Chapter 6 : THE ALPHA COMES — PART 1
Cormac arrived at dusk on the third day.
I watched him through a spotting scope from my elevated position—human form, walking up the main approach road like he owned the mountain. Which, until recently, he had. Tall, broad-shouldered, silver-streaked hair pulled back in a ponytail. He moved with the economical grace of something that had survived nearly two centuries of violence.
[TARGET ACQUIRED] [CORMAC — SKINWALKER ALPHA] [AGE: 183 YEARS CONFIRMED] [THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME] [KNOWN FORMS: WOLF, BEAR, UNKNOWN ADDITIONAL]
He walked past the arranged bodies of his subordinates without breaking stride. Didn't even glance at them. Cold. Either he hadn't cared about them, or he was too focused on the hunt to mourn.
Probably both.
"You killed my wolves." His voice carried across the clearing—deep, roughened by age, accent placing him somewhere in the old country. Scotland, maybe. Ireland.
I stayed hidden. Let the silence stretch.
"I can smell you, pup. Come out and face your death with dignity."
Dignity. Interesting word choice from someone who'd sent three subordinates to do his killing.
I stepped from cover, keeping fifty yards between us. My traps were positioned in a semicircle around the clearing—silver spike launchers hidden in the underbrush, triggered by pressure plates I'd spent hours calibrating.
"You sent them to kill me," I said. "Don't pretend this is about honor."
Cormac smiled. No warmth in it. His teeth were too white, too sharp—the smile of something that had been pretending to be human for so long it had forgotten how. "Honor is for creatures who can't afford to be practical. You understand that, don't you, pup? I can smell the blood on you. Not just my wolves. Others. You've killed before."
"So have you."
"Hundreds." He began walking closer, casual, confident. "Thousands, perhaps. I stopped counting around the time your great-great-grandfather was born. This territory has been mine since before the white men came to dig their holes in my mountain. And you think—what? That you'll take it from me because you killed three pups and set some clever traps?"
Twenty yards now. Ten more steps and he'd hit the first pressure plate.
"I think," I said carefully, "that you're old. Comfortable. You've held this territory so long you've forgotten what it's like to fight for something."
His smile widened. "Is that what you think?"
Five yards.
"I think you came alone because your pride wouldn't let you bring backup after I embarrassed you. I think you're so used to being the biggest predator in these mountains that you've forgotten there's always something bigger."
Three yards.
"And I think—"
His foot came down on the pressure plate.
The silver spikes launched from three directions—concealed tubes I'd spent two days positioning, loaded with sharpened silver rebar that should have turned him into a pincushion.
Should have.
Cormac moved like water. Like shadow. Like something that had been dodging death since before the industrial revolution. He twisted, flowed, danced through the spike pattern with impossible grace. One caught his left arm, punching through bicep and out the other side. He ripped it free without slowing, silver-burned flesh already steaming.
"Clever," he admitted. "Very clever."
Then he shifted.
The transformation was nothing like mine. No rippling transition, no gradual reshape. One moment he was a man with a bleeding arm. The next moment he was a bear.
Not a normal bear. This thing was massive—eight feet tall at the shoulder, fur the color of old iron, eyes burning with intelligence that no natural animal possessed. The ground shook when it landed on all fours.
[WARNING: ALPHA FORM DETECTED] [SPECIES: URSUS ARCTOS — ENHANCED] [MASS: APPROXIMATELY 1,400 LBS] [THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL] [RECOMMENDATION: TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL]
The bear roared. The sound wasn't just loud—it was physical, a wave of pressure that made my ears ring and my chest ache.
I shifted into my mountain lion form and ran.
Not away. Toward the secondary trap line. More silver wire, more spike launchers, a pit trap I'd covered with brush and filled with silver-treated stakes.
The bear followed. Faster than something that size had any right to be. Trees splintered as it crashed through the forest, taking the direct route while I wove between obstacles.
I hit the first wire trigger.
Silver wire sang through the air, wrapping around the bear's front legs. He stumbled—actually stumbled—and I felt a surge of hope.
Then he flexed, and the wire snapped like thread.
Oh.
The System helpfully updated its assessment.
[ALPHA STRENGTH: EXCEEDS MATERIAL TOLERANCE] [SILVER WIRE: INEFFECTIVE AT CURRENT GAUGE] [RECOMMENDATION: ALTERNATIVE STRATEGY REQUIRED]
I led him toward the pit trap. Jumped it cleanly—mountain lion agility finally paying off—and spun to watch him fall.
