Chapter 7

The Blackfang hall felt smaller than it had moments before, the air packed tight with Alpha presence, layered scents pressing against his skin until his vision blurred at the edges.

Silence followed, thick and suffocating, broken only by the crackle of torches and the slow, uneven drag of Eyrix’s breath.

“Ironclaw assassins,” one scout muttered before he disappeared around the corner. They crossed the ravine at dusk.”

The words hit Eyrix harder than any blow. Ironclaw. His family. His blood.

His chest seized, panic clawing up his throat.

He staggered back a step, his heel catching on the uneven stone. A low growl rippled through the room as several Blackfang Alphas reacted, instincts flaring at the sudden spike of distress.

“Easy,” Ryder murmured,

“I can’t,” Eyrix whispered. His voice shook. “They’ll kill me. They won’t stop until I’m back in chains.”

Ryder’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath scarred skin. “Not here,” he said. “Not while you’re under my control.”

Eyrix laughed, a brittle, broken sound. “You don’t understand Ironclaw.”

Ryder’s eyes darkened. “Then make me.”

Around them, the Blackfang Riders shifted uneasily. The scarred Alpha Zac who had challenged Ryder earlier stepped forward again, hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “Ironclaw doesn’t send assassins unless they mean to take something important, he said or erase it.”

Ryder finally looked at him, gaze cold. “Then they chose the wrong territory.”

Eyrix shook his head, panic spiking. “You can’t fight them for me. I won’t let your people die because of my blood.” He swallowed hard. “Let me go somewhere away from all this.”

Ryder turned to him, closing the distance. His presence was overwhelming, grounding and terrifying all at once. “No,” he said again, softer but unyielding. “You don’t get to disappear.”

“They’ll come tonight,” Eyrix said. Ironclaw likes the dark.”

“So do we,” Ryder replied.

The certainty in his voice was worse than fear. It wrapped around Eyrix’s frayed nerves, sinking deep, warm and dangerous.

Ryder lifted Eyrix’s chin gently, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I will protect what belongs to me.”

The words landed possessive and absolute.

Eyrix hated how his body responded. Hated the way his shaking eased, hated the way comfort bloomed despite his terror. “I’m not yours,” he said weakly.

Ryder’s thumb brushed the air beneath Eyrix’s jaw. “You stood at my side and breathed my hall full of fire. That makes you my responsibility.”

A horn sounded from the outer wall, low and urgent once, twice.

“They’re here,” someone said.

The hall erupted into motion. Orders barked sharp and fast, steel ringing as weapons were drawn. Blackfang Riders moved like a single organism, disciplined and lethal, forming lines without panic.

Eyrix stood frozen in the center of it all, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to vanish into the woods and let Ironclaw hunt shadows instead of spilling Blackfang blood.

Ryder caught his wrist. “Stay behind me.”

“I won’t hide,” Eyrix said, surprising himself.

Ryder studied him for a heartbeat, then nodded once. “Then don’t.”

The night exploded.

Ironclaw assassins struck with terrifying precision, slipping over the outer walls like wraiths. Steel flashed in the torchlight. Screams cut the air, sharp and brief. Blackfang met them head-on, the clash brutal and immediate.

Eyrix watched an Alpha go down under an Ironclaw blade, blood spraying hot and dark across the stone. The sight tore something open inside him.

This is my fault.

“No,” Ryder growled, he fought like a storm given flesh, tearing through Ironclaw ranks with savage efficiency.

“Look at me, Eyrix.”

Eyrix couldn’t. His blood burned, heat pooling low and violent. Ironclaw training screamed in his bones, dormant instincts waking with a roar. He had been shaped for this, forged in cruelty and command.

An assassin broke through, eyes locking on Eyrix with recognition. “Found you.”

The blade came up.

Eyrix moved.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. The world narrowed to heat and motion as something old unfurled inside his chest. He caught the assassin’s wrist mid-swing, strength flooding his limbs, shocking in its intensity.

The assassin’s eyes widened. “What are you”

Eyrix slammed his forehead into the man’s face, bone crunching. He twisted, using Ironclaw technique drilled into him since childhood, and drove the blade back into the assassin’s own throat.

Ryder stared at Eyrix, awe and something like fear flashing across his face. “Eyrix…”

More Ironclaw poured in, sensing the shift. Eyrix straightened slowly, blood dripping from his hands, the fire inside him no longer contained.

“They won’t stop,” he said, voice low and steady now. “So neither will I.”

An Ironclaw Alpha emerged from the shadows, older, eyes cold with familiarity. “You were always too dangerous to keep alive,” he said. “Too much like your mother.”

Rage cracked through Eyrix, “Don’t speak about her.”

They collided like thunder. The Alpha was strong, brutal, trained to kill his own blood if ordered. Steel rang as they traded blows, the courtyard filling with the sounds of war and snarling fury.

Eyrix fought with everything he was, past and present colliding in every strike. He felt Ryder at his back, anchoring him, guarding without smothering, trusting him to stand.

Together, Blackfang and Eyrix pushed Ironclaw back inch by bloody inch.

When the last assassin fell, the night rang with heavy breathing and the metallic stink of blood. Bodies littered the ground, Ironclaw black and Blackfang crimson indistinguishable in torchlight.

Eyrix swayed, the fire inside him dimming, exhaustion crashing in its wake.

Ryder caught him before he fell.

“I told you,” Ryder murmured, forehead resting briefly against Eyrix’s. “You don’t get to disappear.”

Eyrix closed his eyes, leaning into the grip he had sworn he didn’t want, hating how safe it felt, and knowing that Ironclaw had awakened something that would never sleep again.

The healers moved among the fallen, voices low, hands glowing faintly as they worked. Blackfang losses were counted in murmurs, each name spoken like a wound. Eyrix forced himself to look, to remember, guilt settling heavy in his gut.

“This doesn’t end,” he said quietly. “Ironclaw will send more.”

Ryder didn’t deny it. “Good,” he said. “Then we’ll be ready.”

Eyrix pulled back, searching Ryder’s face. “Why?” he demanded. “Why risk everything for me?”

Ryder’s expression softened, scars catching the firelight. “Because they don’t get to decide your worth,” he said. “And because you chose not to run.”

Eyrix laughed weakly. “I don’t know if I can stop fighting now.”

Ryder’s hand tightened, grounding. “Then you won’t fight alone.”