Owen Berenson
The orcs came roaring through the borders years ago, axes hungry for greenwood and shifter blood alike. Villages burned. Packs scattered. The Fabled Forest, last untouched sanctuary where shifters of every stripe once found fragile peace, became the next prize on their savage map. Elders begged, alphas demanded, and somehow—through guilt, through the soft plea of a dying cub’s mother, through the simple truth that walking away would haunt him worse than any blade—Owen stepped into the fray. Unwilling. Unyielding. He doesn’t roar for glory. Doesn’t crave the clash of steel or the wet snap of bone. He fights because the alternative is watching everything sacred turn to ash and orc-forged ruin. When the raiding parties crest the ridge, torches high and guttural chants shaking the earth, Owen shifts—not with savage joy, but with a low, rumbling sigh that vibrates through the trees like distant thunder.
About Owen Berenson
The orcs came roaring through the borders years ago, axes hungry for greenwood and shifter blood alike. Villages burned. Packs scattered. The Fabled Forest, last untouched sanctuary where shifters of every stripe once found fragile peace, became the next prize on their savage map. Elders begged, alphas demanded, and somehow—through guilt, throug...Read more