Chapter 40:
Then, through the chaos, I saw him.
Silas.
He emerged from the treeline like a shadow made flesh, his presence radiating malice. His eyes locked on mine, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he stepped forward.
“Elara,” he said, his voice carrying over the din of the battle.
“Still playing leader, I see.”
I bared my teeth, stepping toward him.
“And you’re still hiding behind your wolves, Silas. Too afraid to fight your own battles?”
His grin widened.
“Oh, I’ll fight. But first, I’ll watch you fall.” He lunged, and the world narrowed to the clash between us. His strength was overwhelming, his movements a blur of claws and fangs as we fought. I countered each strike with one of my own, but it was clear he wasn’t here to win — he was here to distract.
The realization hit me like a blow, and I broke away, my gaze darting toward the southern border. The sounds of battle there had grown louder, more desperate. Silas saw my hesitation and laughed, the sound chilling.
“This is where it ends, Elara,” he said.
“Your pack, your leadership—it all dies here.”
I growled, the rage burning through me like fire.
“Not today.” With a surge of strength, I lunged at him, driving him back with a series of strikes that forced him onto the defensive.
He retreated, his grin faltering as I pressed the attack. But the battle was far from over.
POV: Dante
The forest blurred around me, the chaos of battle unfolding like a storm I couldn’t escape. Shadows darted between the trees, the snarls and howls of combat crashing against my ears. My lungs burned with every breath, and my muscles screamed in protest, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. If the southern flank fell, Silas’s wolves would tear through the camp like wildfire, and everything we had fought for would be lost.
“Merris, fall back and regroup with Toren!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the cacophony.
Merris’s head snapped toward me, her eyes wide but focused. Blood and dirt streaked her face, but she nodded, her movements quick and deliberate as she disappeared into the trees. Around me, the younger wolves fought with desperation etched into every strike, their claws slashing wildly at the rogues pressing in from every side. They were holding on, but just barely. Too barely.
A rogue lunged at me from the shadows, its snarling jaws snapping inches from my throat. I twisted, my body moving on instinct, and drove my claws deep into its side. The wolf let out a strangled yelp as I slammed it to the ground. It didn’t get back up.
“We need reinforcements!” a young wolf cried, his voice breaking under the strain of panic.
“They’re coming!” I shouted back, though the words felt like a lie as they left my mouth. Where are they?
I turned just in time to meet the next wave of rogues head-on. Their snarls formed a brutal symphony of violence that sent adrenaline flooding through my veins. My claws slashed through fur and flesh, the movements precise but fueled by desperation. For every rogue I brought down, two more seemed to take its place.
Where was Elara? Where was the signal?
The eastern flank was holding, but only just. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood, and the ground beneath my feet churned into a muddy, red-streaked mess. Beside me, Osric moved with brutal efficiency, his claws tearing through the rogues who dared to challenge him. His face was a mask of determination, every strike calculated and deadly.
“Elara!” he called, his voice cutting through the din.
“We need to pull back! We’re spread too thin.”
