Chapter 4

RYKER’S POV

“The day of reckoning is here,” I say proudly, revealing a proud grin.

Vengeance.

For my mother, whom they butchered.

For my father, whose heart was ripped out and hung on a pyre, and my people, whom they brutally murdered.

I have dreamt my revenge. No – I have lived my Revenge, breathing in dozes every day as I bid my time for the day I claim the price for the betrayal of the sect.

The purpose of my existence and the reason for my drive. The moon goddess be worshiped.

Today, the blood moon pack would be obliterated, their daughters would be whored, their sons castrated, their cubs sold as slaves, their Alpha destroyed, and it won’t be so easy.

He would watch the carnage that I, Ryker, Alpha King of Shadow Claw Pack, would raise on his lands. The stench of burn and ash would rise far above the skies, spelling my name, leaving its mark, claiming my deeds, and marking my name so that I was here.

We had arrived at Blood Moon Pack and had specially picked today to invade. My spies had informed me of the elaborate party that would be held for the Alpha’s precious daughter, with no guards up, which was a perfect avenue to infiltrate and blend with the party.

This was perfect.

My warriors and I had been in their lands for three days now, perfectly hidden in their forest underground, hiding our scent and coming out at midnight to survey their pack from the shadows of the forest.

Their land was beautiful, rich, and full of life. We could see their carefree way of living, and I could tell that my warriors were seething with rage at how they had it good- very good, in fact; it hurts.

I had perfectly instructed my men to take cover in the forests and lurk in the shadows. We hardly shifted despite our thirst for war.

We were easily one with the elements, but our terrain isn’t as accommodating. Harsh – yes, life-threatening, not necessarily making our training brutal, our men beasts, our women fierce.

I took one look at my warriors and nodded. Everyone was ready; you could see it in their stance.

Everyone knew their role, and so we took our battle formation, each group of men moving towards their assigned area of attack in the pack.

I was going to take on the packhouse where the Alpha and his family reside. We had just stepped into the clearing where we saw two she-wolves fighting and a helpless-looking male.

I can hear my warriors’ snickers, but I tell my warriors to hold on via the mind link, waiting for the drama to phase out. It shouldn’t take long. I wouldn’t want anybody sending a signal warning to inform my enemies of my invasion.

Just then, I hear the wolf in her lover’s shirt call the other lady by name.

Lyra

I cannot hold any longer. Rider, my wolf is on the surface, and I can barely hold him. The male wolf was finally able to borrow some sense and take my enemy in while he quarrels with his companion, but I have no time for this shit show anymore.

I sneaked towards the duo while my warriors began to move quietly, forming a line behind me. I waste no time, shifting swiftly and knocking the she-wolf unconscious while I lurch at the male.

He stood no chance.

Then I see her, looking like a scared pup, and I growl.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

She makes a turn and dashes out of sight, and I move behind her leisurely. My primal instinct on full alert, I mind-linked a few of our men to go after her.

She cannot escape her fate either.

I do not wait for my men; my mission was clear

Alpha Damien’s end.

The air was thick and filled with smoke and blood. Flames danced along the shattered bones of the once-proud Blood Moon pack, casting twisted shadows across the scorched plain. The land glowed red like hell’s orbit, and in the center of it all stood Alpha Ryker—bare-chested, blood-soaked, and victorious.

Around him, the warriors of silver claw roared. The triumphant howls shook the core of the night sky. Their fur still slick with crimson, their claws chipped from combat, they feasted on the spoils of war beneath the open stars. Severed heads of fathers, husbands, brothers, and warriors were lined on a stake like grotesque trophies. Their celebration was primal—feral, showing the savagery of their strength.

Alpha Damien, once feared leader of the wolf sect, now lay crumpled on the ground beneath Ryker’s boot. His throat had been ripped clean out—his head severed from his body. His death was not a clean execution, but a brutal tearing of flesh, bone, and pride. His eyes, now glassy and vacant, still stared bleakly at the sky as though a grave mistake had been made.

Ryker spat on the corpse.

“Justice,” he growled, voice like granite. “This is my vengeance. Blood repaid.”

His warriors’ cheers erupted around him—deep, guttural howls of devotion and bloodlust and admiration. Warriors danced around bonfires. Their forms cast shadows like spirits across. Some shifted into their wolf form, others into human forms, roughly taking women captive from behind on the cold ground. Others carved their blades into the injured for sport and cheered as they watched the souls slowly creep out of the bodies of their enemies.

The valley stank of death. Burnt flesh. Charred bones. Ruined dreams.

To Ryker, it smelled like victory.

“To Victory,” he said with authority. “Let this mark the beginning of a new era and an end to the sect that thinks itself gods.”

A round of cheers followed with loud and unrestrained howls.

“Alpha Damien died like a weakling,” Leif, Ryker’s beta, smirked. “Begged like a cub.”

“As did his mate; the slut couldn’t help it when I took her from behind like the whore that she is.” He added a thought, quite bored, relieving the moment. Dragging a claw across the table. “Their blood ran sweet.”

One of the warriors laughed. “What do you think? There was no way she could survive it when you took her in your wolf form while she hadn’t shifted. Poor thing got torn and ripped so bad, I swore I could see her lifeless womb.” Others bellowed in laughter.

Ryker said nothing, but the corner of his mouth lifted in grim satisfaction. This was not just a victory—it was obliteration. Not a single warrior of the Blood Moon bloodline remained on the battlefield. He had made sure of it.

He remembered Damien’s final words—if they could be called that.

“You know nothing, Ryker, please…” he had said.

The man was still proud even in his death. Had spoken to him like a child.

Pity he gave up easily.

Thunder cracked above. Rain began to fall—not enough to quench the fires, but enough to turn the ash into sludge.

Riker stood up from where he sat and walked across the fields. His gaze swept over the ruined valley, where once a proud pack had thrived. He looked as though ingraining the image in his mind.

“We found her, Alpha. Damien’s daughter. He heard Ezren, his beta, through the mind link.

“Good.” He breathed out, squaring his shoulders and arms to his full frame.

“Aside from the healthy women and newborn pups, ensure no survivors. Burn the rest. We leave at dawn.”

Warriors leapt to obey, their forms shifting into snarling beasts once again, vanishing into the smoke-stained woods with blades and claws.

The revenge was nearly complete.