(Luke POV)
The war room smells like ink, iron, and old blood.
I stand over the map, knuckles braced against the table, staring at Shadowfang's territory like it personally insulted me. Every line, every ridge, every cursed forest path is burned into my memory now. We've been studying it for days, memorizing how Malrik Blackthorn thinks, where he'll strike, where he'll pull back.
But no map can show betrayal.
No one in this room knows that.
Ronan Vrenatta stands at the head of the table, broad shoulders tense, dark hair streaked with silver under the lantern light. My father looks every inch the Alpha tonight—dangerous, focused, unyielding.
"We move at dawn," he says. "Shadowfang's northern scouts have been spotted near Frostbite Ridge. They're probing for weakness."
Soren Draven leans beside me, eyes scanning the map. "Which means they're getting ready to commit."
"Good," I mutter. "I'm tired of waiting."
Soren shoots me a look. "This isn't a bar fight, Luke."
"No," I reply coolly. "It's a war. And I'm ready to burn someone's kingdom to the ground."
Ronan's gaze flicks to me. "That's exactly the problem. You like chaos."
"I like winning."
A faint smile ghosts across my father's face. "Then you'd better be focused."
I straighten, dragging a finger along Shadowfang's borders. "They're expecting a frontal assault. So we won't give them one. We split the pack. Kael takes the eastern ridge. I take the southern forest."
Soren's brow lifts. "You want to lead the most dangerous route."
"Of course I do."
"That area is thick with ambush points."
"Which is why Shadowfang won't expect us to go through it."
Ronan nods slowly. "Risky. But effective."
I grin. "That's my specialty."
The meeting continues—formations, fallback positions, scout rotations. But my mind keeps drifting, dragged away from strategy by a dark-haired girl with a lethal stare.
Mari Ventor.
Nightblade's princess.
My enemy.
And for some fucked-up reason, the only person who ever makes me feel like I'm standing on a live wire.
Soren elbows me. "You're thinking about her again."
"Shut up."
"Not denying it," he notes dryly.
I scowl. "She's irrelevant."
"Sure she is."
The problem is, he doesn't believe me.
Neither do I.
Ronan moves toward the window, staring out into the night. "This war will change everything," he says. "If Shadowfang falls, Midnight will become the strongest pack in the realm."
"And Nightblade won't like that," Soren murmurs.
I shrug. "They already hate us. Nothing new."
Ronan's eyes narrow. "Hatred is one thing. Fear is another."
A shiver runs down my spine, though I don't know why.
Outside, the wind picks up, howling through the dark pines like a warning.
We should be watching every border.
We should be preparing for everything.
But none of us think to look south.
—
Later that night, I'm alone in the training yard, fists wrapped, shirt discarded, sweat slicking my skin as I pound the heavy bag like it personally wronged me.
Every strike is fueled by tension.
By anticipation.
By the echo of Mari's eyes in my mind.
Fuck.
I hit harder.
I don't know what she's doing right now. If she's training. If she's watching her borders. If she's thinking about me the way I shouldn't be thinking about her.
Because I shouldn't.
She's Nightblade.
She's danger.
She's war in a pretty fucking package.
Soren leans against the railing. "You're going to break that thing."
"Good."
He studies me. "You're off."
"I'm always off."
"No," he says quietly. "This is different."
I stop punching.
"Say what you want."
"You feel like something's coming," he says. "You just don't know what."
My jaw tightens.
The bond to my pack hums beneath my skin, steady and strong. Midnight is safe. Midnight is powerful.
That's what I tell myself.
But somewhere deep in my chest, my wolf shifts uneasily.
Like it knows something I don't.
—
Before dawn, the pack assembles.
Warriors line the courtyard, weapons strapped, eyes burning with anticipation. My father moves among them, offering words of steel and fire. My mother stands beside him, calm and deadly.
This is what we were born for.
Soren steps to my side. "Ready to be a hero?"
I smirk. "I was born one."
He snorts. "Try not to die."
"No promises."
As the gates of Blackstone Keep begin to open, a strange feeling grips my chest.
Like the world is tilting.
Like someone, somewhere, is about to pull the rug out from under everything I know.
But I don't look back.
I march toward Shadowfang.
Toward blood.
Toward fire.
Completely unaware that the real blade is already being aimed at my back.
By the girl who's about to ruin me.