He didn't fall.
The bear stopped at the edge, one massive paw testing the ground. His eyes—human intelligence in that animal face—looked at me with something like amusement.
"Did you really think," the bear said, words distorted but comprehensible through that massive throat, "that I've survived this long by being stupid?"
He circled the pit. I circled with him, keeping distance, calculating.
[HOST VITALS: ELEVATED] [COMBAT OPTIONS: LIMITED] [ANALYSIS: DIRECT ENGAGEMENT INADVISABLE]
Direct engagement. Right. Because I'd been planning to wrestle a thousand-pound bear that shrugged off silver like mosquito bites.
The bear charged.
I dodged left. His paw caught my hindquarters—a glancing blow that still sent me tumbling. I rolled with the impact, came up running, but something was wrong. Pain lanced through my side. When I glanced down, blood matted my fur.
[DAMAGE ASSESSMENT: THREE CRACKED RIBS] [INTERNAL BRUISING: MODERATE] [MOBILITY: COMPROMISED]
The bear pressed his advantage. Another swipe. I ducked under it, claws raking his belly as I passed—but the thick fur and thicker muscle beneath turned my attack into a scratch. He barely noticed.
I was losing.
The realization crystallized with cold clarity. I'd planned for this fight. Prepared traps. Studied tactics. And none of it mattered because Cormac was simply better. Stronger. Faster. More experienced.
Think.
The bear cornered me against a rock face. Nowhere to run. His breath washed over me—hot, rank, triumphant.
"Any last words, pup?"
I shifted. Not to another land form—to my hawk shape. Wings spread, I launched upward as his jaws snapped shut on empty air.
[AERIAL FORM: ACTIVE] [ALTITUDE: 40 FEET... 60 FEET... 100 FEET]
The bear roared below, furious, impotent. He couldn't reach me here. Couldn't follow.
But I couldn't stay airborne forever. My ribs screamed with every wingbeat. Blood dripped from my talons. Eventually, I'd have to land.
Think. There has to be something.
I circled overhead, studying him. The bear form was powerful—devastatingly so—but it was also heavy. Mass that made him unstoppable in a straight line but cost him in maneuverability. When I'd dodged left, he'd overcommitted, taken two extra steps to correct.
Slow on turns.
My hawk eyes tracked his movements as he paced below, waiting for me to descend. Every step confirmed it. The bear was a battering ram, not a blade. Designed for overwhelming force, not precision.
That's the opening.
But exploiting it would require getting close. Getting close meant risking another hit. Another hit with cracked ribs might be the last thing I ever did.
Fear wrapped cold fingers around my heart. Real fear. The kind I hadn't felt since that first Skinwalker had pinned me down and torn into my shoulder two years ago. The kind that said you might actually die here.
Good.
Fear meant I was taking this seriously.
I climbed higher, letting the wind carry me in lazy circles. Buying time. Letting my mind work through scenarios while my body screamed for rest.
The mine entrance gaped dark in the mountainside. More silver waited in there—I'd seeded the tunnels with traps too, though smaller ones. Emergency measures.
If I could lead him inside, limit his movement, force him through narrow passages where that massive form became a liability...
[TACTICAL ANALYSIS: MINE ENGAGEMENT] [ADVANTAGES: CONFINED SPACE NEGATES SIZE DIFFERENTIAL] [DISADVANTAGES: LIMITED ESCAPE ROUTES] [SUCCESS PROBABILITY: 34%]
Thirty-four percent. Better than the zero percent I was looking at out here.
The bear had stopped pacing. He watched me with those too-intelligent eyes, patient now. He knew I'd have to come down eventually. He could wait.
But patience was a two-edged blade.
I folded my wings and dove.
The ground rushed up. The bear tensed, ready to strike. I pulled up at the last second, skimming over his head, talons raking across his eyes. He roared, swiped blindly—missed—and I was past him, arrowing toward the mine entrance.
Behind me, the thunder of pursuit.
The darkness swallowed me whole. Hawk form became mountain lion mid-stride, claws finding purchase on the slick stone floor. My ribs howled in protest. I ignored them.
The tunnel narrowed ahead. My first defensive line.
I spun to face the entrance just as the bear crashed through. His bulk scraped against the walls. Sparks flew where iron-reinforced fur met stone.
"Nowhere to run now," Cormac growled. "End of the line, pup."
I smiled. Blood on my teeth. Pain in my side. Fear in my heart.
"No," I said. "This is where it gets interesting."
And I triggered the first tunnel trap.
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