Chapter 55 Edmund's Final Preparations (Edmund POV)
Eleven days until the Silver Moon, and every piece was finally falling into place.
I stood in my study, surrounded by maps and tactical reports, feeling the kind of satisfaction that only came from watching years of planning reach fruition. The moon chart on my desk showed the lunar cycle in precise detail, the Silver Moon would rise on the night of the tournament's final matches. Perfect timing. Poetic, even.
"Sir." Jameson entered without knocking, carrying another folder. "The final equipment manifest. Everything's been confirmed."
I took the folder, scanning the contents. UV light generators… industrial grade, powerful enough to burn through werewolf regeneration. Silver gas canisters… forty of them, enough to flood Blackthorn's entire underground facility. Reinforced steel barricades for every exit point. Motion sensors. Backup generators. The list went on for three pages.
"And the teams?" I asked.
"Positioned and ready. We've got men stationed within a mile of every entrance to the facility. The moment the tournament moves underground for The Culling, they'll move into position."
"How long to seal all exits once they're activated?"
"Seventeen minutes, sir. Possibly less."
I set the folder down, allowing myself a small smile. "The wolves trap themselves by their own traditions. The Culling requires them to go deep underground, away from the moon's influence. They'll seal themselves in."
"Like rats in a barrel," Jameson said.
"No." I moved to the window, looking out over the grounds. "Rats are cunning. These creatures are predictable. They follow their rituals, their ancient customs, never questioning whether those traditions might be their downfall."
My reflection stared back at me from the glass… older than I'd like to admit, but not too old to see this through. Gray threaded my temples now, and lines creased my face that hadn't been there five years ago. The work had aged me. But it would be worth it.
"The UV grids are the key," I continued. "Once they're underground and the exits are sealed, we activate the lights. Werewolves can't regenerate under UV exposure. Their healing stops. They become vulnerable."
"And the silver gas finishes them."
"Precisely." I turned from the window. "How many are we expecting?"
Jameson consulted his notes. "Seven packs total. Approximately two hundred and thirty wolves, including Alphas and their leadership."
Two hundred and thirty. The number should have felt heavy… that many deaths, all at once. But these weren't people. Not really. They were monsters wearing human faces, and every one of them was a threat to humanity's survival.
"What about Reid's pack?" I asked.
"They'll be in attendance as well. Sixty-three wolves, sir."
I nodded slowly. Reid and his enhanced wolves were a complication I'd prepared for. The serum I'd given him had served its purpose… destabilizing the wolf hierarchy, creating chaos, establishing Reid as a dominant force. But Reid himself was still a wolf, still a monster. He'd die with the others.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Reid thought he was special, that the enhancements made him somehow better than the other beasts. He didn't realize he was just another weapon I'd aimed at my enemies.
"He suspects nothing?" I asked.
"Nothing at all, sir. He believes you're backing his bid for supremacy."
"Good." I moved back to my desk, pulling out another map… this one showing the facility's layout in exquisite detail. "Walk me through the sequence again."
Jameson stepped forward, pointing to various marked locations. "The tournament begins with preliminary matches above ground. Standard werewolf combat. After three days, they move to The Culling… the underground portion where the real fighting happens. According to tradition, all packs must be present underground during this phase."
"Why?" I interrupted. "What's the significance?"
"Something about facing their nature without the moon's influence. Testing whether they can control themselves in enclosed spaces. It's one of their oldest traditions… every major tournament for the last three centuries has included The Culling."
I shook my head. "Barbaric. And tactically idiotic."
"Which works in our favor." Jameson traced lines on the map. "Once they're underground, teams Alpha through Delta move to these four primary entrances. They install the barricades—reinforced steel, mag-locked from the outside. Backup teams Epsilon and Zeta secure these two emergency exits here and here."
"Time frame?"
"Seventeen minutes from initiation signal to complete lockdown."
"And they won't notice the teams moving into position?"
"They'll have their own security, yes. But during The Culling, most of their attention will be focused inward… on the fights, on pack dynamics. Our intel suggests they post minimal external guards during this phase."
I studied the map, looking for weaknesses in the plan. "What about pack members who stay above ground? Surely they don't all go underground."
"Our count shows approximately eighty percent of each pack's strength will be underground for The Culling. The remaining twenty percent will be scattered… some guarding territories, some supporting from above ground, some too young or old to fight. We've prepared secondary teams to handle them."
"Less efficient," I muttered. "More variables."
"Yes, sir. But unavoidable. The bulk of their leadership and fighting strength will be in the facility. That's what matters."
I traced the UV light positions with one finger. "These are powerful enough?"
"Military grade, sir. The same ones used for sterilization in biohazard containment. They'll burn werewolf skin on contact, prevent regeneration, cause disorientation and pain. Combined with the silver gas..."
"It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel." I looked up at Jameson. "No survivors. That's critical. If even one Alpha escapes, they could rally what's left of the wolf population."
"Understood, sir. Once the gas is released, we maintain the seal for a minimum of four hours. No werewolf can survive that much silver exposure in an enclosed space."
