Chapter 5 - The Battle of Moon Swept Valley

The first rays of dawn painted the training grounds in pale gold.

Jason stood in the center of the field, his breath misting before him in the cold morning air, muscles tense beneath his black t-shirt. The quiet before the storm was unnerving. Even the birds seemed to sense what was coming.

A voice brushed across his mind, sharp with humour but edged with exhaustion.

“Thought I told you to get some rest, Beta.”

Nathan’s mind link reply came with a faint chuckle. “Yeah? Someone forgot to tell Mia. Half the bloody pack knows I’m alive this morning.”

Jason smirked faintly. “See you in five.”

And then came the scouts, padding into view like ghosts from the tree line, dirty, tired, but alive.

“They’ll be here before the sun’s at full rise,” the lead scout said grimly. “Five hundred strong now. Markus recruited every stray from here to the east coast.”

Jason nodded, his jaw tightening.

Nathan approached, the two standing shoulder to shoulder as they reviewed the hastily drawn map scratched in the dirt at their feet.

“We funnel them into the lower valley,” Nathan explained. “Force them narrow. We’ve got the numbers now, if we use the ground right.”

Jason pointed to a ridge further out. “We hold them there. Experienced wolves lead the front lines. Rookies stay back, reinforce, and rotate in when they can.”

It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was theirs.

The first rogues broke through the tree line with wild, desperate snarls.

Jason ran forward in human form at first, punches landing sharp and clean, but when the sheer weight of enemies began pressing in around them, he stopped holding back.

The shift came like thunder beneath his skin.

Bones stretched, muscles rolled, fur burst from his pores. And then he was no longer a man.

He was the storm.

Jason’s wolf was a giant, towering over both friend and foe. His fur shimmered like chestnut silk in motion, catching the low light of morning with a subtle golden sheen, like sunlight trapped beneath the surface of a stormy sea. But it was his eyes that stole the breath from the fighters near him, arctic blue, piercing, so cold and sharp they felt like they could cut through armour, through flesh, through lies.

This wasn’t just a wolf.

This was an Alpha.

Where Jason moved like a force of nature, Nathan was something different, something brutal, controlled, and deliberate.

His shift was cleaner, more fluid, less like an explosion, and more like the unsheathing of a weapon.

Nathan’s wolf was built like a brawler: broad chest, heavy shoulders, fur dark brown with streaks of black cutting through it like blades of shadow. Beneath the grime of battle, a subtle silver sheen glimmered on his back, like moonlight just starting to break through thick clouds.

His eyes were brown, intense, with that signature thin blue stripe in the right iris burned with razor-sharp focus. A predator’s gaze. Calculating. Always watching.

Where Jason’s wolf was the wildfire, beautiful, untouchable Nathan was the hammer that broke bones.

They fought together like they were born for this, each knowing the other’s moves before they were made.

When Jason lunged for a rogue’s throat, Nathan was already pivoting to cover his flank, a blur of claws and snapping teeth. When Nathan rolled beneath an oncoming rogue, Jason’s powerful jaws tore the attacker off him in a spray of blood and fur.

Around them, their wolves moved as one.

But it was clear to every fighter, ally or enemy, that two stood above all:

The Wolf King and His Shadow.

Waves and Rotation

The younger, newly trained wolves moved in waves, directed by veteran warriors. As exhaustion set in, they rotated with brutal efficiency, switching with fresh warriors coming down from the ridges behind.

On the hills, healers worked quickly, tending wounds, wrapping gashes, forcing food into trembling hands.

More than once, Jason saw a mate holding a wounded warrior’s head in her lap, murmuring comfort through tears.

The Turning Point: Markus Appears

Afternoon wore thin, and the sun arched low. The air stank of sweat, blood, and wet fur. The rogues still came, though now their charge was faltering.

And then he appeared.

Markus.

His black wolf form was monstrous, scarred from past fights, one ear torn, a cruel glint of madness in his yellow eyes. Blood matted the fur around his mouth.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield fell silent as the two Alphas locked eyes.

Jason’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl, his hackles rising.

In a blink, they clashed.

Claws met claws, teeth snapped, jaws found flesh. Jason was stronger, faster, and more skilled, but Markus fought with the desperation of a creature with nothing left to lose.

A rogue lunged for Jason’s exposed flank, but Nathan was there, intercepting in a blur of brown and silver, driving the rogue to the dirt in a spray of mud and teeth.

“Not today.”

Jason didn’t even flinch, focused solely on Markus.

The Alpha’s Roar

The duel dragged on brutal, savage, neither holding back. Blood sprayed. Bones cracked. They rolled through mud and blood, kicking up dirt and snapping branches.

finally, Jason gained the upper hand. With a roar that echoed across the entire battlefield, shaking birds from trees, Jack sank his fangs into Markus’s throat, biting down until the body beneath him stopped moving entirely.

Silence.

Whispers.

Then a whimper. Not from Jack. From the defeated rogues.

In that instant, they broke. The remaining rogues scattered like leaves before a storm, their will shattered by the death of their leader.

As dusk descended, wounded wolves limped back toward the center of the grounds. Healers worked tirelessly. Fires burned high, boiling water, heating rations, tending wounds.

Jack stood, still in wolf form, over the lifeless body of Markus. His chest heaved with exertion, blood dripping from his muzzle, both his own and others’.

Nathan shifted back first, panting hard, face streaked with dirt and sweat but alive.

“We did it,” Nathan breathed, voice low.

Jason finally shifted back, bruised and bloodied but standing tall.

“We started it,” Jason corrected, his gaze scanning the battered but victorious warriors returning in waves from the edges of the valley.

This was not the end.

It was the beginning.