Chapter 189

Chapter 189
Ethan's POV

I held Freya tightly against my chest, unwilling to let even an inch separate us after nearly losing her to the canyon's depths. We stood on the northern ridge, overlooking the battlefield where the chaos was gradually subsiding. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of fear and the sweeter notes of relief as warriors realized the fighting had ended.

Through our soul bond, I could feel Freya's emotions washing over me like waves – the exhilaration of survival, gratitude toward Ivy, and beneath it all, a current of worry for her sister Riley. I stroked her hair, marveling at how little my own injuries seemed to matter when compared to her safety.

"You're still bleeding," Freya whispered, her fingers gently tracing the gash across my torso.

"It's nothing," I replied, though the wounds Kassak had inflicted were deep. My wolf, Rowan, remained alert inside me, hackles raised. Though Kassak lay dead on the ridge behind us, the battlefield below still held potential threats. I wouldn't fully relax until every member of my pack was accounted for and secure.

Ivy stood beside us, her broomstick now tucked casually under her arm as if she hadn't just performed an impossible aerial rescue. Her dark hair whipped around her face in the mountain breeze as she surveyed the aftermath.

"We should get down there," she said quietly. "There are warriors who need healing, especially those with silver wounds. Silver poisoning sets in quickly."

I nodded, reluctantly loosening my hold on Freya. Looking down at the valley below, my attention was drawn to a familiar figure kneeling in the dirt. Riley, her silver-blonde hair unmistakable even from this distance, hunched over the still form of her father, Marcus Hayes.

"Riley," Freya breathed, following my gaze. "She's so weak right now. Breaking a mate bond... it's like tearing away part of your soul. And with her father gone..."

I felt a pang of sympathy despite my lingering wariness. Riley had ultimately chosen to betray Kassak, severing their bond to save Freya – to save us all. But trust wasn't rebuilt in a day, especially with someone who had spent months as our enemy.

"We need to get her to Elena," Freya continued. "Her mother will know how to help her through this."

I nodded. "We will."

As we watched, a tall figure appeared beside Riley. Lewis, the Alpha of Pine Shadow Pack, placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. Even from here, I could see Riley was shaking, her face ashen with grief and the physical toll of the broken bond.

"Come on," I said, wrapping an arm around Freya's waist. "Let's get down there."

The descent from the ridge was slow. My injuries made each step painful, but I refused to show weakness. Ivy walked on Freya's other side, watchful for any signs of trouble. As we reached the valley floor, the full extent of the battle became clear.

Moonshade warriors moved methodically across the field, checking the wounded, collecting weapons, securing prisoners. Blood darkened the earth beneath our feet. The faces of the Bloodclaw warriors who had survived showed a complex mix of emotions – relief at Kassak's death, fear of what would happen to them now, uncertainty about their future.

James approached us, his right arm bandaged but otherwise intact. "Alpha," he greeted me with a respectful nod. "Luna." He bowed slightly to Freya.

"Report," I said, straightening despite the pain.

"We lost thirty warriors between Moonshade and Pine Shadow. Another fifty or so wounded, but most will recover." His face hardened. "Bloodclaw lost nearly forty. The rest have surrendered."

I nodded, processing the numbers. The cost had been high, but it could have been worse. Much worse.

"Have the wounded sorted," I instructed. "Minor injuries treated here, serious ones transported back to the manor. And have someone check on Theo." I felt Freya's relief through our bond at the mention of our son.

"Already done, Alpha," James assured me. "The pup is safe with Lyra in the underground chambers."

A commotion drew our attention. Not far away, Lydia was directing several warriors who were processing surrendered Bloodclaw members. Her voice carried clearly across the field.

"All weapons removed and checked for silver! No exceptions!" She stood tall, her posture commanding despite the exhaustion evident in her movements. "Any resistance will be met with immediate restraint!"

Most of the Bloodclaw warriors complied without issue, the fight gone from them now that their Alpha was dead. The atmosphere was tense but gradually calming as order reasserted itself.

Freya and I moved toward Lydia, needing to coordinate our next steps. Just as we approached, I caught a flicker of movement from within the group of surrendered Bloodclaw warriors. A flash of silver, the sudden scent of aggression.

"Lydia!" Freya called out in warning.

Lydia's POV

I felt a subtle shift in the air—a whisper of hostility, followed by the sound of metal slicing through space. Battle experience made my body react instinctively, without need for thought. I twisted, the movement as fluid as water. The dagger spun toward my chest, but to me, it might as well have been moving in slow motion.

Not only did I easily avoid the blade, but I snatched it by the handle as it passed. Such reflexes were rare even among werewolves. Just as I turned to locate my attacker, a familiar scent captured my attention.

Noah.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted him running toward me, his medical bag bouncing against his hip, concern etched across his features. My heartbeat quickened, a plan forming instantly.

"Noah!" I called out, deliberately raising my voice an octave higher than the commanding tone I typically used when directing warriors.

His pace quickened at my call, genuine worry flashing in his eyes. My opportunity had arrived. I made a split-second decision, using the dagger's momentum to slice a shallow cut along my side. The pain was minimal, but I staggered dramatically, feigning injury.

"Lydia!" Noah's voice was filled with alarm as he reached my side within seconds. He knelt beside me, completely focused on examining my "wound," his warm fingers gently touching my skin.

I allowed my hard expression to melt into something vulnerable—a look that had never appeared on the battlefield. "Noah," I said softly, my voice deliberately sweet and fragile, entirely unlike my usual self, "it hurts so much."