Alpha Bran's POV The smell of blood fills the air, heavy and difficult to inhale. It’s chaos on the battlefield—growls, snapping jaws, and the heart-wrenching screams of the fallen tearing through the night. My warriors and the rogues clash for goddess-knows-what, their furs matted with dirt and blood. Fabian stirs inside me, always on edge, his energy throbbing beneath my skin, craving more battle. We’ve been at it for what feels like forever, yet these rogues just keep coming. They fight with urgency, like their lives depend on winning, like there is something pushing them beyond reason. I can’t wrap my head around it. Williams fights beside me, his movements sharp and precise. He drives his claws into an enemy’s chest and tears the rogue apart, his chest rising and falling heavily. For a brief second, he looks at me, and I see the same question, the same frustration. Can they just stop? A rogue charges at me. I meet him head-on, sinking my claws deep into his throat and twisting
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