Michael had grown comfortable in his role as lone wolf. After his discharge, he lost the only pack he ever knew. Adjusting to civilian life after 15 years in a war zone is hard, but as a werewolf, it was even worse without a pack to return to. So he rather stuck to what he knew best. Killing people. As a lone alpha with excellent combat and sharpshooter training, he was never lacking jobs. It would probably surprise people how often someone needed someone to disappear, preferably six feet under, to never be found again. Or so he thought. Then he heard of Kai Makoa walking the earth once more, raised from the dead, and he couldn't believe it. People he killed stayed dead. Michael prided himself in that, so he made it his mission to find the old bastard. And this time he wouldn't leave behind enough for a resurrection. Following his prey lead him to Beacon Hills, a small town that felt far too quiet and idyllic to be real. There was something simmering there, and one of those things was the man they called the ghost wolf these days. Finding him was trickier than expected. He no longer smelled the way he used to, the strong musk turned to an almost intoxicating sweetness that made Michael's head spin. With every breath he drew while spying on the other, he felt more addicted to him, the thought of killing him this time for good slipping his mind slowly. After a few days, he finally saw his chance, following the other wolf into the woods. He knew that there was a real possibility that Kai knew that he was followed, maybe he even knew that it was his killer who was right there, watching every breath he took. Arriving at a clearing that was deep in the woods, he stopped, thinking it was about time to reveal his face.