Four hours. I imagined it… two hundred and thirty monsters suffocating on silver-laced air, burning under UV light, unable to escape. Their enhanced healing useless against sustained exposure. Their strength meaningless when they couldn't breathe.
It would be over by dawn.
"What about witnesses?" I asked. "Humans who might be in the area?"
"Blackthorn's estate is isolated. We've arranged for a 'gas leak' alert to evacuate the surrounding farms and villages. Local authorities have been notified there'll be emergency services in the area that night. Everything looks legitimate."
"Good." I closed the folder, feeling the weight of it in my hands. "And Vivienne?"
Jameson's expression shifted slightly. "The extraction team is ready, sir. They'll move in during the initial stages of The Culling, when security is most focused on the underground. They've been briefed to appear as hostile hunters… make it look like she's being kidnapped by the same forces attacking the tournament."
"She won't come willingly."
"No, sir. That's why we've authorized sedation if necessary. The team has orders to keep her safe but secure."
I moved to my desk drawer, pulling out a photograph. Vivienne at fifteen, before everything went wrong. Before she chose monsters over family.
"She doesn't understand yet," I said quietly. "She thinks she's one of them now. But the suppression serum can reverse the changes if administered early enough. Dr. Thornton confirmed it."
"Sir, with respect. The window for reversal… "
"Is still open," I interrupted sharply. "Thornton said it was possible. Difficult, yes. Painful, certainly. But possible. I can still save her."
Jameson was quiet for a moment. "Of course, sir."
I set the photograph down, forcing my mind back to tactical matters. Emotion was a liability in planning. I'd learned that the hard way.
"The extraction team understands their priority?"
"Vivienne's safety above all else. They have orders to remove her from the combat zone before the serum is released. She'll be secured in the medical facility by the time the gas activates."
"Where she'll be safe." I nodded. "Away from the carnage. Away from the monsters who corrupted her."
"Yes, sir."
I looked at the moon chart again. Eleven days. Less than two weeks until everything I'd worked for came together. The Wolf Council would be decimated. The major packs leaderless. The survivors… if any… scattered and broken.
And Vivienne would be free. Free from the curse, free from the wolves' influence. I'd make her understand eventually. Once the wolf was gone, once her mind was clear again, she'd see I'd done this for her. To protect her. To save her from becoming a monster permanently.
"There's one more thing," Jameson said carefully. "Reid has been asking about the tournament timeline. Wanting to confirm details about The Culling specifically."
"Suspicious?"
"Hard to say. Could be normal curiosity. Could be him sensing something's off."
I considered this. Reid was enhanced now, his instincts sharper than a normal wolf's. But he was also arrogant, convinced of his own superiority. That arrogance would blind him.
"Give him what he asks for," I said. "Let him think he's in control. Let him think this tournament is his stage to demonstrate dominance. The more confident he is, the less he'll see coming."
"And if he does suspect something?"
"Then we move up the timeline." I met Jameson's eyes. "But I don't think he will. Reid's drunk on his own power right now. Men like that don't look for threats… they assume they're the biggest threat in the room."
"Understood, sir."
I dismissed Jameson with a wave, turning back to my maps as he left. The study fell silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Each tick brought us closer to the Silver Moon. Closer to the end of the werewolf threat in Britain.
My phone buzzed. A message from Dr. Thornton: Suppression serum ready for immediate use. Six doses prepared as requested. Recommend gradual administration over three weeks for best results.
Six doses. Three weeks. Time enough to start Vivienne's treatment before the wolves even realized what had happened. By the time the other packs understood the magnitude of the attack, she'd already be on her way back to human.
Back to my daughter.
I replied: Confirmed. Prepare for patient arrival within twelve days.
The pieces were all in place now. The hunters positioned. The equipment ready. The timeline set. Even the weather forecast looked favorable… clear skies predicted for the night of the Silver Moon, no complications from storms or fog.
I pulled out another folder, this one marked with red tape. Inside were profiles on every major Alpha attending the tournament. Blackthorn, old and traditional. Declan Hartley, young and reckless. The Highland Alpha, the Border Pack leader, the Welsh Mountain Alpha. All of them documented, their strengths and weaknesses catalogued.
All of them about to die.
My finger traced over Declan's photo. He'd be there, of course. Probably still searching for some way to stop Reid, not realizing Reid was just a distraction. The young Alpha had heart, I'd give him that. But heart wasn't enough when facing industrial-grade UV lights and aerosolized silver.
The phone buzzed again. Another message, this time from Team Alpha: Final position confirmed. Awaiting execution order.
I set the phone down, looking at the lunar chart one more time. The Silver Moon—a rare phenomenon where the moon appeared unusually bright, almost silver in color. The wolves considered it sacred. A time when their power peaked.
How fitting that it would be the night they all died.
"Eleven days," I said to the empty room. "Eleven days until the monsters learn they were never as powerful as they believed. Eleven days until Britain is free."
The grandfather clock ticked on, counting down to the Silver Moon.
Counting down to the end of everything the wolves had since built.