Chapter 62
THIRD PERSON POV
Ronan and Marceline surged onto the palace balcony, the horrifying spectacle ahead robbed them of air. Below, the palace yard was a vortex of pelt and teeth. Darius’s Rogue pack battled Ronan’s sentries. The atmosphere pulsed with the noises of combat—clashing maws, shredding talons and the deep bellows of furious wolves. Ronan wasted no time, propelling himself down the majestic steps.
While Marceline meanwhile, stayed above, she lingered there with expanded eyes, stunned by the reality that Darius invaded their territory after vowing not to.
Then she recalled…. She had neglected to notify him that Elara was no longer in the palace.
By the moment Ronan’s feet struck the icy stone surface, the initial surge of Darius’s pack had already violated the throne room entrances, their thirst for violence a tangible power. The throne room exploded into disorder, the gleaming surfaces turned into a war zone as Darius and his forces charged inside.
Darius positioned at the forefront of the pack, a vicious grin contorting his mouth as he assessed the mayhem he had released. Gore streaked across his form, his gaze sparkling crimson beneath the illumination. He advanced nearer, an exhale leaving his mouth.
“Ronan,” Darius’s tone thundered, resounding through the space. “Surrender the blood healer right now. We both recognize she’s present.” His tone fell with a poisonous assurance.
Ronan lingered there, steadfast. His stare fixed on Darius’s, a wordless defiance exchanging between them. “She isn’t here,” he countered. “You’ve got the incorrect location.”
Darius’s mouth curved into a sneer. “I’d suggest you avoid toying with me. I know she’s inside….and you’re concealing her. Deliver her, and this concludes amicably.”
Ronan shook his head while he advanced closer toward the Rogue. “I don’t know. I lack any notion where she is.”
“Final opportunity… Where. Is. The. Blood. Healer?” Darius questioned gradually, his tolerance eroding.
“I don’t know.”
Darius shook his head. “Hey, don’t commit a massive error over a female and deliver her. Your Pack will endure due to this.”
“I ought to be stating the identical to you. You’re committing an error. I don’t know where the blood healer and that’s all you’re obtaining from me.”
The atmosphere sizzled with strain, a evident menace lingering thickly between the pair of Alphas. Darius’ tolerance fractured as he drew in a sharp inhale. “Fine. Have it your way. The difficult path.”
The assault was instant, a whirlwind of cracking skeletons and primitive wrath. The woods burst into turmoil as werewolves transformed, their throaty growls ripping through the breeze. The confrontation was savage, talons rending tissue, fangs securing hold in necks. Gore splashed about, staining the woods ground a grim scarlet.
Ronan hurled himself at Darius, their impact a savage tremor that dispatched lesser wolves dispersing. They wrestled, a cyclone of fangs and talons, each frantic for supremacy. Darius, bulkier and mightier, forced Ronan’s rear against the ground, his pure bulk an overwhelming force.
“You’re a fool, Ronan,” Darius snarled, his exhale scorching on Ronan’s features. “You will perish due to this. The blood healer is mine and not even you can halt it.”
Ronan reared, employing his greater nimbleness to escape. He rotated in mid-flight, gashing his talons across Darius’s snout. Darius bellowed in agony, briefly obscured by the gore.
“You’re committing an error, Ronan,” Darius bellowed, evading a strike from Ronan. “Surrender the blood healer and this concludes immediately.”
Ronan laughed. “How can I surrender something I don’t possess?”
“You know where she is.”
“I don’t.”
With a surge, Darius pounced at Ronan, a maelstrom of sinew and hostility. The two Alphas clashed, the collision quaking the very earth below them, along with the skirmish of their forces.
“She’s not worth this,” Darius ejected, straining against Ronan’s might.
“You sure? Seems like to me, she’s worth it for you to initiate an assault.”
The conflict persisted, the pack associates entangled in a savage fight for endurance. Corpses scattered the glade, an evidence of the intensity of the clash. The atmosphere was dense with the odor of gore, perspiration and terror.
As the conflict endured, the palace burst into mayhem. Marceline dashed down to the throne room, her core plummeted when she absorbed the spectacle ahead of her. “Ronan!” She attempted to shout amid the turmoil but he couldn’t perceive her, not from all the combat and bellows from other wolves.
Ultimately, after what seemed like forever, Ronan grasped a chance. He twisted loose from Darius’s hold, his talons securing grip in the Rogue Alpha’s side. Darius bellowed in agony and wrath, reeled rearward. Ronan exploited his edge, a unyielding barrage of talons and fangs. With an ultimate, conclusive pounce, he sent Darius tumbling to the earth, his talons encircling the Rogue’s neck.
Ronan, in spite of his sinews protesting in agony, kept Darius immobilized, triumph close at hand. But the Rogue eyes flickered, fixing on Marceline, who positioned rigid against a barrier, her features ashen with fear. A vicious sneer pulled at Darius’s mouth.
“Looks like you were mistaken.”
“What are you discussing?” Ronan demanded, his hold firmed on the Rogue.
“Why don’t you question her?”
“Question who?” Ronan inquired as his stare trailed Darius’s. His gaze expanded when it settled on Marceline, the fragments started to align. Her phrases from that evening… The abrupt occurrences that had transpired…
“You guided him here?” Ronan’s tone was a subdued perilous rumble, the awareness striking him like a bodily impact. Disloyalty, keen and acrid overwhelmed his perceptions.
“I vow…” Marceline wept, her tone quivering. “I didn’t intend to-”
Ronan drew in a profound inhale and glanced at his sentries. “Apprehend her.” Then he pivoted to Darius. “And you, depart my territory and never come back. You were pardoned today, tomorrow you won’t.”
Darius, vanquished and hemorrhaging, glanced up at Ronan with frigid animosity in his gaze. “This isn’t concluded, Ronan,” he snarled. “I’ll locate her, and when I do. You’ll rue it.”
Ronan released his throat. “You won’t.”