-MAGNUS-
The dim glow of the fire in the Shadowclaw packhouse cast ominous shadows as Magnus stood across from Rowen. The room was filled with alphas from other packs, all murmuring in discontent at the strained alliance. Rowen, smug and overconfident, leaned back in his chair, his sharp tone cutting through the room.
“This is my pack, Magnus,” Rowen sneered. “You’re here because I allowed it. Remember that.”
Magnus’s expression remained eerily calm, his dark eyes fixed on Rowen. “Your pack?” he said softly, almost conversationally. “And yet, it is my strategy, my rogues, and my alliances that have brought us to the brink of war. Without me, you are nothing more than a territorial pup, growling over scraps.”
Rowen shot to his feet, his wolf surging beneath the surface. “Careful, Magnus. You forget who you’re speaking to.”
Magnus didn’t flinch. Instead, he took a single step forward, his voice dropping to a low growl that made the entire room tense. “No, Rowen. You forget who you’re speaking to.”
The silence that followed was heavy with anticipation. In a blur of movement, Magnus shifted, his massive wolf leaping over the table. Rowen barely had time to react before Magnus’s powerful jaws clamped down on his throat, silencing him forever. The room erupted into chaos as the other alphas scrambled to their feet, but none dared intervene.
When Magnus shifted back to his human form, he stood over Rowen’s lifeless body, blood dripping from his hands. He reached down, his movements calculated and cold, and severed Rowen’s head with one swift motion.
The alphas stared in stunned silence as Magnus placed the severed head on the centre of the table. His dark gaze swept the room, daring anyone to challenge him. “This is what happens to those who forget their place,” he said coldly. “Shadowclaw is mine now. The army is mine.”
Victor, sitting stiffly at the far end of the table, clenched his fists but didn’t speak. The Shadowclaw Luna let out a choked sob, her eyes wide with horror as she stared at her mate’s head. Magnus turned to her, his expression void of sympathy.
“Your mate is dead by my hand, Luna,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather. “And if you don’t pull yourself together, you’ll join him. Is that clear?”
The Luna’s body trembled, but she nodded slowly, swallowing back her grief.
Satisfied, Magnus barked orders to prepare for the march on the palace. “We leave at dawn. Three days, and the King’s reign will end.”
-LUNA ELISE-
As Magnus turned his back, his focus already on the impending battle, the Luna’s expression shifted. Beneath the mask of compliance was resolve. That night, while the camp was consumed with preparations, she slipped away into the shadows, her only thought on reaching the palace and warning the King. But first, she decided, release all her mates political prisoners from the cells.
The air in the cells was damp and suffocating, thick with the stench of decay and despair. Elise’s steps faltered for only a moment before she pressed on, her lantern casting eerie shadows on the cold stone walls. Her time was running out. The Alpha was dead, his blind ambition brought to an end, but Magnus’s enforcers wouldn’t take long to claim the packhouse and everything within it.
She reached the cells, and the sight of the prisoners stopped her breath. Gaunt faces turned toward her, bruised and bloodied but still holding flickers of defiance. Some didn’t even stir as the light reached them, their hope long extinguished.
“Luna?” A voice, cracked and dry, called out from the darkness.
She stepped closer, her voice firm. “Yes, it’s me. The Alpha is gone, dead. Magnus’s wolves will come for you next unless we leave now.” Her gaze swept over them. “I need you to trust me.”
Her words sparked a ripple of confusion and hope. The largest prisoner, Toran, a warrior who had defied the rebellion, pushed himself to his feet, though his movements were stiff with exhaustion. “You want us to escape?” he asked, disbelief colouring his tone.
“I don’t want you to,” Elise replied. “You’re going to. Now help me get these gates open.”
Without hesitation, Elise tossed the keys to him, and Toran began unlocking the cells. The metallic creak of the doors echoed like a warning through the narrow corridor. Elise glanced nervously over her shoulder, the sound setting her teeth on edge.
As the prisoners spilled into the corridor, her eyes caught on a figure in the farthest cell. A young man lay crumpled against the wall, his dark hair matted with blood and his face barely recognisable under the swelling and bruises.
She rushed to his side to check his condition.
The boy stirred weakly, his swollen eyes struggling to open. “Luna?” His voice was faint, and each word sounded like it cost him dearly.
“What happened to you?” Elise’s voice cracked as she knelt beside him.
“I… tried,” he murmured, his breathing shallow. “To stop him…. He found out…” His words trailed off, ending in a cough that made his whole body shudder.
Toran crouched beside her, his jaw set in a grim line. “He’s in bad shape, Luna. If we don’t move now—”
“We’re not leaving him,” Elise said fiercely. She tore a strip of fabric from her dress and pressed it to the gash on the boys side, her hands trembling. “Shift and carry him. He’s going to the palace.”
Toran nodded and shifted into his hulking grey wolf. Carefully, the injured boy was secured onto his back, groaning faintly as the movement jolted his battered body.
“Luna Elise.”
She turned to see an older rogue prisoner, clutching her arm. The woman’s face was pale, her expression haunted.
“What is it?” Elise asked, though her heart sank at the look in her eyes.
“It’s Isabelle,” the woman whispered, her voice barely audible. “Magnus… he killed her in our camp. Said she was too much of a liability.”
The words struck like a blow, knocking the breath from Elise’s lungs. Her knees buckled, and she reached out to the wall to steady herself. Her daughter. The hope she had clung to, that Isabelle had escaped, shattered in an instant.
“No,” Elise breathed, her voice trembling.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said softly.
Elise forced herself to stand, her grief hardening into cold determination. She straightened, her voice sharp and steady. “We’ll mourn later. Right now, we survive. For Isabelle. For Rowen. For all of us.”
