Darrians POV
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They came at dawn.
Not just Marcus.
Not just his filthy Bloodmoon pack.
Four others marched behind him—packs I hadn't seen gather in years. All of them hated me for something. Old grudges. Broken alliances. Challenges I'd won. Or wolves I'd buried.
I stood atop the southern ridge, the wind howling around me, cloak snapping at my back as I looked down at their army.
They'd brought thousands.
We weren't outnumbered.
We were nearly drowned.
Beside me, Axel cursed under his breath. "Marcus brought every pack that ever wanted your head."
"Then I'll give them a reason to take a shot," I growled.
Heather stood behind us, armored now—not the Luna robes of ceremony, but armor forged for war. Steel and leather hugged her frame, her scent calm but fierce, the steady pulse of her power humming beneath her skin. Her eyes met mine.
And for the first time, I knew she would not flinch.
I raised my hand. "Sound the call."
The great horn of Blackfang howled through the cliffs, echoing through trees and stone like thunder rolling in the gods' throat. All around us, wolves shifted. Swords were drawn. Our archers nocked arrows and waited for the signal.
"They thought I'd fall alone," I said low
. "Let's prove them wrong."
The first wave came fast—Marcus always preferred shock and overwhelm.
But we'd prepared.
I met the front lines in wolf form, tearing through enemies with claws slicked in blood, fangs ripping through fur and armor. My Beta fought beside me, Heather somewhere deeper in the fray, her aura like a pulse I could feel even through the chaos.
We pushed hard, but for every wolf we struck down, two more came to replace them.
By midday, the fields were slick with blood. Bodies lay in the snow—some ours, more theirs.
Still, it wasn't enough.
Marcus had brought too many.
From the treeline, a new howl rang out—one I hadn't heard in years.
My blood turned cold.
Rogan.
Alpha of the Ironclaw pack.
His wolves came like steel and shadow, crashing into our left flank.
I snarled and shifted back, shouting to the left side. "Reinforce the ridge! They're splitting us!"
Axel threw a signal flare. "We can't hold them like this!"
"Then we take their Alpha!" I roared.
But even as I said it, I saw Marcus—far back, guarded, shielded by at least two hundred warriors and flanked by Mikaela.
Mikaela.
My gut twisted. She hadn't fought beside me all day. She'd volunteered to coordinate defenses. I should've known.
Where the hell was she now?
I found Heather in the eastern field, surrounded by bodies. Blood streaked her face, her blade still glistening with fresh kill. She turned when she sensed me, eyes sharp and alert.
"They're pushing through the east ridge. They have more than we counted for," she said, breath quick but steady.
"I know," I muttered. "Marcus brought them all."
Her lips tightened, and then—"We need to split them."
I narrowed my eyes. "How?"
She nodded to the narrow pass near the eastern cliffs. "We pull back and let them follow. Their numbers will bottleneck. We can collapse it. Trap half their army."
It was risky. But it was brilliant.
I nodded once. "Do it."
She didn't wait for approval. She sprinted back into command, calling orders. My warriors obeyed. No hesitation.
They saw what I saw now.
Heather was a leader.
A Luna.
And maybe the only reason we still had a chance.
The next hour blurred in steel and screams.
Heather's plan worked. The pass collapsed, crushing a good portion of Marcus's soldiers. Their rear ranks panicked, giving us a window to strike back.
We hit them hard.
But victory never comes without a cost.
By dusk, the field was red and black. Howls of pain pierced the night.
My wolves were dying.
And we still hadn't reached Marcus.
I stood at the center of the field, chest heaving, blood slicking my arms. My wolf paced beneath my skin, furious and hungry.
And still—no sign of Mikaela.
I should've known better.
But when I turned toward the northern rise to regroup—
That's when I saw her.
Mikaela.
With a group of ten warriors.
Circling Heather.
Not fighting Marcus's wolves.
Fighting mine.
I felt my heart lurch.
"What the hell is she doing?" Axel snarled beside me.
"She's turning," I breathed. "She's betraying us."
My blood boiled.
My wolf surged forward.
I took off across the field, shouting orders to the warriors near me. "Protect Heather! Mikaela's turned!"
But I was too far.
And Mikaela?
She was already shifting.
Her claws out, fangs dripping.
Heather stood surrounded, tense, her eyes flashing as her wolf pushed forward.
And I knew—we were seconds away from something big.
From something none of us were ready for.