Page 30 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #2)

KAEL

D awn breaks in streaks of crimson and gold as our coalition gathers at the edge of Dawn Ridge.

I stand at the highest point, watching the assembled forces below—a sight unprecedented in our territories’ history.

Storm Eagles circle overhead, their shadows crossing the ground where Haven’s Heart soldiers check weapons alongside wild clan fighters.

Sable’s wolf clan prowls the perimeter while Bran’s bear shifters arrange supplies with methodical precision.

The sight still fills me with a mixture of pride and disbelief. Three weeks ago, these forces would have killed each other on sight. Now they prepare to fight together against a common enemy—against one of my own.

My sister Zara lands beside me, shifting smoothly to human form. Her bronze-gold hair whips in the morning breeze as she catches her breath. “The last scouts have returned. Viktor’s forces are concentrated at Black Ridge as expected. No sign they’ve detected our approach.”

“And the ritual preparations?” I ask, unable to keep the tension from my voice.

“Proceeding exactly as Elena warned in her coded message.” Zara’s expression darkens. “The prisoners are being moved to the ancient temple. They’re planning to begin at midday.”

I nod, calculating. Elena’s intelligence has proven accurate at every turn—the ritual blade Viktor has been preparing, the positioning of his forces, the timeline for the sacrifices.

Her brilliance continues to amaze me, even from captivity.

Through our incomplete bond, I can feel her presence like a distant heartbeat, steady despite whatever Viktor has put her through.

“Brother.” Zara places her hand on my arm, her touch grounding me. “You should see this.”

She leads me down the rocky slope to a command tent we’ve established. Inside, the air is thick with tension and the smell of leather and steel. Marcus Ashford, Elena’s brother, stands over a map table with Commander Tavis and Sable. Their heads are bent together in deep discussion.

Marcus looks up as we enter. His military demeanor doesn’t waver, but I can see the concern for his sister in eyes so like Elena’s—the same intelligent brown, the same determined set when focused on a problem. “Stormwright. Our scouts captured this an hour ago.”

He passes me a folded piece of parchment. I recognize the handwriting immediately—Elena’s precise, scientific script. The message is brief but chilling: Ritual blade holds twenty-seven souls. Viktor plans personal absorption at the temple apex. The Northern approach is the weakest. E.

“She’s still finding ways to help us,” I say, pride mixing with fear for her safety.

“At tremendous risk,” Marcus replies, his jaw tightening. “My intelligence officer says Viktor executes anyone suspected of disloyalty. For her to smuggle this out…”

I fold the message carefully, tucking it inside my leather vest where it rests against my heart. “Then we won’t waste her sacrifice.”

Sable steps forward, her red hair seeming to spark with the same intensity as her amber eyes.

The wolf alpha’s presence commands attention despite her compact frame.

“My scouts report the Dire Wolf contingent is larger than we anticipated,” she says.

“Alpha Fenris has committed his entire pack to Viktor’s cause. ”

“Because he believes Viktor’s promise of southern territory expansion,” I reply, my mind already calculating the tactical implications. “A promise Viktor won’t keep even if he succeeds. The ritual would grant him dominion over all shifters—wolves included.”

“Fenris is a fool,” Sable growls, her eyes flashing with the predatory intensity of her wolf nature. “But a dangerous one. His wolves number over a hundred.”

Commander Tavis unfurls a detailed map of Black Ridge, his weathered fingers tracing tactical positions.

“Based on Elena’s intelligence and our reconnaissance, I propose a three-pronged attack.

” His finger traces routes along the parchment.

“Aerial assault from Storm Eagles to draw attention from the temple. Ground forces from the north where defenses are weakest. Special units to infiltrate and free prisoners before the ritual can begin.”

“My wolves can handle the infiltration,” Sable offers. “We’re built for stealth.”

“And my bears will lead the assault,” Bran adds, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. The massive bear shifter has said little during our planning sessions, but when he speaks, all listen. “We can break through their defensive lines.”

“What about Viktor himself?” Marcus asks, his tactical mind already seeing the flaw in our plan. “He’s the most powerful Storm Eagle alive, enhanced by whatever dark magic he’s been channeling.”

“Viktor is mine,” I state simply.

No one challenges this. They understand this is personal—beyond politics, beyond territory. Viktor took Elena. Viktor corrupted the ancient prophecies. Viktor betrayed everything the Storm Eagles stand for in his quest for power.

