Chapter 26
Chapter 26
While the banquet carried on with laughter, toasts, and diplomatic conversations, a thunderous noise tore through the tranquility of the royal hall. A distant roar, followed by screams and the pounding of feet, shook the floor beneath the guests. The music stopped abruptly, and the senses of every werewolf in the room sharpened instantly.
Kilian stood up, his eyes ablaze with fury and alertness.
—Gabriel, Ian, with me! —he roared in a commanding tone that echoed with the authority of a true king.
The throne guardians reacted immediately, moving to his side. Before leaving, Kilian turned to the four alphas guarding the security perimeter around the throne.
—Stay with her! Protect your queen with your life if necessary!
The four alphas—tall, powerful, and with eyes as cold as steel—nodded in unison. They knew what that order meant. Protecting Abigaíl wasn’t just obeying their king; it was honoring the luna herself.
Abigaíl—or Luciana, as she truly was—remained standing tall, refusing to let fear seize her body. Her wolf, Nyra, stirred furiously beneath her skin. This was no time for doubt, nor to hide her power.
When they reached the castle doors, the sight was terrifying.
More than fifty wolves—massive, frenzied, their eyes bloodshot—were advancing through the capital. These weren’t mere warriors. They were the Grays, a group of deserters who had once served under the North but had rejected Kilian’s rule and bloodline. Savage, anarchic, brutally strong. Kara had lured them with hollow promises: land, power, and free trade routes once she claimed the throne. But what they really wanted… was destruction.
—My queen! —one of the alphas warned— We must retreat!
But Abigaíl stepped forward. She closed her eyes and allowed Nyra to rise completely. Her body changed, her hair whipped about as if a storm raged within her, and her aura… her aura exploded into the air like a shockwave of silver and fire.
A massive silhouette began to form behind her: a majestic she-wolf, with eyes like the full moon and dark fur streaked with white. The Gray wolves halted. Some fell to their knees. Others stepped back, growling, as if the moon itself were condemning them.
With a voice charged with Nyra’s ancient power, Abigaíl shouted:
—Step back! This is now my kingdom, and I will not allow you to harm my people! Leave, or face the wrath of a wolf queen!
Her aura pressed down like an invisible claw over the enemy ranks. Some dropped to their knees, muzzles lowered. But the most power-hungry did not yield.
They growled. They roared. And they attacked.
—Defensive formation! —one of the alphas commanded.
The four guardian alphas moved around Abigaíl in perfect unison. Each shifted partially, letting their wolves emerge through claws, fangs, and amber eyes.
But Nyra had no intention of staying still.
With a roar that shook the sky, she launched herself straight at the deserters. Her body shifted completely, becoming a colossal, imposing, perfect she-wolf. The great alpha led the charge, her fangs gleaming with rage and power.
The alphas followed.
—For the queen! —bellowed Alaric, the eldest among them.
And then the battle began.
Claws against claws. Fangs against steel. The ground trembled under the weight of the fighting bodies, the air filled with howls, growls, and the metallic clashing of strike after strike. Abigaíl, still in her wolf form, spun, leapt, struck. Her movements were agile, lethal, charged with wild grace. She tore through one of the wolves with a single bite to the throat and repelled another with a blast of pure energy.
The alphas flanked her one by one, shielding her as they fought with flawless coordination. They were her guardians—but also her brothers in war.
—Fall back, fall back! —shouted one of the Grays, terror creeping in at the realization they were facing a true alpha queen.
But it was already too late. Reinforcements were arriving from the castle, and the squads organized by Abigaíl herself descended the steps with military precision.
—Right flank! Push from that side! —Abigaíl commanded, briefly taking her human form to shout orders— Drive them toward the central plaza and trap them there! Form circles!
The soldiers obeyed without hesitation. Her voice no longer belonged to a foreign guest or a future consort. It was the voice of their queen.
—Ian! Gabriel! Cover the rear! —shouted one of the alphas through the magical communicator.
—On our way! —answered the king’s gamma, his deep voice steady as a royal squad arrived with their banners flying.
Amid the chaos, a massive gray wolf lunged at her from behind.
But Abigaíl spun, and as if the wind itself obeyed her will, blasted him back with a surge of energy. The ground split beneath her feet. Her eyes gleamed with the power of the ancients. Nyra roared within her—alive, furious.
—Not today —she murmured, low but firm, stepping toward the heart of the Grays—. I will not let you destroy what we are building.
One by one, the enemies began to fall. Some fled. Others surrendered. And a few—the most loyal to Kara’s madness—refused to yield, fighting to the bitter end… until none were left standing.
Abigaíl panted. She was covered in wounds, but her stance remained unshaken. The four alphas surrounded her, alert for any renewed threat, but finally… only silence remained.
From the hill, Kilian’s howl rose into the night. A song of victory and promise. He had heard her. He had felt her presence, her fight. His queen had defended his kingdom—not as a shadow, but as an equal.
She, Luciana. She, Nyra. She… Abigaíl. The wolf queen.