A/N:
WARNING: crappy ending in this chapter, it will be fixed for sure later.
UPDATE: In case you're looking for the fixed ending, most of it has been. The part about Asher's father is all I have left to revise.

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Miles away, screams rip from canine and human lungs alike, bloodcurdling rattles that rustle the birds from their trees, a chorus of wings flapping in the sky.

They're coming closer.

Snarls that a normal wolf would fail to pick up my ears hear perfectly through the trees.

Watching from the balcony, the light of dawn grows brighter with every passing minute, but the storm-bearing clouds keep the sky a dark grey. Any moment the atmosphere would give, and the battleground the wolves fight upon would turn muddy.

With every clap of thunder, and every distant streak of lightning, the stirring in my stomach strengthens. When those clouds break, my humanity will want to go with them.

The air is cool, crisp with feel-good feeling cool weather notoriously brings.

From downstairs the aroma of food reaches my nose. Not the metallic scent of blood and death, but the scent of something actually fit to be on a table. Something that wouldn't give salmonella to someone without the anatomy of an animal.

For a peaceful moment I allow myself to almost feel normal, despite the writhing primal instincts wishing to be released. Listening to leaves shake in the growing winds, feeling the breeze blow on my cheek, and forgetting that there are thousands upon thousands of people who wish for me to be dead.

Even the sounds of savage slaughter miles away are somehow disregarded. Ignored until the shattering of glass and snarling of wolves riots below me.

Adrenaline driving me, my legs swing themselves over the balcony, half a heartbeat later my body drops off of it.

A sliding glass door is shattered, a gaping hole in its middle just large enough to fit a full-grown werewolf.

My canines rise from my gums, the pressure from the shifting of my teeth familiar. My fingers bear razor sharp weapons that dig into my palm, a trail of red forming before the wound heals itself.

Finding entry where the intruder did, I follow his tracks, blood smeared on the wooden floor like a massacre.

Disgruntled yells come from within the house. Running through the dinning room glass crunches beneath my bare feet, biting at the flesh. My pace doesn't slow, a constant speed heading straight for where the sounds of struggle are resonating from.

In the kitchen pots are strewn across the tiled dark mahogany floor, claw marks carved into the wood. The walls are splattered a bright red in places, tainting the chestnut color of the paint.

In the corner Asher's back faces me, his legs straddling a something hidden from view by his shoulders.

"Asher," it isn't a question, rather an announcement of my presence. He stills after hearing me, his body turning rigid. 

"There," a stranger's masculine voice growls with an ominous air, "There she is. Just who we came for."

To accompany the voice, a head of dark brown hair perks up from in front of Asher, half of his face stained crimson and his left eyelid shut.

"Shut your fucking mouth before I-" Asher doesn't get to finish his threat before the half-faced enemy interrupts.

"You don't wanna know the truth, Alpha?!"

He makes his words as loud as he can without turning them into a scream. His mind is clearly driven mad by pain.

He knows his life is over. What can he lose by making himself heard?

"Do you really know your precious little rogue there, HUH?!"

The back of his head is slammed into the wall, his jaw held roughly by my Lifeblood's hand.

Asher's response is far from composed, anger coursing through his voice, "You don't know a damn thing about her!" With every passing second his head is pushed farther into the cotton candy-like insulation, a cracking sound beginning to come from his bottom jaw.

The blood-covered boy's last words are slurred and likely painful due to his now broken mandible. Yet he somehow manages to get out just enough to screw me over.

"You're not her only Alpha, Octavian! She's not as pure as you think! She's taint-" his sentence ends in the gurgling of scarlet liquid in his throat and the ripping of tendons in his neck.

Asher's hand, painted sanguine, comes away from his victim. A piece of a ridged, worm-like tube the color of flesh is grasped in his palm.

His trachea.

Gore fills my nose, the stench of bodily gases leaking from the fist-sized hole under the boy's chin overwhelming. His chocolate brown eyes are lifeless and glassy, never to blink again.

Asher rises to his full stature, his face littered with small red specks and his eyes glowing like melted honey.

"What was he talking about," his tone is far from kind, as cold as the wind that blows over the tundras. But through his calm anger, I can hear the insecurity.

He has a right to know.

Yet I still don't wish to tell him. To speak a memory as shameful as that.

My hand reaches up, my thumb smearing the maroon specks on his cheekbone, "Remember your promise, Asher."

His fingers wrap around my wrist, holding it there and refusing to lose my touch. His forefinger runs over my knuckles, memorizing every dip between the bones and every scratch and cut long-healed; past wounds that only he could ever sense, a Lifeblood's intuition.

For a moment his eyes study my face, a deepness held within them that my own fail to read into. For once in my life, I'm the one stuck on the outside of the barrier.

Gently my arm is pulled above his shoulder, my feet following his indications to come closer. Encircling him around the abdomen my fingers loosely lock at his back.

