Transmigrated: The Lycan King's Pet-Chapter 366 Narrow Escape

The rogues were only seconds away from picking up Micah’s scent, and one of them lowered his head closer to the ground, inhaling deeply as his steps slowed with growing suspicion.

Micah pressed his back harder against the tree, forcing his breathing to steady even though his heart was pounding so loudly that it felt like it might give him away. Every muscle in his body was tight, ready to run, and ready to die if it came to that.

Then, without warning, the rogues froze. Their eyes turned distant, empty, as if a silent command had reached them through the forest.

One by one, they lifted their heads and turned in the same direction, they let out a blood-chilling howl, and they began moving toward the western part of the forest, their footsteps fading as they disappeared into the darkness.

Micah remained where he was for several long seconds, unable to move, and unable to believe what had just happened. He was just seconds away from death.

When the sounds of their footsteps finally vanished, he let out a deep breath he did not realize he had been holding, his shoulders sagging slightly as relief washed through him. His hands trembled as he slowly stepped out of his hiding place, his eyes scanning the area to make sure he was truly alone.

The air around him suddenly became thick and heavy, and before he could react, a massive brown rogue stepped out from behind the trees. The rogue was huge, almost twice Micah’s size, with fur darkened by old blood and scars. Its eyes burned fiercely, wild and full of hunger, and they locked onto Micah with terrifying focus.

Micah’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened with fear and horror.

His body reacted instinctively, and his body began transforming, his bones cracked and his fur covered his skin as he transformed into his wolf form. Even then, his hind limbs trembled as he faced the rogue, whose lips curled back to reveal sharp, bloodstained teeth. The rogue snarled low and deep, the sound vibrating through the forest like a warning of death.

Before Micah could think of a way out of the situation, the rogue launched at him.

The impact sent Micah crashing into the dirt, the force knocking the air from his lungs as claws raked across his side. He fought back with everything he had, snapping and clawing, rolling across the forest floor as leaves and soil scattered around them. The rogue was stronger, heavier, and far more experienced, but Micah was desperate, and desperation made him ruthless.

Their snarls echoed through the forest, mixed with sharp yelps and the sound of flesh tearing against flesh. Trees shook as they slammed into them, branches snapping under their weight. Pain burned through Micah’s body, but he refused to give in, knowing that if he fell, everything would end there.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the forest went quiet.

Micah lay on the ground, his body aching and broken, blood pooling beneath him as the pain finally caught up. He had shifted to his human form, gasping as the cold air hit his bare skin. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to move, his hand pressing against something warm and thick.

The rogue lay motionless beside him, and its eyes were empty and lifeless. Micah’s hand wrapped around the hilt of a knife buried in its fur, with covered blood. His fingers shook as he pulled the knife free and stared at it, red dripping from its tip.

With a weak growl, his grip tightened around the handle of the knife again, then he drove it down again and again into the rogue’s body, yelling out in raw frustration and hatred with each strike.

"Die, Die, Die!!!" His voice echoed through the trees until it finally broke, leaving him gasping and shaking.

He slumped back, staring at the knife in his hand. Relief washed over him as he realized the truth. Without the silver blade, he would not have survived, and he was grateful, Allison had given him the blade.

"Thank you, Alpha," he whispered hoarsely.

Knowing he could not leave any trace behind, Micah dragged himself closer and smeared the rogue’s blood across his body, forcing himself to endure the stench and the pain. Once he was certain the scent would mask his own, he shifted again, his injured wolf form limping as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

Every step hurt, but he pushed forward, moving slowly in the opposite direction the other rogues had gone. The forest swallowed him whole as he disappeared into the darkness.

.........

(Ember POV)

The air grew tense as the werewolves’ elders sat on the same side of the table and across them, the witches sat. Seraphina sat in their middle. Although no words were uttered, the hostility in their eyes was enough to make the room heavy.

The door connecting to the room opened wide and Damon stepped inside with an aloof expression, his hands folded behind his back.

His eyes swept over the witches before landing on me. The moment his eyes landed on me, they had a strange look of relief.

The air in the room became more tense the moment Damon sat on his chair.

"Alpha Damon, thank goodness you are here. One of your people has killed one of us, this wasn’t the safety you had promised us." One of the witches stated, her eyes glaring daggers at me.

"Oh, is that so?" Damon began. "Yes, I promised you all safety because of the contract I had with your queen. But aren’t you all a little too bold? You came into my pack and one of you tried to kill my mate, isn’t that betraying everything your queen had tried to fight for?" His eyes slowly changed shades to silvery grey.

The room suddenly became as if someone had opened the window to the North Pole.

Seraphina lowered her head, before raising it again. "I know we are in the wrong, but we witches have our own way of dealing with traitors, we only wanted the chance to show this alliance that we are loyal."

"Really?" Damon drawled. "Now that the traitor is dead, there is no point in any further discussion. If the traitor was out to kill, then I see no wrong in her dying at the hands of the person she tried to kill." His eyes narrowed down on Seraphina.

Meanwhile, Alaric’s nails buried deep in his flesh, his eyes darting back and forth between Damon and Seraphina.