Areya's POV
The night smelled wrong.
Areya caught it before the scouts even came running, something sharp carried on the wind, beneath the pine and smoke. Not blood, not yet, but tension thick enough to curdle the air.
Her patrol captain skidded into the clearing, breathless.
"Alpha… there are shadows on the ridge. His men. They're watching the border."
Her men shifted restlessly, already itching for violence. Some growled under their breath, low and eager. They were young, most of them, hungry to prove themselves against the wolves of Blackthorn.
Areya straightened, pushing down the flare of rage clawing at her chest. "How many?"
"Two dozen at least."
A muscle in her jaw tightened. Two dozen warriors. That wasn't just a patrol. That was a message.
"Hold position," she ordered, voice clipped. "No one crosses without my word."
Her Beta, Daren, leaned closer, voice low. "It's bait, Alpha. They want us to charge."
Her eyes narrowed toward the ridge, where shadows shifted between trees. "Then I'll go see for myself."
Daren stiffened. "You shouldn't…"
"Shouldn't?" She cut him a look sharp enough to draw blood. "This is our land. I won't let them stalk it like vultures while I sit behind walls."
The argument ended there. No one dared push further.
---
By the time she reached the border, the torches were already burning. Blackthorn warriors stood in formation, their silence louder than any war cry.
And at the center, as though the forest bent around him…Kera.
Her hand tightened around her blade, a ghost of fire racing through her veins. His presence was like a storm cloud, heavy, inevitable. He didn't move, didn't call his men forward. He simply watched.
Areya stepped into the clearing, every muscle coiled.
"You've crossed the line one time too many."
Kera tilted his head, calm as if she'd simply disturbed his evening walk.
"Your border shifts every time your wolves grow restless."
Her sword sang free, silver in the torchlight.
"Step back, or I'll redraw it with your blood."
A ripple ran through his men. His lips curved, not quite a smile.
"You always speak of blood, Alpha. Tell me…does it silence your ghosts, or feed them?"
Her chest tightened, rage a living thing inside her.
"You don't get to speak of my ghosts."
This time she didn't wait. She struck.
---
Steel crashed. Sparks flew. Her blade bit his shoulder, and she smiled, cruel and sharp.
"You bleed like any other man."
His gaze locked on hers, steady, infuriatingly calm.
"And yet you hesitate like none."
The words stung, burrowing under her fury. She shoved harder, snarling, "I don't hesitate. I choose."
They circled, swords and words both sharp.
"You think every blade raised against you is mine," Kera said, voice low. "But ask yourself…who gains from this war?"
Her laugh was bitter. "You do. The man who slaughtered my family. The shadow in every nightmare."
Something flickered in his expression, gone too fast to name. "If I were the monster you believe," he said softly, "you'd already be dead."
The admission stole her breath more than the fight. She hated how steady his voice was, hated how her chest tightened at the sound.
She swung again, harder, desperate to bury the heat rising in her throat. But Kera didn't strike to kill. He caught her blade, shoved her back, then… lowered his weapon.
"You want vengeance, Alpha?" His voice carried just enough for her men to hear. "Keep trying. But remember, your every strike cuts closer to the truth."
Then he turned, cloak dragging through dirt, leaving crimson in his wake. His warriors followed, silent, disciplined and withdrawn.
---
Her men erupted behind her. Cheers, howls of triumph.
"We drove them back!"
"They'll think twice before crossing again!"
But Areya didn't join. She stood frozen, sword still slick with his blood, yet her heart thundering with something that didn't taste like victory.
When she returned to camp, the council awaited…her Beta, her elders, the warriors who thought they understood war.
"They're testing us," Daren said. "We should strike before they regroup."
"No," one of the elders countered. "He withdrew. That means weakness. Hold ground. Force him to show his hand."
Their voices clashed around her, but none of them heard the words still lodged in her skull.
Every strike cuts closer to the truth.
Areya sat in silence, her blade across her knees, her reflection warped in the crimson still clinging to the steel.
For the first time in years, vengeance didn't feel clean.
It felt dangerous.
---
The clan roared like a victory feast.
Voices rose, steel clanged in celebratory rhythm against shields. Her wolves howled into the night, a chorus of triumph that rattled the bones of the valley.
And yet…she couldn't breathe.
The noise grated against my ears, a mockery of what gnawed at my chest. Her blade was still red, her hands still steady, but her heart refused to call this a win.
"Alpha."
Daren's voice broke through the din, calm but firm, a hand resting lightly on his waist. He didn't smile like the others. His eyes studied her with quiet weight, searching.
"They've scattered back over their line. You gave us strength tonight."
She forced her chin high. "Strength doesn't leave questions behind."
He frowned. "Questions?"
She didn't answer. Not here, not with ears twitching and eyes always watching.
Instead, she stood, cutting through the crowd like a knife through cloth. Cheers followed me, as she passed, warriors bowing their heads in reverence. To them, she was untouchable. To her, she was drowning.
By the time she reached her tent, silence was a blessing she tore into like air after choking.
The blade lay across her knees, torchlight flickering against the blood drying dark on steel. His blood.
Kera's.
Her grip tightened until the leather hilt bit my palm. She should have felt satisfaction. Justice. But instead, his words gnawed like teeth at her skull.
Every strike cuts closer to the truth.
The truth. What truth? That he wasn't the monster she'd made him in her mind? That maybe…someone else had fed the fire that burned her life to ash?
No. She slammed the thought down, crushed it beneath the weight of memory. Her parents' faces. The fire. The smell of charred flesh that still haunted every breath. His treacherous smile and face.
And yet… if he truly wanted me dead, why had his blade stayed his hand?
She hated that question more than any scar.
---
The council gathered by midnight.
"Strike now," one elder urged. "Press them while they bleed."
"Madness," another snapped. "The Ashthorns thrive on rashness. We wait, hold ground, force them to reveal themselves."
She listened, chin propped against my hand, while the fire crackled and spat between us. They spoke of war like it was a chessboard, pieces to be moved, sacrifices to be tallied.
But none of them had looked Kera in the eye tonight. None of them had heard the steadiness in his voice when he spoke of ghosts.
And none of them knew how it rattled her.
"Enough." Her voice cut clean through the chamber. "We will not be baited into their war games. We hold the border. If they want blood, they'll pay for every drop they spill."
A murmur of approval. Agreement. Yet some eyes lingered, sharp and measuring, questioning my restraint.
Let them question. She had enough ghosts to silence without adding her own pack to the pile.