Rejection on the Full Moon (Rejection Series) Chapter 17

"Get him!" Angry shouts sound behind me as I race through the night, howls from those who shifted into wolf form hot on my trail. But tonight is a successful night of looting. My legs carry me past houses, the window curtains opening as wolves peek out to see what the commotion was about. It's just a normal night of looting, as usual. Soon, the safety of the trees comes into view, and the notion that I will be back into neutral territory brings sweet relief. Lately, the Blood Moon Pack has been laying traps for me, and many have become faster, but none could keep up with my speed, both in human and wolf form. No one in this pack is my match, and it sucks not having a challenge to face as you can only grow stronger in the face of danger or a challenging situation, and that is what I need to be—stronger.

The sweet scent of the forest surrounds me, my body dodging the densely packed trunks as twigs snap behind me with the pursuit of the pack. But I am a trained Tracker, and the forest is my domain. With quick footwork, I increase my speed and leap towards a tree. The moment my feet connect to the trunk, I quickly push off towards another tree, going higher and higher until I find myself on a strong, sturdy branch. Without losing momentum, I keep pushing off branch after branch using the tree highway to my advantage. As a Tracker, my greatest skill is my balance and ingenuity at finding the fastest way to our target. Why dodge the trees when you can use them as a path? As my friends in high school used to say, I have mad ninja skills.

A loud crash below me has me stopping in my tracks to peak down at the forest floor. Apparently, the idiots in charge of capturing rogues fell into their own pit trap they set up. Better them than me, though.

"Where did he go?" A deep voice roars into the night as a man catches up with the group, rage simmering in his voice. Some wolves were trying their best to help their pack members out from the deep trap. Their pursuit of me halted due to their own stupidity. You would think a warrior would be smarter than a tracker, but nope. Most were all brawn and no brain. Many wolves were running back and forth from where they lost sight of me to the large tree that I took shelter in, in an attempt to catch my scent, but the thing is, once a tracker reaches the tree canopy, their scent would be harder to find as it would barely linger in the air.

I couldn't help but chuckle and enjoy the show of wolves scampering around like ants as a man orders them about. He was strong, but not one I would want to fight with yet, definitely an Elite member. He's maybe a Head Warrior or Tracker, possibly a Beta. Leaning against the trunk, I grab the Ziploc bag full of cookies I stole from their pack house kitchen and settle down in the dark. The wolf in charge continues to bark out orders as wolves scatter in different directions, hoping to catch me. After thirty successful raids, I no longer felt surprised by their lack of coordination.

"Beta Christian, we have a problem." A high-pitched voice shouts out. Moments later, a lanky teenage wolf in shorts crashes through the bushes, his face red with exertion and dripping with sweat. The teen must have been in the middle-of-the-night training because his build screams Tracker. A skinny body with long legs and a tall six-foot-five frame made the ideal frame for a Tracker. It is clear that this teen is new as a Tracker. His stamina is low with how out of breath he is, and he pants in between his words.

"There are Soulless chasing the Alpha. We were doing a training session with the pack link closed, and they came out of nowhere." The teen stutters, collapsing onto the ground with exhaustion. This is bad news to the pack. The fact that a trainee was sent to get help meant that the Alpha is seriously injured.

"Where are they?" The Beta asks. The sound of urgency in his voice is bright and clear. I train my hearing onto the two considering I would need to figure out the way home. No one wanted to deal with Soulless. Soulless was what the werewolf community called wolves who have lost their mind. Their eyes were bloodthirsty and dull as if they no longer had a soul left in their body. They were wolves who had lost their soulmate either in a tragic accident or through rejection, or they were kicked out of their pack. In the end, they become rogues and lose their humanity until they are nothing but rabid beasts whose bodies decay until they smell like death and are close to the end of their life. The more crazed the Soulless is, the less humanity they have until their blood is nothing but black foul tar. Soulless were notorious for killing and slaughtering wolves without restraint, even killing those in the small groups they form. The difference between the Soulless and I is that I still held my humanity and held onto the hope that I will find my second-chance mate and live the life I always wanted. Yes, being rejected hurt like hell, but being able to live my life without worry or ridicule is something I cherished.

"We were training by the north border. They should still be there now." The teen's words cause my blood to freeze as anxiety take hold of me. The north border of this pack is close to where my home is. If the Soulless took out the Alpha, there are one of two directions they could escape to. They could either continue onto the territory and kill innocent wolves or turn around and chance upon where I live and destroy the house I have been working hard to improve. I decide to rush past the group of wolves searching for me, not bothering with the loud sounds cause by hopping from branch to branch, hoping to rush to the site where the Soulless were. I wasn't too concerned with the Alpha of this pack as my livelihood and house were more important to me.

The path I took through the forest led me out of pack territory and into neutral territory to check on my house, happy to see that no one had been there since I left and that everything is still intact. This meant that the Soulless have not reached my house yet. Leaving the duffle bag in the kitchen, I run upstairs to take off the clothing I wore when raiding and switch to the Tracker outfit I had. It was an Iga Hakama Flat Hood Ninja suit with exceptionally lightweight black Damascus steel armour that only high-ranked Trackers were given in any pack. The all-black attire blends into the night perfectly but is still lightweight and flexible to be able to manoeuvre and fight in. Lastly, I grab my cherished throwing knives from Serena and Axel before leaving my house in search of Soulless. If the teen's dishevelled and exhausted form is any indication, then they would be hard to deal with.