Chapter 137 The Siege of Bloodrock
Chase‘s POV
The tunnel exit opened onto a rocky outcropping half a mile from Bloodrock's fortress. I emerged to find Wynter with Jax and Anne, surrounded by the medical team I'd positioned in advance.
Jax lay on a stretcher, face pale but conscious, while Anne sat propped against a boulder as a medic cleaned the burns on her arms.
Through the Bond, I felt Wynter's exhaustion mixing with fierce satisfaction.
The head medic reported. “Both this gentleman and this lady are seriously injured and have extensive burn marks, but their injuries are treatable. We can transport them within the hour.”
"Do it," I said, then turned to Wynter. Her clothes were still damp from the flooded tunnel, but her eyes were clear and determined. When she looked at me, love surged through the Bond so strongly it made my chest tight.
"You did it," I said quietly, pulling her against me. "You got them both out."
"We did it," she corrected. "Together."
I held her for another moment, then pulled back, cupping her face. "The signal flares go up in ten minutes. I need you to stay here. Guard Jax and Anne while the medics work."
Through the Bond, I felt her protest, then recognition of the logic.
"Promise me you'll be careful," she said, gripping my jacket. "Promise you'll come back."
"I promise," I said, sealing it with a kiss. "I love you."
"I love you too," she whispered. "Now go. Finish this."
I forced myself to turn away, toward where my strike team waited in the shadows.
Stay safe, I sent.
You too, her mental voice came back. Come back to me.
Always, I promised.
The signal flares erupted across the night sky—silver from Silvermoon, green from Emerald Valley, red from the Rogue forces. I stood at the head of my strike team, watching those lights bloom and fade.
This is it, I thought. Everything we've fought for comes down to tonight.
"For Silvermoon," I said. "For justice. We end this tonight."
"For Silvermoon!" they echoed, and we moved.
---
We advanced in coordinated waves—my team taking the main approach while Emerald Valley swept from the east and the Rogues closed from the north.
The first volley of arrows came without warning.
"Shields!" I roared. Silver-tipped arrows rained down, and I heard the distinctive thunk of bolts finding targets.
One of my soldiers went down with an arrow through his shoulder, his scream making my wolf snarl.
"Covering fire!" I commanded, dragging him behind cover. "Suppress those positions!"
The fortress's defenses were more sophisticated than expected—magical wards shimmered across the main gate, old magic woven into the stones.
Draven prepared for this, I realized.
I circled toward the eastern wall, using natural cover. The wall showed signs of age—cracks in the mortar, worn stones. Enough to provide handholds for someone desperate enough.
I was definitely desperate enough.
The ascent was brutal—muscles burning, fingers bleeding. Halfway up, I heard shouts as Bloodrock soldiers spotted me, felt arrows whistle past.
Almost there, I told myself.
My hand closed on stone, and I hauled myself over, rolling into a darkened corridor with heart hammering.
I was inside.
I'm in, I sent to Wynter. Going to open the main gate.
Be careful, she sent back.
I moved with predatory silence toward the gate mechanism. The fortress was a maze, but the sound of battle provided a compass.
The gate mechanism chamber held a massive windlass system—and three alert soldiers with weapons drawn. One had his hand on a horn that would summon reinforcements.
Draven knew we'd try this, I thought.
Three against one, and one of them had that horn. I couldn't let them sound the alarm.
I pulled three throwing knives, calculating angles and distances. The horn-bearer was priority.
One chance, I told myself.
I stepped into the chamber and threw.
The first knife took the horn-bearer in the throat. He went down, horn clattering. The second knife caught the leftmost guard in the shoulder, spinning him with a cry.
But the third guard dodged and came at me, sword raised, shouting for reinforcements.
I met him halfway, our blades clashing. He was good—trained, experienced. But I was fighting for everyone I loved.
His blade scored my forearm, but I used his momentum against him, driving my elbow into his temple. He stumbled, and I followed with a strike that sent his weapon flying before my blade found his throat.
The wounded guard struggled to his feet, reaching for a dagger. I crossed the distance and knocked him unconscious.
Three guards down. Maybe thirty seconds. My heart hammered, blood dripping from my arm, but the gate mechanism stood unguarded.
I grabbed the massive wheel and began turning. The gate rose with a groan of protesting metal.
Through the widening gap, I saw my forces surge forward, saw the mages shatter the wards in a cascade of breaking magic.
"For Silvermoon!" Commander Marcus roared as our warriors poured through like a silver tide.
Through the Bond, I felt Wynter's fierce pride.
Gate's open, I sent. We're in.
I knew you could do it, she sent back. Now finish this.
I will, I promised. For your father. For all of us.
The fighting was brutal—Bloodrock's elite guard making every inch cost us. But we had numbers, momentum, and righteous fury.
I fought through the great hall, blade singing. Then I saw him.
Lord Draven Kaine stood at the far end, surrounded by his personal guard, face twisted with fury. Our eyes met across the chaos.
His empire was ending. Tonight.
"Sterling!" His voice boomed, carrying Alpha authority. "You dare invade my territory?"
"I dare seek justice," I interrupted, my own Alpha presence rising. "For Arthur Vaughn. For the Rogue children you stole. For everyone you've hurt."
We moved toward each other, the battle parting around us. Our blades met with a clash that sent sparks flying.
Draven moved with lethal precision—decades of experience in every blow. But I was younger, faster, and fighting for purpose.
"You think you've won?" Draven snarled, his blade scoring my ribs. "Power is all that matters, boy."
"Then you've already lost," I said, my blade finding the gap in his guard and driving deep into his shoulder. "Because you never understood the difference between power and strength."
He stumbled, blood spreading. Around us, his personal guard was falling—overwhelmed by three territories united.
"Yield," I commanded, blade at his throat. "It's over."
His weapon clattered to the floor. "I yield."
The battle was over.
---
We found Draven's private study an hour later. The room was opulent and cold, decorated with trophies of conquest.
But it was the documents that made my blood run cold.
Ledgers detailing illegal mining operations. Correspondence with corrupt officials. Plans for inciting conflicts. And there, in a locked drawer that Wynter picked—
Arthur Vaughn's investigation file.
I watched Wynter's face as she read her father's careful documentation, saw understanding crash over her. Through the Bond, I felt her grief spike sharply.
"He knew," she whispered, fingers tracing her father's handwriting. "He discovered the illegal mines. He was going to report Draven to the Council. That's why—" Her voice broke. "That's why Draven had him killed. Not politics. Just greed."