Chapter 3 Bonds and Bruises

Three weeks blurred past in a cycle of sweat, dirt, and growing dread.

The Moon Swept Pack, once more known for sharp minds than sharpened claws, now echoed with the sounds of fists on flesh, claws ripping into training pads, and barked orders ringing across the fields.

Jason stood at the edge of the main training grounds, arms crossed, watching two younger wolves spar in the center circle. Their form was sloppy, but their hearts were in it. That mattered.

Beside him, Nathan handed over a folded map, the ink still smudged at the corners.

“We’ve got confirmation,” Nathan said flatly. “Markus is leading them. No question now. Old patrol routes show his scent at every gathering site. Three separate scouts made visual contact. Same arrogant walk, same bastard grin.”

Jason exhaled through his nose. “Numbers?”

“Three hundred. And rising.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “All rogues?”

“Yeah,” Nathan nodded. “Most of ‘em loners for years. Markus is offering them something they haven’t had in forever a place to belong.”

Jason glanced out over his fighters, watching as an old retired trainer, Kellan, barked corrections at two teenagers struggling to hold their footing.

“We’ve got about two hundred trained,” Nathan added quietly. “Maybe more if we count the older ones that haven’t fought in a decade.”

“It’s not enough,” Jason growled.

“Which is why I’ve sent word to every elder fighter who’s still breathing. Kellan’s already on the field. Others are coming.”

Jason nodded, fists tightening at his sides.

Three hundred against two hundred. Not the worst odds… if every one of his wolves fought like they used to. But the years of peace had made them soft, distracted.

He couldn’t afford to be soft anymore.

“I want two training rotations a day,” Jason ordered. “Everyone who can stand. Doesn’t matter if they’re cooks, tailors, or gardeners, they train.”

Nathan smirked faintly. “Yes, Alpha.”

Jason didn’t miss the emphasis. For the first time, Nathan had said it without humor, without teasing. It was the truth now.

Behind them, a small knot of elders watched, whispering in low voices. He could hear the words even without trying.

No Luna. No balance.

Jason let the whispers flow past him like smoke in the wind. Let them doubt. Let them wonder.

He wasn’t here to make them comfortable. He was here to make them ready.

And ready they would be.

As the second training session of the day broke into scattered groups, Jason remained still, the evening breeze pushing warm air across the fields.

He could almost hear his father’s voice beside him, quiet but steady.

“It’s not how many stand behind you, son. It’s who stands because of you.”

Jason exhaled slowly, letting that truth settle deep into his bones.

“They’ll follow you,” Nathan said, as if reading his thoughts. “But they need to see you first.”

Jason’s eyes tracked over the fighters, young, old, some already limping but unwilling to leave the field. Their pack. His pack.

“When it comes,” Jason finally said, voice low but certain, “I’ll be at the front.”

Nathan gave him a sideways glance. “You know that’s not required.”

“I don’t care what’s required. I won’t stand behind them. Not once. Not ever.”

Silence.

Then Nathan nodded once. “Good.”

And just like that, the future took shape not with comfort or certainty, but with the unspoken promise that if they were going to fight, they would fight as one. And their Alpha would bleed with them, or not at all.

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the training grounds as Jason and Nathan moved through the throng of wolves pushing themselves to the limits.

Jason’s hands clenched and unclenched into fists, the ache in his muscles a reminder of every lesson learned from his father. He had never been one to shy away from hard work. Now wasn’t the time to start.

“Keep your guard up!” Jason barked over the grunts and panting breaths of a sparring pair, stepping into the circle. His footwork was solid, his strikes deliberate, a language spoken without words. When his opponent lunged, Jason met the attack head-on, moving with fluid precision.

The gathered wolves watched with quiet awe.

Nathan was already in the next ring, coaching two younger fighters. His voice was calm but firm, “Relax your shoulders. Anticipate, don’t react.”

When one of the trainees stumbled, Nathan was there with a steadying hand and a nod of encouragement.

Jason caught Nathan’s eye across the field and allowed himself a brief smile. This was what it meant to lead: sweat and blood mingled with trust.

Later, Jason paused to catch his breath beside Nathan, wiping dirt from a shallow scrape on his arm.

“Feels good to be back in the dirt,” Jason said.

Nathan grinned, “You’ve got the wolves eating out of your hand already.”

Jason shook his head. “Not yet. But soon.”

As twilight deepened, the pack’s energy shifted. What had started as hesitant, scattered efforts now pulsed with growing confidence. Wolves exchanged tips, laughed despite the sting of exertion, and pushed each other harder.

In the middle of it all, Jason and Nathan weren’t just leaders, they were the pack.

Jason knew the coming battle would test every ounce of their strength and spirit. But if his father’s words were true, and it wasn’t how many stood behind you but who stood because of you… Then he was exactly where he needed to be.

The first whisper came on the wind two days later: They were moving.

Jason stood on the steps of the Pack Hall, overlooking the heart of their territory. The town buzzed with quiet but determined activity, not panic, not chaos. Preparation.

The scouts brought word early that morning: Markus had gathered his forces and begun the slow march toward them. Days away now. Maybe a week at most.

Jason wasted no time.

The Town Moves Like a Machine

The usually peaceful streets were alive with motion, wolves in both human and shifted forms hauling crates of supplies, sacks of flour and rice piled high near the bakeries. Children ran in small, laughing groups, unaware of the true danger, shepherded by smiling but anxious mothers.

Mia moved gracefully between knots of people, issuing quiet directions. Her natural calm spread like ripples in a pond. Beside her, stacks of bandages, poultices, and medicines grew by the minute.

Nathan’s scouts fanned in and out of the edges of town, silent flashes of fur and muscle as they kept watch on every approach.

Jason watched as the elders organized groups of children, turning the evacuation into a “camping trip with the old ones” to keep fear at bay. Blankets, soft toys, and extra clothes were packed with careful, steady hands. The children giggled and climbed over one another as if it were the greatest adventure they’d ever been offered.

Jason swallowed hard. His wolf snarled beneath his skin. They don’t deserve to see this war. If Markus wanted a fight, he would damn well have it, but not at the cost of innocence.

As the sky darkened toward evening, fires flickered along the streets. Women and elders worked side by side, filling enormous pots with stews rich in meat and potatoes. Mia and several other mates prepared simple ration packs: rolls, dried fruits, strips of smoked meat, things that could be eaten in the middle of battle if necessary.

Warriors passed by in various stages of preparation. Some stripped to the waist, muscles gleaming with sweat and oil; others already shifting into their wolf forms, massive hulking beasts padding between groups, their eyes glowing faintly with restrained fury.

Nathan emerged from the patrol line, dust coating his boots, a satisfied but grim expression set deep in his features.

“They’ll be here in six days,” he said. “Maybe less.”

Jason nodded. “The town’s ready.”

Nathan glanced at the bustling preparations. “No, they’re ready.”

Jason looked past the supplies, past the fires and cooking, past the carefully smiling elders leading children toward the hills.

They were. Ready, willing, afraid but standing anyway.

He let that weight settle on his chest, not as a burden, but as armor.

“We meet them on our terms,” Jason said firmly. “We meet them with everything we’ve got.”

That night, standing on his veranda, Jason watched the moon rise.

His father’s voice whispered again, steady, proud:

“When the blood falls and the world shakes, you don’t hold the line. You are the line.”

And Jason would be that line.