June 2021, Wyoming mountains
Five years into the Were War and his pack was losing.
Derek Johnson leaned back into the chair of his office in the caverns and ran his fingers through his black hair. He read the message again... the attack on the airfield had failed, and all members of the assault team had been lost. He didn't really need the paper, he had felt through his Alpha bond each of the twelve deaths as they occurred, their presence suddenly gone leaving only a hollow emptiness in his soul. One more bond remained, but it was in agony as the torture continued, begging for death that would not come. He sent his love and comfort down the bond, knowing that Alex would gladly die to protect the pack, but he was helpless to stop it. It was a feeling he getting used to, the tears and the anger slipped away a little quicker each time as his soul hardened further. Looking back, he couldn't believe how the fortune of the Johnson Pack had changed. When the Were War started, his pack numbered over five hundred, prosperous and happy with thousands of acres of land backing onto to national parks and forests. He was 21, third son of respected Alphas in the western states and his whole life was before him.
His parents and his two older brothers were killed in the first bombing, and so the mantle of Alpha fell to him and his new mate Amanda. Derek never expected to have to take on such responsibility so soon, he always thought that his parents had a hundred years ahead of them during which he could learn at their side, and his older brother Dave was being groomed for the job. He felt the loss of his parents at the same time the rest of his pack shifted their alpha bond to him. They needed him, despite his own grief, so he buried it deep in his soul and moved on. He had Alpha blood but never wanted all the responsibility that came with his calling. He wanted to curl up with his grief, but the Pack came first. Always the Pack.
Amanda calmed him down and helped him through those dark days, urging him forward as they evacuated their former home for the mountain hide. She was his rock. She was his life.
The attacks had continued, and new births had stopped. Their wolves knew they were at war and the females stopped going into heat, it was too dangerous to be laden with child. Things didn't get better, either. The military had discovered that werewolves in human form could be detected using UV light to see the retinas that didn't change back to fully human form. What had been meant to give them a vision advantage became their downfall. Very quickly it was too dangerous to venture into town, as there was a "shoot on sight" order for weres. The people had been so panicked that you didn't even see big dogs around if they weren't leashed.
Now the Pack numbered barely a hundred, most of those children and widows. The years had been hard on his warriors. So many good people gone, and those that were left had nowhere near the skills or fighting ability of those already lost. He was now sending young teens into desperate battle for their own survival. The failed attack was a desperation move to stop the air patrols that kept them pinned down.
"I'm sorry, Alpha." Before he could respond, the searing pain of another lost bond rent his soul as Alex was finally succumbed to the torture. The tears fell freely as he focused on the painting on the wall. It was of his family on the day of his mating, all smiles and promise of a life together in their eyes. It seemed like forever since then, and there was no promise anymore. Only survival mattered.
He looked around the rest of his 'office' in a small room off the main cave they had taken refuge in. It was a far cry from the wealth and stature of the manor that used to house the main Pack. The manor had been a massive structure of lodgepole pine and glass, with twenty bedrooms and a huge communal dining hall. It had been the center of Pack life, housing the Alphas and their family, the Betas and administrative functions. Without warning, dozens of fighters and bombers attacked at dawn. There wasn't enough time for the families to make it outside. It had collapsed on itself shortly after the first 500 pound bombs had slammed into it as the sun rose on that August day. What the explosions didn't take, the fires did. Only a handful of survivors, and not much had been recovered from the building. If it wasn't for the fireproof safe in his father's office, they would have lost everything. The safe under the rubble contained the Pack archives, birth records and computers detailing the Pack investments. Without the cash, the Pack wouldn't have been able to take advantage of the enemy's lack of organization to escape and fortify the caves they were now in. His parents had been wise to have a fallback plan, the cave structure was well hidden and extensive, and had been kept stocked with enough food and supplies to last them for a year.
As Next Alpha, it all became his responsibility. Seventy two of his Pack were killed that day, including most of the command structure. Another fourteen chose not to go on, their mates had been killed and with no pups to anchor them they lost themselves in their grief. The entire pack felt their sorrow and tried to offer comfort, but it was too much. Their only comfort would be to join their mates in death, knowing they would have a chance to be together in their next lives. They shifted to wolf form and howled their loss before leaping over cliffs to their deaths.
If Amanda hadn't been in heat, and if they hadn't gone out to that remote cabin in the next valley for their first attempt at having pups, they would have been killed in the dining hall just like everyone else. The only other survivor from his family was his younger sister Renee, who was sleeping over at a friend's cabin away from the main compound.
There hadn't been time to do anything but grab and go what they could. Before the fires were out, his scouts reported a column of troops and armor approaching from a few miles away. He ordered his pack to shift and run, up into the mountains and away from the smoking ruin of his home. He didn't look back, they had to make the hiding place by morning. The guilt ate at him as he led the Pack away; guilt that he survived, guilt that his family hadn't protected their Pack, and guilt that their dead remained where they had fallen. He knew that without the bodies being consumed by flame, their souls would not be released to return again. As soon as they were out of sight, he asked for volunteers to stay behind for pyre detail. The funeral detail would have to hide for three days, watching as the soldiers dug through the ruins in search of any more clues as to their whereabouts. Eventually they left and the dead were piled and cremated. The pack could smell the smoke from the pyre from three mountains away as they howled their grief to the moon.