24. HIS FIRST MISTAKE

RAVEN

“I’m reducing your patrol shifts to the perimeter for the next two weeks. Consider it your punishment for laying hands on a fellow pack member,” Kieran said, voice dripping with fake authority like he thought the title ‘Alpha’ made him untouchable. His arms were crossed, chest puffed, and that smug little smirk played on his lips, daring me to argue. He wanted me to speak, to lash out again so he could throw more at me.

I stared at him, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. My fists were curled at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I was shaking, not out of fear, not that emotion had burned out of me long ago, but out of pure, concentrated rage.

"You’re seriously punishing me for that?" My voice was low, dangerous. “He called me a bitch, a mutt, trash. Repeatedly. And you—” I laughed, sharp and bitter, “you think I’m the problem here?”

“He’s part of your pack. You don’t lay hands on your own,” Kieran replied, that condescending tone pushing deeper under my skin.

“Control your temper.”

“He spat at me.” I took a step forward, heat rising in my chest. “He spat at me, and you stood there. You didn’t say a damn thing.”

“Because you’re supposed to be stronger than that,” he said, waving his hand like the situation bored him.

“You want to prove yourself? Then shut up and take the rounds. Maybe two weeks of hard work will teach you where your place is.”

“My place?” I whispered, tilting my head. “You think this pack belongs to you forever?”

“I know it does,” Kieran said, smiling now like he thought he’d won. “And as long as I breathe, Vee, you’ll remember who leads here.”

I stepped even closer, so I could see the flicker of unease in his eyes when he realized I wasn’t backing down. Not this time. Not anymore.

“Oh, I remember,” I murmured. “I remember every damn thing. Every slight. Every insult you let slide. Every time you used your rank to shut me down.”

Kieran narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening your Alpha?”

“No.” I smiled slowly. “Not today.”

He laughed, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Two weeks. Dismissed.”

I turned without another word, walking out of that room with my heart pounding. Two weeks, sure. I’d take that punishment. I’d take every lap, every sleepless night.

Because by the end of it? He’d be begging for mercy, and I wouldn’t forget how he looked at me just now, like I was nothing.

That was his first mistake. Thinking I was nothing.

*********************

The woods were quiet save for the soft crunch of my boots over gravel and earth, and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze. My patrols were hellishly long, stretching into every corner of the territory as if Kieran had ordered the most grueling route just to see how far he could push me. But I didn’t complain. I didn’t flinch. Not even when the cold dew clung to my skin or my muscles begged for rest. I bore it all in silence, biting down the anger with every step, feeding on it like fuel.

I ignored them all—every single one. The pack members who used to nod or say hi when we passed now averted their eyes or whispered among themselves. I could feel the shift. My name had become a cautionary tale—‘Did you hear what Vee did?’ ‘Don’t cross her, she snapped.’

Good. Let them talk.

Even Selene. She had tried to stop me the first night, trailing after me with worry in her steps and my name on her tongue.

“Vee,” she had said gently, catching up to me. “This isn’t fair, I know, but you don’t have to go through this alone—”

“I do,” I cut in without looking at her. “I’m not in the mood, Selene.”

“Please don’t shut me out,” she whispered.

But I had already picked up my pace, leaving her behind in the dark.

Days passed. Nights blurred. My legs moved like clockwork, my eyes scanned the forest like I was born to do this, but my mind, my mind stayed sharp, fixed on Kieran. The time would come. He didn’t know it yet, but he had already stepped into the snare.

Then one morning, as I was just beginning another punishing loop along the ridge, a sharp whistle pierced the quiet. A messenger, panting and wide-eyed, rushed up to me.

“Alpha Kieran has called for a full-pack assembly,” he said breathlessly. “Immediate. Everyone’s gathering at the southern clearing.”

I didn’t speak. I just turned and headed in the direction of the clearing, dragging my feet through the dirt path like they weighed twice as much. My limbs screamed in protest with every step. I hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time in days. Sweat clung to my back, and my throat felt like sandpaper.

But I wasn’t surprised. Not really.

Something had been brewing. I had sensed it for days now, the unease in the air, the way the birds fled at odd hours, the scent of something unnatural hanging faintly on the wind. And then there was Vee, who had passed by me once during rounds, her lips barely moving as she whispered,

“He’s left a mark.”

I hadn’t replied, but I’d known exactly who she meant.

Lucian.

That damn mark he left, it wasn’t just on me. It was on the land, on the trees, on the skies above our heads. He’d carved his presence into our territory like a challenge.

I reached the clearing where the others had already started to gather, the murmurs of confusion rippling through the crowd like wildfire. Everyone looked exhausted, wide-eyed, tense. And there, standing on the raised platform like he wasn’t the one who had broken every thread of respect he once commanded, was Alpha Kieran.

His eyes scanned the crowd, settling briefly on me. I didn’t blink. I held his gaze. There was no hatred in mine—no, it had grown past that. What he saw now was silence. Readiness.

“Something has crossed our border,” he began, voice louder than usual, likely to mask the strain laced within it.

“A message, if you will… burned into the northwestern ridge.”

Whispers rose.

“He’s here,” someone muttered. “It’s Lucian.”

My lips curved just slightly. So it had begun.

War wasn’t just coming. It had already stepped into the room, dripping shadow and blood.

And Kieran… he wasn’t ready.