A Rival Pack Declared War, So I Claimed My Best Friend

The city exhaled a damp, late-autumn breath that clung to the brownstones of the Upper West Side. I kept to the shadows of the awnings, my senses on high alert. The usual urban symphony—the distant wail of a siren, the hiss of bus brakes, the murmur of a hundred conversations spilling from bars and restaurants—was a familiar backdrop. But beneath it, I listened for the discord, the wrong note. A footstep that was too heavy, a scent that didn't belong. Every night was the same patrol, the same low-grade hum of anxiety thrumming just under my skin.

Our territory was small, a handful of blocks carved out of a borough that didn't know or care that wolves walked its streets. And our pack was even smaller. Just five of us, a found family holding on by our fingernails in a city where bigger, hungrier packs were always testing the borders. The responsibility for their safety sat like a physical weight on my shoulders, a permanent knot of tension at the base of my neck. I was the pragmatic one, the planner. The one who had to think three steps ahead because one wrong move could get us all killed.

I reached the corner of 86th and Amsterdam, our usual meeting spot. Leaning against the cold brick of a closed bookstore, I shoved my hands in my pockets and scanned the street. The smell of roasted nuts from a street cart warred with the less pleasant aroma of an overflowing trash can. A few minutes later, I caught his scent—a hint of sweat, grease along his long hair, and hot cinnamon from the gum he chewed —just before he rounded the corner.

Caden jogged the last few feet, his easy grin a stark contrast to the grim set of my own face. "You look like you're personally holding up the sky, Ty."

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the warmth pouring from his body. His dark curls were damp, plastered to his forehead from his run. "Someone has to," I said, the corner of my mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. "You'd probably let it fall just to see what would happen."

"Might be interesting," he shot back, his eyes sparkling with the restless energy that always seemed to simmer inside him. He nudged my shoulder with his. "Ready to run it off?"

The simple, familiar gesture eased some of the tightness in my chest. This was the one part of the night I didn't dread. The easy camaraderie with Caden was the only antidote I had for the constant pressure. With him, I wasn't the alpha or the protector. I was just Tyrese.

"Let's go," I said, pushing off the wall. "Try to keep up."

He laughed, a rich, genuine sound that cut through the city noise. "In your dreams, old man."

We fell into an easy rhythm, our footsteps pounding a steady beat on the pavement as we headed north. The city blurred into a stream of yellow taxi lights and glowing storefronts. We didn't talk much, just ran, the shared movement a language all its own. Caden was a more fluid runner, all loose-limbed grace, while I was more grounded, my pace a metronome of contained power. For fifteen blocks, the only thing that mattered was the burn in my lungs and the solid presence of my best friend beside me. It was a fragile peace, and I knew it.

We were nearing the edge of Central Park when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it. Probably just a spam text. It buzzed again, insistent. And a third time. A cold knot formed in my stomach. No one from the pack ever called three times unless it was an emergency.

I slowed to a stop, pulling the phone out. The screen lit up with Leo’s name. Caden stopped beside me, his easygoing expression vanishing as he saw mine.

"What is it?"

I answered, putting the phone on speaker. "Leo? What's wrong?"

"Tyrese?" His voice was thin and shaky, punctuated by a pained gasp. The sound of traffic was loud in the background. "They—they cornered me. By the station."

"What station, Leo? Where are you?" My voice was level, betraying none of the ice spreading through my veins.

"125th," he choked out. "The A train entrance. I was just coming back from my class."

Caden went rigid beside me. A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest, too deep to be entirely human. His scent sharpened, the sweat turning acrid with rage. "Who did?" Caden demanded, his voice a low growl. "Who cornered you?"

There was a wet, sniffling sound from Leo's end. "Bronze Talons. Three of them. They knew who I was. They… they said this whole side of the park is theirs now. Said we needed to learn our place."

The words hung in the cold air between us. This wasn't random. It was a message, delivered on the ribs of our youngest member. 125th Street. That was deep in our territory, a clear and deliberate incursion.

"Are you hurt badly?" I asked, my mind racing.

"My ribs… I think one might be broken. They just shoved me around, mostly. Kicked me a few times when I was down. I'm hiding in an alley off Broadway now."

"Stay there. Don't move. We're coming," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. I ended the call and met Caden’s eyes. They were blazing, the fury in them so hot it was almost visible.

"We find them," Caden snarled, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "We find them and we tear their throats out for touching him."

"First, we get to Leo," I said, my voice firm. I grabbed his arm, my grip tight. "Then we figure out what comes next. Panicking won't help him."

He jerked his arm, but didn't pull away. He knew I was right, but the wolf in him was screaming for blood. I could feel it, a palpable heat radiating from his skin. This wasn't just an attack on a packmate. It was a crack in the pavement of our world, and we both knew that if we didn't fix it, the whole street would crumble beneath our feet.

We got Leo back to the den, his face pale and bruised, a fresh wrap tight around his torso. The rest of the pack, Maya and Jin, hovered with a quiet, simmering fury. After making sure Leo was as comfortable as he could be, Caden and I left. His earlier explosive anger had cooled into something far more dangerous: a silent, focused resolve that mirrored my own. There would be a reckoning, but first, we needed to know the enemy’s movements.

We tracked them west, the stale scent of the three Talons a clear trail in the damp night air. It led us away from the residential streets and toward the abandoned warehouses and decaying piers that lined the Hudson. The air here was different, thick with the smell of river water, rust, and rot. The moon was a sliver behind heavy cloud cover, casting the industrial skeletons around us in deep shadow.

“They’re close,” Caden breathed, his voice a low murmur beside me. “The scent is fresh.”

He was right. It clung to a chain-link fence, sharp and territorial. We followed it down a narrow service alley between two brick buildings. And then we heard them. The sound of low laughter and the crunch of boots on gravel, coming from the far end of the alley. More than three. A full patrol.

“Shit,” I mouthed, grabbing Caden’s arm and pulling him back. There was nowhere to go but a deep, recessed doorway, a dark alcove half-filled with overflowing trash bags. It was our only option. I shoved him in first and pressed in behind him, pulling the warped wooden door as closed as it would go.

The space was impossibly tight. The sour smell of garbage filled my nostrils, but beneath it, Caden’s scent was overwhelming. My chest was crushed against his back, my arms pinned at my sides. I could feel the hard muscle of his shoulders, the line of his spine. His body was running hot as usual, and the heat soaked through my jacket and into my skin. Our thighs were pressed together, his jeans rough against mine. I tried to control my breathing, to make myself smaller, but there was nowhere to move.

The footsteps grew louder. I could hear their voices clearly now, arrogant and coarse. Caden was utterly still in front of me, a predator waiting. He shifted his weight, just a fraction of an inch, and his head turned slightly. His breath, warm and moist, ghosted across the sensitive skin of my neck, just below my ear.

A jolt went through me, sharp and electric. It had nothing to do with the danger outside. It was a sudden, unwanted tightening in my groin. My own breath caught in my throat. My heart, already pounding from the adrenaline of the hunt, kicked into a different, heavier rhythm. In the suffocating darkness, with the enemy just feet away, all I could feel was the solid, powerful body of my best friend pressed against me. All I could smell was him. The feeling was so intense, so out of place, that it momentarily eclipsed everything else.

I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing myself internally. Not now. Not ever. This was a weakness, a fatal distraction. I forced the feeling down, smothering it with the cold, hard reality of our situation. These wolves wanted to destroy our family. They hurt Leo. That was all that mattered. I focused on the sound of their retreating footsteps, letting the anger wash over the flicker of heat, turning it back into ice.