Mag-log inThe training yard is loud. Steel striking steel. Boots grinding into packed dirt. Warriors shouting corrections across the field.Blackridge breathes war.I cross the courtyard with Tomas Voss’s photograph folded carefully in my pocket and a knot in my stomach that refuses to loosen.The elders’ visit keeps replaying in my head. Choose wisely. The words sounded like advice. But they felt like a threat.The commander’s building stands at the far edge of the yard, dark stone and heavy glass overlooking everything like a watchtower. Fitting.Cameron never liked being watched. But he always watches.As I climb the steps toward the entrance, voices drift through the slightly open door. Sharp voices. Older voices. - Council. They were quick. I must admit that. I slow instinctively.“…reckless,” someone is saying. That voice belongs to Counselor Dane. I recognize the gravelly tone. “This investigation will fracture alliances we’ve maintained for decades. It will ruin us.”Another voice join
I sit behind the Luna desk for a long moment, staring at the photograph she left behind. Tomas Voss smiles up at me like he has no idea what kind of pack he was born into.Sixteen.My stomach twists again.Young boys used to complain about chores at sixteen. About morning training. About curfews.They weren’t disappearing into forests.I reach for the tablet Mara set up for me earlier and open the first pack registry file.Blackridge Pack Members - Active and Historical.The list scrolls endlessly. Thousands of names. Warriors. Hunters. omegas. families.But I’m not looking for the living. I start filtering the missing. Young males. Ages fifteen to twenty. - Those transferred under Alaric’s authority.The first list appears.Thirty-two names. My fingers go cold.Thirty-two.That’s not training. That’s a purge. He was killing them with the cold blood. What a monster. And he had done it for what? More power?I sit back slowly, letting the number settle in my chest. And that’s just the
The knock comes just before noon.Not timid. Not confident either. Just… controlled.I look up from the stack of ceremony logistics I’m pretending to read. The Luna office still feels strange - too big, too polished, too official. The desk isn’t mine. The power isn’t mine yet.But the responsibility already is.“Come in.”The door opens slowly.She’s older. Late forties, maybe early fifties. Dark hair threaded heavily with gray, braided tight over one shoulder. Her posture is straight in a way that tells me she trained herself not to fold.But her eyes.. Her eyes are exhausted.“Luna.” she says.I stand immediately. “Please. You don’t have to-”“I do.” she interrupts softly.Her wolf brushes against mine. Not aggressive. Not submissive. - Grieving.She steps inside and closes the door behind her. The click echoes.“May I sit?”“Of course.”She lowers herself carefully into the chair across from my desk. Hands folded in her lap. Knuckles white.“I won’t take much of your time.”Someth
I put some clothes on. A fitted ivory blouse with a high collar. Dark trousers. My hair pulled back in a low knot that doesn’t move when I do.Armor, just stitched prettier.Coffee tastes like ash.Not because it’s bad. The kitchen has perfected the blend. It’s strong, slightly bitter, grounding. But every swallow drags against the memory of pale bones under moonlight.I drink it anyway.Across the table, Cameron watches me over the rim of his mug.“You don’t have to go in today.” he says.“Yes, I do.”He sets his cup down slowly. “I can handle the council.”“I’m not worried about the council.”His jaw shifts. “I know.”The silence between us isn’t fragile. It’s loaded. We both understand what today means.The beginning of something that cannot be undone.Breakfast is simple - bread, eggs, sliced fruit. I force myself to eat. Not because I’m hungry, but because I need strength. Because skipping meals makes wolves sloppy, and I refuse to be sloppy today.Cameron stands first.He moves
Morning doesn’t ask if you’re ready. It arrives anyway.I’m awake before the sun fully clears the horizon, though I don’t remember sleeping. The room is painted in pale blue light, that fragile hour where everything looks softer than it deserves to be.Cameron is still asleep. That alone tells me how hard the night hit him.He’s on his back, one arm flung slightly toward my side of the bed, like even unconscious he’s making sure I’m there. His face is calmer now. No tension in his jaw. No crease between his brows.But there’s something else. Exhaustion. Not physical. The kind that settles into marrow.I prop myself up on one elbow and study him.This is the man who leads a pack without flinching. The one warriors instinctively straighten for. The one who carries decisions like iron in his spine.And last night, he was eleven again.I brush my fingers lightly along his collarbone, careful not to wake him. He shifts slightly but doesn’t open his eyes.Good.He needs this.I slip out of
The forest follows us home. Not in scent or sound. Not in dirt on our skin.In silence.The packhouse is quieter than usual when we return. Lanterns burn low in the corridors, their golden light soft against stone walls. A few late patrols move outside, boots steady, voices hushed. Life goes on. It always does.But I feel like we’ve dragged something ancient and unfinished back with us.We shower without speaking much.The water runs hot, steam curling around us, but it doesn’t wash away the image of pale bones layered beneath earth. It doesn’t erase the look on Cameron’s face when he said he was eleven.Eleven.A child watching a man get pushed into a grave.I dry off slowly, my thoughts moving in jagged loops. Cameron dresses in silence. His movements are controlled, precise. Too precise.He’s locking it down.I know that look.We climb into bed. The room is dim, moonlight slipping through tall windows. The sheets are cool. The world outside feels impossibly normal.I lie on my back
I turned. He stood at the threshold, dressed in black borrowed clothes that fit him like they’d always been his. Kieran hovered half a step behind him, ready to catch him if he swayed, but Cameron stood tall, shoulders squared, eyes burning with quiet, lethal promise.The bond surged. Not wild. Not
The stone archway of the old temple loomed over me like the open maw of some ancient beast swallowing the night. The city lights faded behind me, swallowed by shadow as the worn steps descended into the underbelly of Vale valley.The abandoned catacombs.My wolf pressed against my skin, uneasy, pac
Morning came far too fast.I barely slept. Not because of the blood drying beneath my nails or the fact I’d ripped Mara’s heart straight out of her ribcage like some feral goddess of vengeance - no, apparently my subconscious handled that just fine.What kept me awake was the empty room. The empty
The stairs creaked under my bare feet as I climbed back up, the sound too loud in the stillness of the mansion. Downstairs, my brothers were already arguing about strategy, retaliation, politics, the usual bloody symphony of Vale crisis management. I needed a moment where none of them could reach m







