Greg's Point of View
The moon hung low in the sky, big and silver, like an old eye staring down at me.
I had Batista slung over my back. His lifeless arm kept swinging over my shoulder, smacking against my side with every step. I had to stop for a moment, huffing, hands on my knees.
I wasn't just carrying a dead man. I was carrying everything that was left of loyalty, brotherhood, and honor in this cursed place.
As I walked deeper into the woods, branches scraped my arms and face, and the wind howled like it knew the Alpha of our pack was gone. I had one thing on my mind — get Batista to the old spot and lay him to rest where no one would find him. Not Dan. Not Victoria. Not their bloodthirsty dogs.
Every few steps, I had to pause and catch my breath. But I kept going, pushing one foot in front of the other. The memories came flooding in.
Eric.
