foam and look every bit the rabid wolf. On seeing his size, the gunner would immediately know he was no normal wolf. He growled, his teeth shiny daggers with drool foaming at his jaws. “Grrrr.”

The man woke startled. He yelled for the others and aimed the mounted machine gun.
In a flash Wyatt disappeared into the forest as a volley of bullets pierced the night stillness and shot through the trees. The others came out with their weapons. Their eyes searching for any sign of the wolf. Under the light of the moon they saw the yellow eyes of a few other wolves.

Wyatt howled. The baffled men spoke to one another. The two werewolves above leapt onto the first gunner and the big man. From the left and right two more moved in. Shots were fired but too late. Blood sprayed from their ripped throats, heating the wolves’ fur from the chilled air.

Wyatt entered the cave and found the tied up and blind-folded man cowering behind a makeshift curtain. He smelled like fear and shit. He lifted his leg and marked a line in front of the hostage. He then moved out to join his men. The enemy men were being torn apart.

Entrails, arms and hands littered the ground. One terrorist managed to hit a black wolf,
Garrett, with several bullets from an AK-47. Enraged, Garrett charged at the firing man and ripped his head off. The blood soaked werewolf growled a whimper and fell. He transformed back to his human form as he laid still, his eyes opened as if to glance one more time at the moon. The others dropped from feeding and gathered around him. They howled in deep sorrow.

More human than the others, Wyatt shed tears. His role as the dominant wolf was to protect his pack. He felt a pang of guilt and rage at the loss of the youngest member of his mercenary team. This was it. No more. He shifted back to a man, and closed his friend’s eyes forever. Though lost in grief, he knew they had to get ready, in a few hours the sun would rise and the wolves would once again become human. Riley, a big gray wolf, rested his head on Garrett’s shoulder. Wyatt patted Riley on his back and walked off to don his uniform. “Riley, stay with the boy. The rest of you, bury the bodies. I will bring in all the evidence into the cave before I blow it up.”

“Help me! I’m American,” was heard shouted from inside.

Wyatt took out the syringe and tranquilizer. First he had to find out what the hostage had heard. Keeping their lycan nature a secret was paramount. On other rescue missions the hostages believed they had a canine unit. The isolated mountains would certainly not help add credibility to his attack-trained dogs story. He gave his wolves a warning look and stepped in.

They lay next to Garrett and kept quiet.

Wyatt pulled back the curtains. He removed the rag off his eyes. Colin stared up at him with terror stricken eyes and then drew in an indrawn breath of relief. Had he heard the wolves? He turned on his flashlight and knelt next to Colin. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thank god. Sweet Jesus in heaven thanks man.” He was on the verge of sobbing.

Wyatt untied him. “Listen, I need to brief you before we get moving.”

Colin rubbed the rope burns around his wrists. “All I know is we were ambushed after their surface to air missile brought our copter down. I’m sure I can identify most of those assholes.”

“You won’t need to. We bagged them all.”

Colin made to stand up, but Wyatt pushed him back down. “I heard them being attacked by howling beasts, what the hell was that?” His eyes inspected Wyatt’s black uniform.

“You guys are special forces right?”

“Actually, the mission was too dangerous for the Navy Seals. We are a black ops unit.
Nobody knows we exist and we want to keep it that way. What you heard were our attack trained dogs.”

“No. Those were not dogs. My father shows Doberman Pinchers and believe me I’ve
heard them in vicious attack mode. Those howls came from wolves. Only not normal wolves but massive fucking horror movie wolves.”

Wyatt had been given orders by Romulus not to ever compromise their existence. If he did not convince the boy of his story, he would have no choice but to kill him. His alpha
instincts to protect his charge were in direct conflict to those orders. He looked at the bowl of gruel that lay next to Colin’s mattress. “Listen, your meal has been drugged with a hefty dose of a derivative of a strong local hallucinating powder.” He whipped out a small medical flashlight and shined it into his eye. “Hmm. Pupils are dilated.”

“My eyes feel okay.”

He gripped his shoulders and stared into Colin’s eyes with his deep baby blues. No man, no wolf could return such a stare. Only another alpha wolf would dare meet his eyes.

“I’m going to make myself real clear,” he drawled.

Colin averted his eyes; he slowly nodded while looking down at his feet.

“Your rescue is the result of a highly secretive black ops unit. We work on strict commission from the U.S. and U.K. government. We don’t exist. Those dogs you heard are a genetically bred half Siberian Husky and half German Shepherd breed that are trained to kill in our operations. The howling comes from the husky side. Damn dogs love to howl like a baying wolf.”

Still looking at the ground Colin rubbed his face. “Shit, drugged.” He glanced up with a twisted smile. “Thanks for rescuing me. Don’t worry, your secret is safe. I take it dad will give you a mondo reward.”

“Enough so I can give up this night job,” he winked. He took a vial and stuck the needle in it.

“Hey, whoa. What are you doing?”

“Tranquilizer to keep you calm and get needed sleep.”

“I don’t need to… Ow!”

Wyatt jabbed him with the needle. “Sorry. We can’t have you identifying my team.”

Colin rolled his eyes back and fell into Wyatt’s waiting arms.

Wyatt carried him out and laid him on the ground. The others sniffed the air but did not move close. Early dawn was approaching. He radioed in. “This is Druid Pack. Bison is down. Pick up at these coordinates.”