Elise led the group through hidden paths away from the packhouse, the forest closing in around them. Toran’s wolf carried the young man, who drifted in and out of consciousness, his bruised face slack with exhaustion. The others shifted and followed, their pawsteps silent on the forest floor.
The scent of Magnus’s enforcers reached her first. Bitter and sharp, it sent her heart racing.
“We’re splitting up,” Elise said through the mind link. “Toran, take him and the others to the palace. Stick to the shadows. I am going to draw them off”
“Luna—” Toran began.
“Go! That’s an order” she snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Toran nodded, his grey wolf disappearing into the trees with his cargo and the others. Elise turned and started to make noise.
She darted through the underbrush, crashing through leaves and snapping branches. Elise’s red wolfs lithe form darting through the trees. The snarls of Magnus’s wolves grew louder, and Elise pushed herself faster, her mind racing with strategies for escape.
She didn’t make it far however before Magnus’s wolves caught up, surrounding her in a dark clearing. Elise’s wolf stood in the centre, her fur glinting in the moonlight as she bared her teeth.
A mans figure stepped out of the shadows, his voice a cold drawl. “Ah, Elise. It’s almost a shame you’ll die here. You’ve always been a… charming nuisance.”
Magnus.
Elise snarled, her eyes blazing with fury. She crouched low, ready to spring, canines glinting.
——
The night fell silent as Elise lay under the branches, throat ripped out. She was dead but the prisoners were free.
-TORAN-
The gates of the palace groaned open as dawn’s light crept over the horizon. A small group of wolves staggered through, their movements slow and weary after days of relentless travel. Their clothes were torn, their faces hollow with exhaustion and pain, and every step looked like it cost them dearly.
At the centre of the group, a hulking wolf carried an unconscious figure tied carefully to his back. The boy’s limp body swayed with the wolf’s movements, but the survivors moved as one, unwilling to stop now that the palace was within reach.
The guards at the gate stood frozen, their gazes fixed on the bedraggled group. One guard finally stepped forward, shouting to the stewards. “Get them inside! They’re barely standing!”
The stewards rushed out, supporting the weary wolves and leading them toward the pack hospital. The large wolf carrying the boy shifted back into his human form, revealing a towering man with blood-matted hair and a haunted expression.
“The boy,” the man rasped, his voice rough from disuse. “He needs help. Now.”
The unconscious young man was quickly untied and placed on a stretcher, his battered body alarming even the seasoned healers. The rest of the group followed, some limping, others supporting their injured comrades. Relief flickered briefly in their eyes as the palace walls closed behind them.
-FREYA-
Freya and Liam arrived at the hospital shortly after the news of the survivors reached them. The hall buzzed with quiet urgency as healers moved between the injured, tending to wounds and offering sustenance.
Liam’s gaze swept the room, his usual sharp expression tinged with concern. “Whoever they are, they’ve been through hell. But why now? And why here?”
Freya nodded, her steps purposeful. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
They approached Toran, who sat on a cot near the centre of the room. His broad shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and he held a cup of water in hands that shook slightly. He looked up as they drew near, his tired eyes narrowing briefly before recognition softened his features.
“Liam?” he asked hoarsely.
Liam offered a nod. “This is Freya. You’ve come far… what’s happened at the pack?”
Toran hesitated, his jaw working as if he were struggling to find the right words. “Our Luna,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “She told us to come here. Said the palace was the only safe place left.”
“What happened to her?” Freya asked gently.
Toran’s shoulders slumped further. “She… stayed behind. To cover our escape.” His voice broke slightly, but he forced himself to continue. “We don’t know if she made it. But… it’s unlikely.”
Freya and Liam exchanged a glance, the weight of his words settling heavily between them.
“And the boy?” Liam asked, his voice soft but insistent.
Toran’s eyes flickered to the closed doors of the surgery room. “She insisted we bring him, no matter what. Said he was… important. Worth the risk.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why. He never told us his name.”
Liam frowned, his unease growing. “You don’t know him?”
“No,” Toran admitted. “But she did.”
Freya stayed behind as Liam continued to question the others. Tobias had not been back for hours and had not sent a message. At least here she felt useful. Something about the boy tugged at her, though she couldn’t place why. The hours dragged by, and she found herself pacing near the surgery room, her thoughts racing.
When the door finally opened, a healer stepped out, her face drawn. “He’s stable,” she said. “But unconscious. You can see him.”
Freya entered the room hesitantly, her gaze falling on the boy lying motionless on the bed. The bruises and swelling distorted his features, but something about him was achingly familiar.
Liam joined her moments later, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the boy.
“Freya,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s him.”
Her breath caught. “Alex,” she whispered.
They moved to his bedside, the reality of his battered state sinking in. Liam’s usually steady voice wavered as he muttered, “I knew he’d come back. Damn fool couldn’t stay away.”
Freya placed a trembling hand on Alex’s arm, her voice soft. “We knew why he left. For his family. He thought he could save them.”
“And this is what it got him,” Liam growled, though the anger in his voice was undercut by the sorrow in his eyes.
Freya gently brushed a strand of hair from Alex’s forehead. “He’s alive, Liam. That’s what matters. And we’ll make sure he stays that way.”
Liam nodded, his jaw tight as he looked down at Alex. “Elise gave her life to get him here. We owe her. And when Alex wakes up, we’ll make sure he knows he’s not alone.”
Freya settled into the chair beside Alex’s bed, her hand resting lightly on his. The storm of emotions swirling within her was tempered by one overriding thought: vengeance for the lives Magnus had destroyed.
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