In acceptance of my embrace his hands take my head in his hold gently, leaning his forehead against mine.

"Only you."

His trust causes my throat to tighten in ecstasy, and my stomach to knot into a ball of nerves.

A distant scream peaks my attention, a chorus of snarls and breaking glass following through the trees, closer than ever before.

On an impulse, I break away from Asher, finding my way back to the shattered door to take in the environment that the house shields us from.

Leaves whip in masses among the treetops, the harsh rustling of them emitting a sound similar to that of static. Thunder all but shakes the ground, the clouds rolling above as if heavy with ink. Through the hole of the glass, the wind chills my skin, blowing my hair wildly yet failing to move me an inch.

From behind me my shoulder blades are pulled into a solid wall of muscle, arms wrapping around me at my biceps and restricting my movement.

Asher tilts his neck so that his jawline is pressed against my hair and his lips are directly behind my ear.

"Please don't go."

His plea is taken directly to my heart, stilling my body on its own accord rather than just his hold. For a few seconds I let no answer come from my mouth, causing Asher to only tighten his restricting hug.

I lean my head back on his collar bone, indifferent to whether or not I fight for his pack. That decision I leave to him, "Are you going?"

His answer doesn't come, his hesitation hanging in the air. He caught the implication behind my words; if you go, I go.

Another scream is heard, muffled by the untamed, forceful breeze, yet clear to even human ears now.

"They're getting closer," I state what's obvious, barely above a mumble.

From my view at his collarbone, his blue eyes stare at the raging trees beyond the cracked and shattered glass.

"You weren't suppose to know about it," Asher says from behind me, self-disappointment laced in his tone.

"And you weren't suppose to have to fight," I break from his grasp, his arms falling to his sides. My hand slides the door open, shards of glass cracking in its track at the bottom.

Striding through the grass and towards the cries of the chaos, I walk straight into the storm.

My last words before taking on the form of a wolf are a whisper, taken by the wind and likely to never reach Asher's ears. "Nothing turns out how it's suppose to."

My paws beat down in rhythm on a worn forest path, seeming to lead straight to the telltale sounds of inevitable death. A black wolf accented in dark grey follows in my exact tracks, paw by paw until he runs at my side.

It takes us only a minute to shoot out of the tree line into what appears to be a town square, our claws clicking on the colored, decorative tiles that covered the ground. Houses of every style surround the clearing, all of them tainted in some way; red paint messily smeared on the white siding, splintered and busted porches, shattered windows.

In the focus point of all the houses, anarchy lives in great strength-- wolves tearing each other apart, ripping fur from hides, flaying flesh like paper, and shedding blood with no mercy.

The desire to kill.

That's all I can see, all I can hear, and all I can smell. No reason lies within any of their skulls, no purpose. Only a single objective; to tear their enemy apart and to make it as painful as possible while doing so.

Before my eyelids can even even blink, Asher is gone from my side and a large-framed lump of grey fur is barreling towards my side.

On immediate response my body rolls over, my hind legs coming up to positioning their claws directly against the soft skin of my assailant's stomach before he can touch me. The force of his own lunge only adds to the impact of his underside meeting my claws.

Thick liquid spills on my chest as his body is launched overhead by my legs, turning my fur wet and sticky. Without allowing him the time to heal, I'm to my paws and over to where his bleeding form lays on the ground.

Gripping his pelt between my teeth, his wound is ripped larger, a piercing squeal leaving his mouth and pink, rope-like organs sliding onto the tiles in a flood of crimson.

My eyes searching the hostile, occupied crowd, I fail to find Asher, panic wrapping its gnarled fingers around my neck.

A heavily built male wolf lands lightly on his feet at my side, his fur a dark brown color with white accents around the paws, eyes, and face. A light grey mutt leaps right after him, aiming to plow him into the ground.

In the same instant that the male wolf jumps aside, my legs contract, lunging my body right into the opponent's ribs. It takes mere seconds for me to find its throat and rip apart its jugular.

My gaze lifting from my victim's seeping wounds, the shape of human bodies in the corner of my eye calls out. In the distance I spot Asher's father-- pinning a naked stranger to the ground with the grip of death around his airway.

With concentrated listening, my ears pick up the words coming from his moving mouth, "TELL ME WHO? WHY?"

The boy, younger looking, isn't long to answer the former Alpha, and his reply is one I rue.

"Ciane pack! We followed a girl's tracks-" and then his life is taken, his neck cracked and body turned limp.

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A/N:
Ahhh!!! Sorry for the late update! I've been so busy outside Wattpad (against my own will and wishes) that I've been deprived quality writing time.

The ending, like I said, is lazy and terrible and I personally hate it. I'm finishing it just now and I'm dead tired so my brain is functioning as good as a moldy jellybean.

I will be fixing the ending though, please remember that in case you're not satisfied with how it is then come back later for it to be different and more than likely better.