Page 26

The stench of death hangs heavy in the crisp morning air.

I crouch beside what remains of Ethan Hayes, his body barely recognizable as human.

Nineteen years old. First patrol rotation—a volunteer, one of our youngest. His throat has been torn out, but the wound edges are wrong, blackened, and puckered as though burned by acid.

Beside him lies David Kelsey, twenty-two, his torso ripped open from sternum to navel, intestines splayed across blood-soaked pine needles.

"They didn't even have time to shift," James says quietly, kneeling on the other side of the bodies.

I grunt, not trusting my voice. These were boys I'd trained myself. Boys I'd sent to patrol this sector.

Around the bodies, the forest floor is marked with strange symbols burned into the earth. Strange magic. Bad magic.

"Get them wrapped and back to the pack house," I order, standing abruptly. "Full pack meeting in one hour. And James—"

He looks up, his face grim.

"Double the patrols. No one goes out alone."

James nods, already calling orders to the recovery team. I walk a few paces away, needing distance from the carnage, from the suffocating weight of responsibility.

My wolf paces beneath my skin, growling with rage and frustration. It wants to hunt, to tear into those responsible with the same savage force they used on our packmates. But blind fury won't keep the rest of my pack alive.

I scan the tree line, nostrils flaring as I search for any lingering scent of the attackers. Nothing but the stench of corrupted magic and death. They wanted us to find these bodies. Wanted us to know they could reach us whenever they chose.

Message received.

The great hall buzzes with fearful whispers by the time I arrive.

News travels fast, especially the bad kind.

Council members and pack leadership fill the front rows, with other pack members crowding in behind.

I scan the room automatically, locating Luna near the back with Ruby, their heads bent together in urgent conversation.

Thomas approaches as I stride toward the front.

"The families have been notified," he murmurs. "Ethan's mother collapsed. Pack doctor's with her now."

Another weight to carry. I nod grimly and take my position at the speaker's dais.

"The bodies of Ethan Hayes and David Kelsey were found at our eastern border this morning," I begin without preamble.

The room falls silent instantly. "They were killed while on patrol duty. Evidence suggests the Cheslem Pack is responsible. We’ve known of the threat of their infringements near our borders for months, but this is a step farther than ever before—a direct attack. Murder."

A ripple of fear moves through the crowd. Elder Roberts stands immediately.

"We destroyed that pack decades ago," he protests, though his voice lacks conviction. “Any who remain would be too weak to have done something like this—”

"Tell that to the Matthews Pack," counters James from his position by the wall. "Tell that to Ethan and David's families."

Roberts' face reddens. "We can't jump to conclusions—"

"These weren't ordinary kills," I cut in. "The bodies showed signs of the same corrupted magic found at the Matthews Pack attack. The same magic our patrols encountered at the border last week."

"What do they want?" someone calls out from the crowd.

A fair question without a good answer. I hesitate, and in the stead of any words I could produce, my grandmother rises slowly from her seat, her aged face grave.

"They want what they've always wanted," she says, her voice carrying surprising strength. "They want to destroy our pack, to take our land. To destroy any pack in their way. They’ll kill and kill until their hunger is sated. If they aren’t stopped, it’ll never be.”

"How do you know that?" challenges Melissa from her seat near the front. "If they were supposedly wiped out decades ago?"

Victoria's gaze sweeps the room. "Because I've seen this before. Years ago, when the Cheslem Pack last tested our defenses. When Michael and Elara Morgan died protecting us all."

The name drops like a stone into still water. My eyes find Luna automatically. She's gone rigid, her face pale but composed.

"James’ parents?" Elder Thompson clarifies, surprise evident in his voice, forgetting Luna entirely. "I thought they died in a territorial dispute."

"That was the simplest explanation at the time," Victoria says. "The truth is more complicated."

The crowd stirs restlessly, but no one interrupts as Victoria moves to the center of the room. I catch a glimpse of James nearby—my old friend, looking grim, lips in a tight line. I can’t bring myself to look at Luna.

"The Morgans were working on a defense system in the face of the initial threat, years ago," she continues.

"A way to integrate shifter blood magic with witch protection spells.

They succeeded—briefly—in creating the foundations for boundary wards stronger than anything we'd had before. A shifter and a witch, they sought to combine their powers for the sake of the greater good.”

I remember hearing mentions of this from my father, years ago, when he was alive, vague and brief, as if recalling a bad memory.

I remember, too, seeing James’ face the morning he returned to school after the deaths of his parents—we were just kids then, but I remember the emptiness in my friend’s eyes. Nothing could erase that memory.

"When the Cheslem Pack attacked our eastern boundary, Michael and Elara reinforced the wards with their combined magic. They drove the Cheslem forces back, but at the cost of their lives."

I can’t help but look to her then. Luna's face shows no surprise—she must have already known some of this. But the rest of the pack murmurs in shock and disbelief.

"Why weren't we told this?" demands Elder Roberts.

"Because the pack wasn't ready to accept that witch magic had saved them," Victoria states bluntly. "Those of you old enough might remember the climate then—the fear of outside influences, the distrust of anything that wasn't pure shifter tradition. Not much has changed.”

I feel myself shudder slightly. Of course, I remember. I was one of the ones bullying a young Luna mere years later for her powers, her lack of shift.

