---
The ancestral estate of the Luphanne line stood like a scar on the northern cliffs—gray stone, towering walls, and iron gates sealed by old runes. It was both fortress and prison.
Alaric hadn't returned in years.
Not since that night.
He stood before the gate now, cloak soaked in stormwater, his presence met by two sentries. They stiffened as they recognized him, and one opened the door without a word. Word of his return had likely reached the elders already.
But he wasn't here for them.
He was here for his father.
---
The halls were cold and silent, despite the grandeur—golden wolf crests, tapestries of battles long forgotten, portraits of bloodlines etched into history. His mother's likeness still hung in the central corridor—Lady Arthelia, the Last Alpha. Her silver eyes glinted with life, though she had been gone for over a decade.
Slain in the Council Purge.
Alaric's fists clenched at the memory.
"Still brooding over ghosts?"
The voice echoed from the stairwell above. Alaric looked up to see his elder brother descending slowly, hands tucked behind his back.
Rheon Luphanne.
The golden son. Born pureblood. A full-blooded werewolf, untouched by hybridization. He had inherited the title of Beta after Arthelia's death, but he'd always craved more. The title of Alpha. And with Alaric's birth as a hybrid, Rheon's status had been challenged.
"You look tired," Rheon said, stepping closer. "Fighting your little rebellion wearing you down?"
"I didn't come to fight you," Alaric replied.
Rheon smirked. "Shame. I've been waiting."
Alaric brushed past him.
"Father's in the east wing," Rheon called. "Good luck getting through his stone heart."
---
The eastern wing was dimly lit, lined with the smell of old books and burning sage. Alaric walked through the corridor, past silent guards who avoided his eyes.
Then he entered the high chamber.
His father sat in the chair by the hearth, back straight, eyes on the fire.
Thorne Luphanne.
Once a legend on the battlefield. Now an echo of iron—scarred, unmoved, unbending.
"You returned," Thorne said without turning. "A shame it wasn't in chains."
Alaric stepped closer. "Varen is building an army."
"I know."
"He's planning to wake Selene's second vault."
"I know that, too."
Alaric's jaw clenched. "Then why are you doing nothing?"
Thorne finally turned.
His eyes were steel.
"Because it is not our war."
Alaric stepped forward. "He killed your allies. Destroyed entire bloodlines. Mother died because of what the Council started, and now he's continuing it!"
Thorne's voice dropped low. "Your mother died for the Council. She bled for a cause that was already crumbling. And you're making the same mistake."
"No," Alaric said. "She believed in something. You… you abandoned it."
Thorne stood slowly. The room trembled with his presence.
"She believed in legacy. Order. You believe in chaos."
"I believe in justice."
"Justice?" Thorne sneered. "You turned your back on the family. You allied with vampires. You turned Virella."
Alaric didn't deny it.
"She chose it. I didn't force her."
"You made her like you," Thorne said. "You've always wanted to create your own kingdom. That's why you hate Rheon. Why you couldn't be just one thing."
"I hate Rheon because he's weak behind his pride," Alaric snapped. "And I didn't ask to be a hybrid."
Silence.
Then, Thorne said, "And yet… you survived."
---
Alaric stepped back, breathing hard.
"I came here to ask for help," he said. "Not approval. We need warriors. The vault is waking, and Varen is ahead of us. We don't stop him now—there won't be a kingdom left to fight over."
Thorne turned back to the fire. "Why should I help a son who defied my blood? Who aligned with the one that broke our pack apart?"
"Because if you don't, Rheon will inherit ashes."
A pause.
Then:
"Take what you need. I'll send you fifty of our finest. But this changes nothing between us."
"I never expected it to," Alaric said.
As he turned to leave, Thorne said one final thing:
"Your mother would have been proud. And terrified."
---
Later that night, Alaric stood in the garden beneath the moon.
His grandparents approached—Lady Ysara and Lord Rukor, both werewolves of the old ways. His only real family left in this place.
Ysara took his hands.
"Your mother knew this day would come," she said softly. "She always feared Varen. Even when he was a boy. She saw the hunger in him."
"She wanted peace," Alaric whispered. "But all I seem to find is war."
"Sometimes peace is won with blood," Rukor said, stepping beside him. "Not through power, but through sacrifice."
Alaric looked up at the stars.
"How much more do I have to lose?"
---
The next morning, before he returned to Virella's camp, he paused in front of his mother's portrait one last time.
"I'm doing this for you," he said. "And for her."
He closed his eyes.
Virella.
He hadn't seen her since the battle. Not really. Not alone.
She had kissed Callum.
It shouldn't have mattered. But it did.
---
Elsewhere – In Virella's camp
Virella stood alone on a cliffside, the wind tugging at her cloak. Her shoulder was healing thanks to vampire blood, but her mind was restless. Callum had gone to scout the north. Rian was recovering. The rest trained.
But her thoughts were with Alaric.
Not just because of the war—but because she had seen him hesitate. Not strike Varen. Not speak when Callum kissed her. Not speak when she needed him.
He wasn't a stone. He just wore armor to keep from shattering.
A crunch behind her. She turned.
It was him.
"You came back," she said.
"I had to," he replied.
She stepped forward. "You're bleeding."
He looked down. "Family things."
They were quiet for a long moment.
"You kissed Callum," he said finally.
She blinked. "That's what you want to talk about?"
"No," he admitted. "But it stuck."
She crossed her arms. "I don't belong to either of you."
"I know."
"Do you?"
He stepped closer. "I'm not here to win your heart. I'm here to fight beside it."
That softened her.
"You did a reckless thing turning me," she said.
"I'd do it again."
They stood close now, breath mixing in the cold air.
"Do you still care about me?" she asked, quietly.
"Enough to fight this war with everything I have," he said. "Enough to leave if it meant keeping you safe."
She looked at him for a long time.
Then, slowly, she leaned in.
This time, she kissed him.
It was short. Sharp. Certain.
When she pulled back, her eyes burned gold and silver.
"We're not done yet," she said.
"No," he agreed. "We're just getting started."