Prologue

*Tjeck*

 There are memories that etch themselves into your very soul… like the moment life slips from a body, a final breath escaping into the eternity, the whispered prayers that fade into silence. In that instant, it’s irrelevant whether the figure before you was a friend or foe; they are a casualty of the night.

 The person I was before the war is a ghost now, lost to the shadows of conflict. No matter how brief the skirmish, the transformation is irrevocable. I carry the weight of mourning for those I’ve lost, the haunting echoes of lives I’ve extinguished, and a gnawing dread for those I hold dear.

 It’s unsettling how your mind numbs to the metallic tang of blood, how the urge to vomit dissipates into a chilling calm. Strangely, the cacophony of bodies colliding, the screams, and the cries for mercy become mere background noise… a relentless rhythm of survival. 

 A habit.

 You don’t forget the battlefield or the ever-looming specter of death, the realization that the next victim could be someone you cherish… or even yourself. Pain, both physical and psychological, stalks you like a predator. The physical pain becomes an old acquaintance, one you barely register anymore, while the psychological anguish is something I attempt to bury, if only for a fleeting moment.

 The last life I witnessed slipping away belonged to someone I adored. He was my teacher, my mentor, the closest thing I had to a father. In his final moments, he entrusted me with a burden I never sought… twenty-two and now the reluctant new Alpha of a pack of wolves.

 The news spread like wildfire; the young Tjeck was chosen to follow the legendary Chark. Some offered their congratulations, others merely echoed their condolences, while many whispered behind my back. 

 It was a cruel twist of fate that we lost our Alpha mere moments after our beta fell in battle, leaving us adrift without guidance. Yet, Chark had foreseen this chaos and ensured that several of us knew I’d be his successor… a stroke of luck in a dire situation.

 As I scan the tumult, chaos reigns. I have never been part of the command hierarchy before; as a mere warrior, the reasoning behind our war eluded me… only that we fought for our allies, a vague sense of duty that now weighed heavily on my conscience.

 As the new leader, I am expected to understand. I should have clarity on whether this is a fight worth waging.

 Then I spot Kattie in the fray, a knife clenched between her teeth as she braids her hair… a telltale sign of her stress and fatigue. It is her way of finding focus, a ritual I have come to recognize. The sight of her always brings a smile to my lips. She has recently dyed her hair black, a striking change that made her appear older, befitting her fierce spirit. Kattie has never truly been a child.

 My gaze shifts to Zombie, who has been missing for days. Only through him can we hope to end this conflict. He or Kress has to fall for the opposing team to claim victory.

 I should warn Kress immediately, but when I catch sight of Adis, I hesitate too long. He spots Zombie as well and, true to form, takes it upon himself to take him down.

 I hold my breath as they both draw their weapons, not wanting even to get close to the other, each with a clear shot at the opponent. It is a race… who pulls the trigger first? They are both ready to die, willing to take their brother with them. How can it be so easy to contemplate killing your own kin?

 What goes through Amber’s mind in that moment, I cannot fathom. But barely a heartbeat after the gunfire erupts, her body crumples to the ground, and silence descends like a shroud. All eyes are fixed on her petite form, her golden hair splayed around her like a halo. I don’t even register how close she is. Even if I do, she is the last person I’d expect to act in such a way. Amber has always been a solitary figure, looking out only for herself.

 Zombie and Adis drop their guns simultaneously, and Adis lets out an anguished howl as he falls to the ground, desperately attempting to revive her.

 I seek Kattie again, seeing the pain etched in her eyes, the tears threatening to spill. I have never witnessed Kattie cry… not when the boys dismissed her for being a girl, not when she tumbled from the waterpark wall, her leg shattering, nor when Adis pulled a bullet from her arm without any anesthesia.

 At twenty-three, this is the second time she witnesses a friend perish. Kattie is strong, but no one can bear this weight indefinitely.

 Together, we rush toward the chaos, a heavy silence descending over the crowd. Weapons lower as if in reverence. The war rages on, but with Amber’s death, the will to fight is snuffed out. How has she become so pivotal to so many?

 Zombie stares at her lifeless form in Adis’s arms, his mouth a grim line, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen. He loves her, a truth he never concealed. She is his reason to fight, and now, all hope of reclaiming her is gone.

 I remain silent, yet his gaze finds me. “I hear you’re the new Alpha,” he says, the pain in his voice morphing into rage. “Life as an Alpha is perilous.” With a curt command, he summons his pack and vanishes into the shadows, leaving the she-wolf he adores in the arms of the man he despises most.

 The crowd begins to disperse, creating space for the leadership to regroup around us. No one dares meet Adis’s gaze.

 “Kress is on his way,” Thorn announces, clearly uncomfortable with the gravity of the moment.

 This is Kress’s war, one we all support, and Thorn understands the guilt that gnaws at him. As the next in command of The Stars, he bears the weight of losses that Kress seems oblivious to.

 “A little too late, wouldn’t you say?” Kattie shoots back, her anger flaring anew. The tears that threaten to fall moments before vanish. “Don’t you agree?”

 Thorn meets her fierce stare without flinching. “If you have an issue with Kress’s methods, take it up with him,” he replies coolly. “I am not Kress.”

 “Like you’re any better,” Kattie hisses, her frustration palpable. I wrap an arm around her, and as if it is the most natural thing in the world, she leans into me. Once again, I am struck by how perfectly we fit together, two wolves navigating the chaos of a world gone mad.

*****

 I find Kress just as he folds Amber's hands over her chest, a moonstone knife tucked neatly beneath them. Her golden hair has been meticulously combed, and shockingly, there is no trace of blood marring her pristine form.

 "You’re angry with me," he says, his gaze shifting to mine.

 "Not compared to some of the others," I reply coolly, my heart racing despite my calm demeanor. "Someone’s calling you a coward." It is no easy feat to confront Kress, a seasoned Alpha with years of experience etched into his every move, especially when my words hang heavy with the weight of challenge.

 "I am an Alpha," he asserts, his voice steady. "When you grow older and gain more experience, you’ll come to understand my choices."

 "If being an Alpha means watching others perish in your name, while you linger in the shadows, then it is a title I’ll gladly forfeit." My voice is firm as I demand, "Which of them killed her?"

 "Tell me who uses which ammunition," Kress replies, nodding toward the two silver bullets lying on the table. "The one on the right is pulled from her lung; the one on the left comes from her neck. The combination of those two ended her life."

 To the untrained eye, there is little difference between the two bullets, but I recognize the subtle nuances. My pack, The Eagles, had been the ones supplying them, and that knowledge gives me an edge. Yet, it reveals little. These are the two most common types of bullets, fitting the guns wielded by every wolf in the underworld. One packs a slightly harder punch, while the other is designed to penetrate deeper. The distinctions are minuscule, often dictated by what is in the latest shipment at the time of purchase.

 "They’ll blame each other until the end of time," Kress remarks, his gaze distant. "There will be no peace between them from this day forward."

 "There wouldn’t have been, even if she were alive," I counter, frustration washing over me. "What the hell was she thinking?" I sigh, gently smoothing a stray lock of Amber's hair away from her face.

 Kress is right about one thing: Adis and Zombie will never reconcile, not with the specter of her death looming over them, a constant reminder of their rivalry.

 "She was Amber," he says simply, a hint of sorrow threading through his voice. "I’ve been asking myself that very question ever since she stepped foot in this place."