“We attack in one hour,” I announce. “Commanders, prepare your forces.”

As they disperse, Marcus lingers. His military bearing softens momentarily. “Stormwright… Kael. My sister?—”

“I will find her,” I promise. “Whatever it takes.”

He studies me, measuring my resolve with the same analytical gaze I’ve seen in Elena’s eyes. “She told me once that you two share some kind of bond. That you can… sense each other.”

“The mate bond,” I confirm. “It’s incomplete, but yes. I can feel her presence. Her pain. Her determination.”

His expression shifts, processing this information with scientific skepticism warring against brotherly concern. “Then use it,” he says simply. “Find her. Bring her back.”

“I will,” I promise again, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

After he leaves, I step outside the command tent.

The sun now stands fully above the horizon, illuminating our assembled forces—hundreds of fighters from territories that have been enemies for generations, united against a common threat.

The sight should be impossible, yet here they stand, preparing to fight together.

I close my eyes, reaching through the bond Elena and I share.

Since her capture, I’ve felt her at the edges of my consciousness—a steady presence despite the distance between us.

Now I focus intently, pouring all my concentration into the connection, seeking any impression, any clue to her exact location within Viktor’s compound.

A flutter of awareness answers me—faint but unmistakable.

Images filter through my mind like fragments of a dream: stone walls carved with ancient symbols, the acrid smell of fear and dark magic, Viktor standing before an altar with the ritual blade gleaming in his hands, and Elena—my brilliant, brave Elena—working frantically to save prisoners even as she faces her own execution.

She’s alive. She’s in the temple. She’s planning something. And she knows we’re coming.

I open my eyes to find Zara watching me with concern. “You reached her,” she says. Not a question—she knows me too well.

“She’s in the temple,” I confirm. “Viktor’s keeping her close.”

“Of course he is.” Zara’s expression hardens. “She’s the final sacrifice—the storm-touched healer whose power will complete his ritual.”

Lightning crackles involuntarily between my fingers at the thought. The incomplete mate bond has strengthened my storm magic beyond what I thought possible, but it’s also made me more volatile. Emotions translate instantly to power—especially when those emotions concern Elena.

“We need to move,” I say, mastering my control. “Signal the commanders.”

Within minutes, our forces begin their advance toward Black Ridge.

I shift into eagle form, the transformation rippling through me with practiced ease.

My massive wingspan casts a shadow as I launch skyward, feeling the familiar rush of wind beneath my feathers.

Twenty Storm Eagles loyal to me follow, forming a wedge formation behind my lead.

From this height, I can see our ground forces moving through the forest—Haven’s Heart soldiers in tight formation, their weapons gleaming in the morning sun; Sable’s wolves flowing like liquid shadow through the undergrowth; Bran’s bears advancing with unstoppable momentum.

We soar high, using cloud cover to mask our approach.

Black Ridge rises before us like a dark fist thrust from the earth, Viktor’s war camp sprawled across its slopes.

From above, I can see the ancient temple at its center—a stone structure pre-dating our clan’s memory, its architecture both beautiful and ominous, now surrounded by Viktor’s forces.

I count the defenders—at least fifty Storm Eagles perched on various vantage points, twice that many Dire Wolves patrolling the perimeter. The odds are not in our favor, but we have something Viktor doesn’t expect: unity.

A mile from our targets, we’re spotted. Alarm horns blare across the encampment, their mournful sound carrying on the wind. Dark shapes launch into the air—Viktor’s Storm Eagles rising to meet us.

“Now!” I signal with a sharp cry, tucking my wings and diving.

My Eagles follow, plummeting toward our designated targets.

Wind roars past my feathers as I focus on the largest guard tower.

At precisely the right moment, I release a bolt of concentrated lightning—blue-white energy that strikes with devastating precision.

The tower explodes in a shower of stone and wood, defenders scattering like leaves.

All across the camp, similar explosions mark my warriors’ successful strikes. Viktor’s Eagles reach us moments later, and the sky erupts in aerial combat—a whirlwind of talons, beaks, and lightning.

I bank sharply, evading a diving attacker, then twist to rake my talons across his wing. He spirals downward, screaming in pain. Three more Eagles converge on me—Viktor’s elite guard, recognizable by the silver bands on their legs.