Several older Council members shift uncomfortably. They remember, all right.

"So those boundary wards have been protecting us all this time?" Thomas asks.

Victoria nods gravely. "But they've been weakening, and they weren’t fully formed when the Morgans died. Without their progenitors to maintain them, the magic has slowly deteriorated. The Cheslem Pack has been testing, probing, looking for weaknesses in the defenses that held them back all those years ago.”

"And now they've found one," I conclude grimly. “Clearly.”

A chaotic eruption of voices fills the hall. Fear, anger, and confusion blend into a cacophony of shouted questions and demands.

"We should evacuate the young and elderly—"

"We need to attack first, catch them by surprise—"

"This is what happens when we allow—"

The last comment comes from somewhere in the back, triggering another wave of arguments. I slam my hand down on the podium.

"Enough!" The room quiets under my Alpha command. "This isn't helping."

Victoria's eyes meet mine across the room, and I know there's more she hasn't said. I nod slightly, giving her permission to continue.

"The wards can be repaired," she says carefully. "Strengthened again. But it requires someone with the right magical signature. It might not be the will of the pack, but it seems we need a witch."

Every head turns toward Luna.

A moment of tremulous silence hangs on the air, fragile as gossamer and yet unbroken. I pretend to myself that I can’t see her shaking as she rises slowly from her seat, her expression unreadable.

“You knew this all along," she says to Victoria, her voice cutting through the silence. "You knew what happened to my parents. What they were working on. What I might be capable of."

It's not a question, but Victoria nods anyway. "I suspected. I needed to be certain."

"So I'm meant to be, what? Your magical weapon against the Cheslem Pack?

" Luna's voice remains steady, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands. She’s angry. I know that steel in her eyes. “Haven’t I already been asked for enough? First you want me to marry your Alpha, then—”

"You're meant to finish what your parents began," Victoria corrects gently. "If you're willing."

The implications hit me like a physical blow. If Luna attempts to repair the wards, she'll be exposing herself to the same threat that killed her parents. Making herself a target.

The thought sends my wolf into a frenzy of protective rage. I want to grab her, to hide her away somewhere safe until this threat is eliminated. The rational part of me knows that's neither possible nor what the pack needs right now.

What the pack needs is Luna's magic.

What Luna needs is protection.

One cannot coexist with the other.

The Council erupts into another round of arguments—some supporting the idea of using Luna's abilities, others vehemently opposed to relying on witch magic. Luna stands silent in the midst of the storm, her eyes meeting mine across the chaos.

Something passes between us—a question, perhaps, or a challenge. I can't read her expression fully, but there's determination there, the steel she’s always had, but most have never seen, perhaps never wanted to see.

"The pack house will serve as a secure base," I announce, cutting through the debate with Alpha authority. "All non-essential personnel will remain within Silvercreek’s inner grounds until further notice. Patrols will be doubled, with at least four wolves per rotation. No exceptions."

I pause, scanning the room.

"Luna will be provided with whatever she needs to research the ward restoration. She will have a security detail at all times."

I ignore her flash of indignation at this last part. Her safety isn't negotiable.

"Is this wise, Alpha?" Elder Roberts questions. "Putting all our hopes on untested magic?"

"It's not untested," I counter. "The Morgans' wards have been protecting us for fifteen years. And as for wisdom—" I gesture toward the back of the hall, where the sheet-covered bodies of Ethan and David lie in state "—we're out of alternatives."

The meeting dissolves into tactical discussions—evacuation protocols, patrol schedules, communications with neighboring packs.

Through it all, I find my attention repeatedly drawn to Luna, who remains in quiet conversation with Ruby and James.

Her shoulders are squared, her chin lifted in that stubborn angle I remember so well.

She's not running from this. The realization fills me with contradictory emotions—pride in her courage, terror at the risk she'll be taking.

***

"She refuses the security detail," Thomas reports an hour later in my office. "Says she can't work with 'hulking shifters hovering over her.'"

I growl in frustration, staring at the territory map spread across my desk. Red X's mark the attack sites—Matthews Pack territory, our eastern boundary, the places where strange tracks were found. A pattern is emerging, circling inward toward Silvercreek.

"She doesn't have a choice," I mutter.

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Have you met Luna? All respect, Alpha, but she absolutely believes she has a choice."

He's right, damn him. Luna has never responded well to commands. Trying to force protection on her will only push her to take greater risks.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache. "Fine. Tell James to handle it. She trusts him, at least. He can convince her to accept the measures necessary.”

"And the evacuation plans?"

"Start with families with young children, the elderly. Use the western safe houses." I trace the route on the map. "Melissa will coordinate."

Thomas nods and turns to leave, then pauses. "Nic."

I look up at his rare use of my first name.

"Luna's strong," he says quietly. "Stronger than any of us realized. And she's not alone this time."

The simple statement settles something in me. She's not alone. Not like her parents were. Not like she was five years ago when I sent her away.

"No," I agree. "She's not."

After Thomas leaves, I stare at the territory map again, trying to think like an Alpha instead of a man terrified for the woman he—

I cut the thought off sharply.

Luna needs to survive. My pack needs to survive. Everything else is secondary.

And, Gods, despite all of this, the third and final trial is tomorrow.