Chapter 94

Elora's pov

By the time the sun had set, the whole place stank... charred wood, scorched iron, sweat clinging to everyone who’d survived the night. Each one stuck in me like a splinter with its own jagged edge. The elders gathered, all hunched shoulders and hushed voices, circling around like they were about to tear into me. They wanted explanations, sure, but honestly? They wanted blood. Vengeance. They wanted me to rule like some iron-fisted legend and serve up punishments that would make even the craziest think twice.

Mira’s name flickered through my mind, her moves were all over this mess. She’d pulled it off with a sort of sly tenderness, twisting kindness into a weapon. That thought made my hands shake, not from exhaustion, but just pure fury.

I stared out at everyone... warriors still bruised and bleeding, mothers clutching their kids, and that old, reckless urge to protect them came roaring back.

“You wanted our children hurt,” I said, my voice so sharp that a few elders winced. “You wanted this family to shatter.” I glanced east, to where Mira probably waited, calm as a snake in the grass. “You hoped we’d kneel.”

Faces around me tightened, turning hard with grief and grit.

I let my words drop heavy, cold as steel. “She thinks terror will break us. She thinks if she gets to our softest places, we’ll just roll over. She’s wrong.”

A buzz started, low and rising, like thunder in the distance. Dante was there, sword at his hip, blood dried on his side, eyes on fire. The fighters straightened.

Heat pulsed in my veins, something old and angry and too big to keep down. The memory of my own humiliation, the ritual, the way he’d looked away, all that old ache twisted up into something new. But this wasn’t about me. Not with sobbing kids and trembling healers patching up wounds. This was about all of us.

So I stepped forward, let the pale morning light hit my face, and lifted my chin. “Mira will burn for this,” I said. My voice was a hammer, not a question.

The words rippled through the crowd. Men who’d been frozen found their feet. Women straightened their spines. Kids clung tighter, like they believed the pack would still hold the line.

I killed a man tonight. Saved a child. Felt a blade’s bite, tasted loss, sang a lullaby through gritted teeth. The moon had watched, the sun didn’t give a damn. More blood was coming, more tough choices. And Mira? She’d find out what happens when you mess with the heart of the wrong pack.

“Let her come,” I told them, voice rough but steady. “Let her see what she’s made. You don’t break us by hurting our soft spots. You break us by thinking we’re weak.”

Dominic crossed my mind, how he’d fought, loved, and screwed up. Dante stood beside me, blood drying, loyalty burning in his eyes. And the kid in the infirmary, still breathing, still fighting.

“I promise you,” I said, to the air and the men who’d follow me, “Mira will burn for this.”

Dominic’s POV

Morning hits like a punch... smoke and iron everywhere. I stare out at what used to be home, now just ruins and ash. My people are getting torn up. My pack’s burning. Alpha or not, even if I’m half the man I used to be, I’ve got to stand up.

“Alpha,” one of my lieutenants calls out, voice tight. “Eastern flank’s going down. We need orders.”

I squeeze my sword. “Then we hold,” I snarl. “Not one more step back.”

They trade looks, doubt all over their faces. I know what they’re thinking... I probably shouldn’t even be standing. Like I care. I owe them. I owe her. Not backing down now.

We’re barreling down the hill and, wow, my legs feel like they’re about to quit on me, but adrenaline kept me going. I swing, I block, I smack someone hard enough to taste copper in the air. Blood’s everywhere, on my armor, in my eyes, probably in my mouth too. The whole place is a mess... wolves tearing each other apart, howls, screams, chaos. Somewhere in there, I catch that nasty, sour note...the Blood Fang pack.

And then... boom... he’s there.

Guy steps out of the carnage like the main character in a bad dream. Big, built, sword dripping. His eyes... I know that look. I saw it a hundred times on my father’s war dogs. My stomach drops. “Lennox,” I say, barely above a whisper. “You were one of his.”

He grins, but he's not happy. More like he’s biting a lemon. “I served power, Dominic. Your dad? He had it. You...” he spits, and I feel it... “you’re soft.”

I grip my sword tighter. “Let’s test that softness, then.”

We start fighting and he is good. But I’m too tired to care about dying, so I don’t back off. Every time I swing, pain rips up my arms, but I keep going. Blood everywhere... mine, his, all over the snow. When I finally stab him straight through, I don’t feel like a hero. Just hollow. Like something vital got yanked out.

He drops. Eyes wide, mouth trying to say something, like he’s arguing with death itself. I kneel, hand pressed to his chest, blood seeping through my fingers. “Why, Lennox?” My voice cracks. I already know, but I need to hear it.

He tries to smirk, which is impressive for a dying guy. “Mira… promised the world to anyone who’d kneel.”

My heart just stops.

The battle’s winding down behind me. You can hear it, the yelling’s quieter, just the wind and the dying. I get up, swaying, vision all swimmy. Bodies everywhere, my people, hers, doesn’t matter now, they’re all just red stains in the snow.

Something catches my eye. Little glint by a corpse. I shuffle over, crouch down, and there’s a letter, neat and proper, even though it’s soaked in blood. Mira’s seal, sharp and cold, digs into my palm.

I rip it open.

Her handwriting, I’d know it anywhere. Pretty, deadly.

To my dear Dominic,

If you thought mercy would save you, it won’t. If you thought she could replace me, she won’t. The next time you look at your pack, remember that I am the reason it still burns.

—M.

My throat dried up. The wind snatches the letter right out of my hands, tossing it into the field like it’s nothing. I just stood there, staring at the bodies scattered.

I really thought breaking the bond would fix things. All I did was let something darker loose, something with Mira’s face but none of the warmth we used to have.

I look out west, toward the moon lands. Elora’s out there, waiting. Maybe I’ll make it home. Maybe not.

But now? Now it’s personal. This is war, and I’m all out of mercy.