Welcome to my new story. This is a (very) Alternate Universe story and I will twisting much and keeping little. It's based on canon events but it IS NOT a canon story. If you read Once we were Kings then I should warn you that this is something else entirely. It is a much darker story featuring violence and slash, so if this doesn't sound like your thing then you should probably click the X now.
If you're still with me...I hope you'll enjoy!
S. Meyer owns all things Twilight.
Sharp claws slash and shred the thin nylon of the tent.
For a split second it is as if time stands still.
All he can hear is the heavy thump-thump of his heart, the blood and adrenaline gushing through his veins like a deafening roar.
Tatters of fabric flutter in the wind like tiny, white flags.
Then, there is only chaos. Screams fill the air as they pounce in an angry snarling blur of fur. Biting, slicing, decimating. Blood drips from razor sharp teeth. Bones crack under the weight of too-huge paws. There are pieces of flesh flying through the air, and no more screams.
In the moonlight the blood looks nearly black, and the coppery tang of it hangs heavy in the air.
It's his first kill.
He feels sick to his stomach. It's impossible for a wolf to throw up, but that's the sensation that's washing over him as he stands and surveys the devastation around him.
The other wolves don't appear disturbed and they continue to rip and tear, the noise of bodies being torn apart filling his ears with revulsion.
In his mind he can hear their thoughts; they're high on the bloodlust as they succumb to the most basic, visceral part of their animal nature. It's fevered and frenzied - savagery in its purest form.
They don't feel any remorse. In fact, he thinks they even enjoy it.
Catching his thoughts, the largest wolf in the pack turns, watching him menacingly with cold, yellow eyes.
He carefully makes his mind blank, and then lowers his head, closing his eyes as he buries his muzzle in the still-warm entrails of the dead hiker.