Page 57 of Fated (The Bonded Legacy #1)

The tide turned incrementally. First, the feral rogues broke ranks, their wild offensive crumbling against the combined might of Bloodstone and Crescent Fang.

Then the partially shifted fighters retreated, overwhelmed by coordinated strikes.

Last to withdraw were the tactical rogues, their retreat as calculated as their assault.

Caleb’s mind raced as he watched them disappear into the woods.

No random violence followed such precise choreography. Someone stood in the shadows, directing this bloody performance with unseen hands.

The battlefield fell into an eerie quiet.

The distant pop and hiss of collapsing timbers consumed by flame. Whimpers of injured wolves creating a grim melody. Soft padding of paws as survivors navigated the bodies strewn across blood-soaked earth.

The Crescent Fang wolves began to regroup, their telepathic bond buzzing like static at the base of Caleb’s skull—sharp, urgent thoughts overlapping in a mental cacophony.

Caleb shifted back into his human form, bones cracking and body reshaping.

The night air felt ice-cold against his sweat-slick skin, raising goosebumps across his flesh.

His body was a map of pain—muscles screaming from exertion, cuts stinging from exposure to air, bruises throbbing in dull, persistent aches.

The taste of battle lingered in his mouth—blood, dirt, and adrenaline forming a bitter cocktail that coated his tongue. He stood tall despite the exhaustion that weighed on him like stone, surveying the carnage through eyes that stung from smoke and unshed tears.

Bloodstone pack members moved through the wreckage, tending to the wounded and extinguishing flames.

Caleb’s gaze lingered on the she-wolf, now being carried away by Bloodstone wolves as they fought to stabilize her.

He noticed the lifeless body of her mate nearby, a sharp reminder of the battle’s cost.

“Alpha Caleb.” A Bloodstone warrior handed him a pair of sweats.

Caleb nodded in gratitude, pulling them on as he addressed his warriors through the bond. “Return to Crescent Fang. Inform Garreth about Asher’s condition and bring him to the Bloodstone hospital.”

The Crescent Fang wolves acknowledged his command, their forms slipping back into the forest as they began their journey home.

At the hospital, Caleb stood beside Asher’s bed, his beta’s pale face etched with pain.

The wound on his side, where the silver-tainted knife had cut deep, was stitched and bandaged tightly.

The Bloodstone pack doctor explained that silver poisoning prevented Asher’s wolf from healing the wound naturally, leaving him pale and weak.

“It will likely take the night to purge the silver from your system,” the doctor continued. “If the wound begins to heal by morning, the stitches can be removed, and you can be cleared to return to Crescent Fang.”

“Another scar for the tally,” Asher rasped, voice tinged with humor, despite his pain.

Caleb managed a faint smile. “You’ll wear it well.”

The doctor checked Asher’s dressing one last time. “I advise against shifting for a few days. Your wolf will need to rest to allow your body to heal naturally.”

Asher nodded, thanking the doctor again for his aid.

Caleb waited for the doctor to exit before turning his attention back to his beta.

Asher’s grin faded as he met Caleb’s gaze. “That felt wrong, didn’t it? Those rogues… They weren’t feral—not all of them. And the weapons?”

Caleb shook his head, his expression grim. “No. This was something else. Whoever’s behind it… They’re not finished.”

Before they could continue, Garreth burst into the room, face pale. “Asher!” he cried. Relief washed over his face as he saw his son awake and conscious.

Caleb stepped back, expression soft. “He’s wounded and suffering from silver poisoning, but the doctor expects him to be better by morning.”

Garreth’s shoulders dropped several inches. His fingers dug into Caleb’s shoulder, conveying wordless gratitude before he crossed to Asher’s bedside in three quick strides. Caleb excused himself, stepping into the waiting area to give them privacy.

He stood by the large window in the hospital’s waiting room, looking out over the scarred packlands.

Fires still smoldered in the distance, the faint cries of mourning wolves echoing in the night.

His fingers pressed against the cool glass, trembling with a rage he hadn’t allowed himself to feel during the battle.

This wasn’t just an attack on neighbors anymore.

Asher’s pale face flashed through his mind, the image burning into his retinas.

The she-wolf’s anguished howl echoed in his ears, vibrating through his bones.

Caleb’s throat constricted, chest shrinking until each breath became a focused effort.

This was personal now. These rogues—whoever was commanding them—had shed Crescent Fang blood. Had nearly taken someone he loved.

His reflection stared back at him, eyes harder than he’d ever seen them. The diplomatic and untested alpha was gone. In his place stood a protector with blood on his hands and retribution in his heart.

“This was only the beginning,” Fenrir murmured low in his head. “We need to be ready. We all need to be ready.”