Chapter 8

The cold lingered even as dawn crept over the valley, painting the sky in muted shades of gray and violet. The Blackthorn stronghold remained shrouded in uneasy quiet, the kind that spoke of whispers behind closed doors and the careful weighing of choices that could shift the balance of power.

Elara stood at her window, staring out at the forest beyond the barricades. The mist from last night had thinned, but a ghost of it still clung to the treetops, a reminder that some things never fully disappeared.

Behind her, Leon stirred.

She hadn’t asked him to stay after their conversation last night, but he had. He had taken up a spot in the chair by the door, arms crossed, eyes closed—but not asleep. Not really.

Elara turned to him. “You didn’t have to stay.”

Leon cracked one eye open, the icy blue of his gaze sharp even in the dim light. “Didn’t trust your father not to pay you a visit.”

She let out a slow breath. Draven had been watching her too closely last night. Testing her. Measuring how much she had changed. If he had sensed weakness, he would have exploited it.

Leon stretched, rolling his shoulders. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Elara stiffened, already knowing what he meant. If it comes down to it—between love and legacy—what would you choose?

She turned away, pretending to busy herself with the laces on her tunic. “It’s not a fair question.”

Leon stood, the quiet thud of his boots against the wooden floor sending a ripple through the air between them. “It’s not supposed to be.”

Elara swallowed hard, refusing to look at him. “I don’t have an answer.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Then, softer, Leon said, “That’s an answer on its own.”

Elara closed her eyes for a brief second. When she opened them, her resolve was back in place. “We should go. My father is expecting me.”

Leon studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Let’s move.”

\---

**The Alpha’s Summons**

Draven’s war room was as cold and unyielding as the man himself. The stone walls bore the deep scars of past battles, each mark a testament to the blood that had been spilled in the name of power. A long, dark wooden table dominated the center of the room, maps and scrolls scattered across its surface. The scent of burning wood and steel clung to the air.

Draven stood at the far end, his imposing form wrapped in a black cloak lined with wolf fur. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly tied back, but there was nothing orderly about the sharp glint in his black eyes.

At his side stood Soren Darkwood.

The sight of Leon’s older brother sent a current of tension through the room. Soren was taller than Leon, broader in the shoulders, his dark hair cropped short and his expression permanently etched into a scowl. His dark brown eyes flicked toward Elara with something between disdain and amusement.

“Elara,” Draven said, his voice smooth, almost pleasant. “You took your time.”

She stepped forward, keeping her posture straight. “I didn’t realize I was on a deadline.”

Draven chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Everything in this world is bound by time. And we have little to waste.” His gaze flicked to Leon, unreadable. “You’re still keeping company with the Darkwood boy, I see.”

Leon’s shoulders tensed, but he said nothing.

Draven didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he gestured to the map on the table. “We have a problem.”

Elara moved closer, scanning the markings. Red ink stained the edges of the valley, encroaching toward the heart of Blackthorn territory.

“Rogues,” she murmured.

Draven nodded. “They’re growing bolder. There have been three attacks in the past week. Two of our patrols have gone missing.” His gaze sharpened. “I need you to go out there and handle it.”

Elara’s spine stiffened. “Alone?”

Draven smiled, slow and calculated. “Of course not.” He gestured to Soren. “You’ll go with him.”

A muscle ticked in Leon’s jaw. “That’s a mistake.”

Soren smirked, crossing his arms. “Afraid your little mate can’t handle herself?”

Elara’s fingers curled into fists, heat rising in her chest. “I don’t need your protection.”

Soren’s smirk widened. “We’ll see about that.”

Leon’s voice was ice. “If anything happens to her out there—”

Draven lifted a hand. “Enough. You leave at sundown. Dismissed.”

Elara’s pulse pounded, but she turned on her heel and left, Leon close behind her.

\---

**A Dangerous Hunt**

The sky was painted in hues of crimson and violet by the time they rode out. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, and the distant howls of wolves echoed across the valley.

Soren led the way, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. Elara rode beside him, forcing herself to keep her focus on the mission, not the simmering tension between them.

Leon rode just behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence like a second shadow.

After nearly an hour of silence, Soren finally spoke. “So, little Blackthorn, how does it feel knowing you’ve got two packs betting on whether you’ll fail?”

Elara gritted her teeth. “If I cared what people thought, I wouldn’t have survived this long.”

Soren chuckled. “Fair enough.” He leaned slightly toward her, voice dropping. “But don’t think for a second that means I trust you.”

Leon’s voice was deadly quiet. “Then don’t get in her way.”

Soren’s smirk remained, but he didn’t push further.

The group pressed forward, the forest thickening around them. The deeper they went, the more unnatural the quiet became.

Then, the scent hit them.

Blood.

Elara stiffened, pulling her horse to a halt. “Something’s wrong.”

Soren dismounted first, hand on the hilt of his blade. “Stay sharp.”

Elara and Leon followed, the three of them moving in a silent formation. The scent of death grew stronger, until—

They found the bodies.

Three Blackthorn wolves, their throats torn open, their bodies arranged in a circle.

A warning.

Elara’s stomach churned. “This wasn’t a rogue attack.”

Leon crouched beside one of the bodies, his expression dark. “No. This was deliberate.”

Soren’s face was unreadable as he examined the scene. Then, he cursed under his breath.

Elara followed his gaze—and her blood ran cold.

Carved into the ground, written in their fallen packmates’ blood, was a message.

THE ALPHA’S BLOOD WILL SPILL NEXT.

A chill crawled up Elara’s spine.

Then, the first howl rang through the night.

Low. Menacing. Close.

They were not alone.

Leon rose to his feet, his voice low and sharp. “We need to move. Now.”

Soren’s expression was grim. “Too late.”

The shadows between the trees shifted.

Golden eyes glowed in the darkness.

And then, the rogues attacked.