The Lost Lycan Queen

West Virginia

Present day

Ethan POV

A nippy gust whips my hair around, a flurry of autumnal strands obscuring my sight. The wind's howling melody signals the onset of winter. Soon, the landscape will be carpeted in soft, frosty white, an event I eagerly anticipate.

While deep in my seasonal musings, I crouch low amid the undergrowth, my eyes trained on a bunch of fellows huddled around a bonfire, their boisterous laughter and wolfish howls echoing in the chill. Unbeknownst to them, predators watch from the shadows.

A new arrival dashes out from a nearby hut, eager to join the banter. As much as my task here involves tailing these men, it turns rather tiresome. I find my thoughts straying to visions of pristine snow, a calming distraction from my duty.

"They're all rogues, every single one of them. Werewolves, to boot," Randy murmurs, interrupting my snow-laden daydream. I respond with a nod, although I barely register his words, too engrossed in my musings.

I had almost forgotten Randy was there, sharing the cold and boredom with me. While surveillance isn't exactly a riot, we're doing this for the greater good.

We're hot on the heels of a widespread rumor that's been scurrying around the county like an unchecked pandemic. The locals are all aflutter about a pack of oversized wolves terrorizing them. And there have been Lycan sightings. That cannot be tolerated.

The government body we work for, The Guard, dispatched us here with clear instructions: Observe. Don't engage. So, that's precisely what we do.

We persist in our surveillance, monitoring the rogues as their group swells to a hefty fifteen. Casually seated on tree stumps, they swap tales and guzzle beers, their time slipping away unnoticed.

"Why are we still hanging around? Let's move!" Randy's hushed voice is urgent, as Howard stealthily approaches from behind, having scoped out the camp from another angle.

The big fellow settles into the dirt next to Randy, waiting for my orders, his nostrils flaring as he sniffs the wolfish scent from the valley below.

I give my head a firm shake. "Hold on. We don't know if they're dangerous yet. Plus, they're not our primary target."

Randy grumbles at this. He, like us, thrives on the thrill of a skirmish but tends to get antsy. His mantra: take down first, interrogate later.

"These are rogue wolves. Odds are they're bad news," Randy mumbles, folding his arms and grumbling, "We should just launch an attack. Sooner rather than later."

"Innocent until proven guilty," Howard retorts.

Many rogues simply crave solitude and keep to themselves, much like many lycans who avoid large crowds. It's the wicked, pitiless rogues we're after.

Looking at my team, I appreciate our differences. Randy and Howard are poles apart, both in appearance and temperament. Where Howard is contemplative and reserved, Randy is impulsive, letting his emotions guide his actions.

Howard's a towering Jamaican, a solid 7-footer with long dreadlocks and brawny arms and shoulders. In stark contrast, Randy is a fair-skinned, dirty-blond guy.

"Uh, guys," Randy interjects, his gaze nervously scanning the camp.

That's when it hits me-the distinctive aroma of spice. My gaze dart around, seeking the source of the familiar scent that's always with me. The door of the largest cabin bursts open, revealing a hulking figure.

Lycan.

It wasn't just any old lycan. This was Rick, which practically guaranteed his boss wasn't far off. His icy blue eyes darkened and narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his platinum-blonde hair framed his face like a halo. Those chiseled features turned our way, his gaze scanning the woods like a predator on the prowl for his next meal.

"I'm getting the funny feeling our hide-and-seek skills aren't as top-notch as we thought," Howard wryly noted.

That's when Rick's face twisted into a chilling smirk. He had spotted us.

"Retreat. Now," I commanded. But my teammates were frozen, gawking at Rick as if hypnotized. Randy's mouth was hanging open wide enough to net a few flies. "Move it!" That did the trick, and we were off like rabbits chased by a fox, Randy grumbling and swearing about not confronting Rick head-on.

"Cowards," he scoffed, earning a sardonic snort from me. My long legs propelled me faster, darting between the trees.

Our final team member decided this was the perfect time to make his entrance, hurtling out of the woods to fall in step with us. Asher might be our weakest link, but you'd never guess it from his gargantuan ego. He carried a perpetual cocky grin, as if he were always privy to some inside joke.

"Did you see that guy? Looks like someone shoved a stick..."

"Shut your trap, Asher, or I'll do it for you," Randy interjected, cutting his younger brother short before pushing him.

We still thought of Asher as a kid, given he had shifted for the first time just a few weeks prior. Despite this, Asher was taller and bulkier than Randy.

I shook my head, shooting them a warning glance. This was serious. We were here to gather intel on the Red Alpha, the infamous terror of the shifter community. Concentration was crucial, which was somewhat ironic, considering I had been daydreaming about snow when I could've been sniffing out Rick.

We had a decent head start, and the wolves would need time to rally their forces and strategize. Werewolves were slower than us lycans, and Rick wouldn't dare attack our numbers on his own.

Shifting into our wolf forms would make us faster, but that would draw unwanted human attention. As the moon ascended and the sun vanished, its light bathing my fellow warriors, we headed for the populated town. With luck, we'd lose our pursuers before reaching it.

"That was Ryker, wasn't it?" Howard's solemn voice broke the silence.

"Know any other albinos with a rogue lycan resume?" I retorted.

"That means the Red Alpha is involved," Randy murmured, visibly shuddering. This revelation made Asher trip over a root.

"The Red Alpha!? That rotten..."

"Language, A!" Randy barked, earning a triumphant grin from Asher as he swiped his golden curls from his eyes, smearing mud across his forehead.

"Oh, boy. We're in deep now," Asher panted as he stumbled to keep up. "R.A. is sure to retaliate."

"No, The Guard will handle this. They only assign their best to cases like this," Randy snapped, clearly irritated.

The Guard, run by and for mythicals, kept us in check. Without them, there would be no laws, no consequences.

Our team, led by yours truly, worked under The Guard. Lycans usually worked best with their own kind, so our team was uniquely lycan. There were very few of us, so we were the only such team in all of North America.

We were still low on the totem pole but working our way up. I predicted that our commanding officer would prevent us from proceeding with this mission due to our relative inexperience. The Guard had been tracking the Red Alpha long before I joined.

"It's not fair! I want to give that albino a good kicking."

"A!" Randy's protest was almost a shriek.

If we weren't in the middle of a life-or-death dash, I might've laughed. Instead, I gritted my teeth as we headed back to headquarters.