Chapter 29:
“They say the western border’s the weakest…”
“What if we’re not ready?”
Their fear was palpable, each whispered word a reflection of the doubt I couldn’t afford to show.
As I approached the Alpha’s house, I found Dante waiting for me on the porch. He leaned against the railing, his posture relaxed, yet his sharp eyes scanned the shadows, as if expecting trouble at any moment. The faint moonlight caught the hard lines of his face, making him appear almost carved from stone.
“You feel it too,” I said, coming to stand beside him. He nodded, his gaze never leaving the treeline.
“Something’s coming. It’s too quiet out there.”
The unease between us didn’t need words. We both knew Silas wouldn’t wait forever. And when he did strike, it wouldn’t be subtle.
A sharp howl split the air, distant but unmistakable. My heart seized at the sound, slicing through the night like a blade. Before I could think, I was running toward it, my body moving on instinct. Dante was right beside me, his movements as swift and purposeful as my own.
The forest blurred around me, the ground a patchwork of shadow and moonlight. My breath came fast, and with each step, the distant snarls and growls grew louder. We reached the western border just as chaos erupted.
Wolves clashed in the darkness, their forms tangled in a blur of teeth and claws. Silas’s rogues were fewer in number than I had expected, but their attack was precise, targeting a weak point we hadn’t anticipated. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy tang of disturbed soil. Patrol wolves were scattered, their formation broken as they tried to fend off the ambush.
Osric was in the thick of it, his claws flashing as he drove a rogue to the ground. Nearby, Lyle and Merris fought back-to-back, their movements coordinated but frantic.
“Form up!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the noise.
“Hold the line!”
Dante surged forward like a force of nature, barreling into the fray. He moved with a fluidity that was both calculated and wild, each strike deliberate and devastating. I watched as the younger wolves rallied around him, their fear melting into determination as they followed his lead.
I threw myself into the fight, my claws slicing through the air as a rogue lunged at one of our wounded. My strike landed true, and the wolf fell with a yelp, retreating into the shadows. I turned just in time to see Osric beside me, his muzzle streaked with blood but his eyes blazing.
“They’re testing us,” he said, his voice rough from exertion.
“This isn’t the full force.”
“I know,” I replied, scanning the chaos.
“But we can’t let them think we’re weak.”
More rogues emerged from the shadows, their howls echoing as they pressed the attack. It was clear now—this wasn’t just an ambush. It was a statement. Silas was sending a message, and he wanted us to bleed.
The pack responded with ferocity, their movements growing more coordinated as we pushed the rogues back. Dante’s presence was like a beacon, his commands cutting through the noise with an authority that rivaled my own. I couldn’t deny the effect he had on them—and on me.
When the last rogue finally fell, silence descended once more, broken only by the heavy breaths of the wolves around me. The clearing was littered with the wounded, the ground marred with deep gouges and streaks of blood. The pack had held the line. Barely.
Osric approached, his expression grim.
“We lost two,” he said quietly.
“And three more are too injured to fight.”
My stomach clenched, the weight of those losses pressing down like a stone. I forced myself to stand tall, to project the strength my pack needed.
