(Luke POV)
The first scream splits the forest before the first blow ever lands.
It's not fear—it's rage.
Pure, feral, Shadowfang rage.
The northern treeline explodes into motion as wolves pour out of the darkness, eyes glowing red, bodies moving too fast, too wild. The ground shakes beneath their charge, and my wolf surges to the surface like it's been waiting its whole damn life for this moment.
"Form up!" I shout.
Midnight Pack snaps into motion instantly. Warriors shift mid-run, bones cracking, fur ripping through skin as massive wolves slam into formation. The air fills with growls, snarls, and the metallic scent of blood before the first clash even happens.
Then it hits.
Chaos.
I shift fully, the world snapping into sharper focus—sound, scent, movement amplified until it's almost overwhelming. Shadowfang wolves slam into us like a tidal wave, claws and teeth flashing under moonlight.
No strategy.
No finesse.
Just violence.
I tear into the first one that comes for me, shoulder-checking him into a tree hard enough to crack bark. He lunges again, feral and reckless, and I sink my teeth into his shoulder, throwing him aside.
"Too fucking slow," I snarl.
More come.
Always more.
Shadowfang doesn't fight to win—they fight to destroy.
I spot Malrik Blackthorn on the ridge above us, massive and dark, eyes burning with madness. He doesn't join the fight. He watches. Like a bastard king enjoying the slaughter.
Coward.
"Push left!" Soren's voice cuts through the noise.
I glance over to see him fighting back-to-back with two Midnight warriors, blood streaking his fur, movements precise and lethal. Kael Draven is farther up the line, holding the eastern flank like a wall.
We're holding.
Barely.
Shadowfang hits hard, but they're sloppy. Emotional. They overextend, and Midnight punishes them for it.
I barrel through two wolves, knocking one down and pinning him long enough for another Midnight fighter to finish the job. No hesitation. No mercy.
This is war.
My chest burns, adrenaline flooding my veins as the night stretches on. Time blurs. Minutes feel like seconds. The forest becomes a battlefield of broken branches, scorched earth, and howls that echo into the sky.
Then something feels… off.
Not here.
Not on this battlefield.
But in my chest.
The bond to Midnight flickers.
Just for a second.
I shake it off and keep fighting.
Focus.
A Shadowfang wolf lunges for my throat. I duck, twist, slam him into the ground and shove him away with enough force to send him skidding across the dirt.
"Is that all you've got?" I roar.
The answer comes in the form of Malrik himself finally entering the fray.
He hits like a fucking truck.
We collide mid-air, claws locking, teeth snapping inches from each other's throats. He's bigger than I expected. Stronger. But slower.
We crash to the ground, rolling through dirt and blood as we tear at each other.
"You should've stayed home, pup," Malrik growls.
I slam my forehead into his snout. "You should've learned to fight better."
We break apart, circling.
Around us, the battle rages, Midnight holding strong despite Shadowfang's numbers. My father appears briefly in my peripheral vision, fighting like the Alpha he is—commanding, brutal, unstoppable.
Pride flares in my chest.
I go at Malrik again, faster this time, forcing him back step by step. He fights dirty, biting low, raking claws across my flank. Pain flares, sharp and hot, but I push through it.
Pain is nothing.
Loss is everything.
A Shadowfang howl pierces the air—long, sharp.
Retreat.
They're pulling back.
Malrik snarls and leaps away, retreating toward the ridge with his remaining wolves.
"Coward!" I shout after him.
He turns once, eyes burning. "This isn't over, Vrenatta."
I bare my teeth. "It never is."
The forest slowly stills, broken only by labored breathing and low growls. Midnight Pack stands bloodied but unbroken, bodies scattered but alive.
We won.
But victory tastes wrong.
The bond flares again—stronger this time.
Something is wrong.
I shift back, breath ragged, heart hammering as Soren jogs toward me, human form already back, blood smeared across his jaw.
"We held," he says. "They retreated."
"I know," I reply, scanning the forest.
My wolf won't calm down.
Soren frowns. "What is it?"
"I don't know," I mutter. "But something feels—"
A sharp pulse slams through the pack bond.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Absence.
My head snaps south.
Blackstone Keep.
"Soren," I say slowly. "Check the southern link."
His eyes widen as he does.
"Luke…" His voice goes tight. "We've lost contact with two southern outposts."
My blood runs cold.
That flicker earlier.
That unease.
Nightblade.
Fuck.
"They're not supposed to be there," I say, already turning. "They're supposed to be watching Shadowfang."
Soren's face hardens. "Unless they weren't."
My chest tightens.
Mari Ventor's face flashes in my mind—cold eyes, sharp tongue, shadows clinging to her like she owns them.
Enemy.
Always an enemy.
"Recall the pack," I bark. "Now. We move south."
"But Shadowfang—"
"Isn't the biggest threat anymore," I snarl.
As Midnight regroups, dread coils in my gut.
Because while I was fighting monsters in the north—
Someone far more dangerous was slipping into my home.
And for the first time in my life…
I'm afraid I'm already too late.