Chapter 95

Chapter 95
Jade POV

Trouble does not always arrive with battle cries or the ringing of alarms. Sometimes it enters quietly carried on footsteps that leave no sound, on whispers that slide under doors, on the way the woods themselves fall silent.
That was how it began.
The whisper of rogues in our borders.
The uneasy glances between warriors.
The slight stiffening of shoulders when my name was spoken.
I didn’t want to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.
The trees near the eastern ridge had been marked with deliberate strokes, deep, jagged cuts carved with a cruel hand, tearing into the wood as though it were flesh.
Dark sap mixed with blood where the bark had been ripped away. And carved into the heart of one tree was a symbol I knew too well:
A crescent moon was split down the middle.
My jaw locked so tightly I tasted iron.
The pack gathered around me in a tense circle, waiting for my reaction like wolves waiting for the wind to choose a direction. Some were afraid. Some were eager. Some were already searching for someone to blame.
And I did not need to look to know who their eyes shifted toward.
Sera.
She stood a little apart, her hands drawn close to her chest, her eyes wide, the memory of pain she could not yet name aloud.
The bond between us pulsed, a living thing, pulling me toward her even now. I could feel her fear through it. I could feel her confusion, her ache, her trembling heartbeat.
And yet the pack saw only reason to doubt her.
To doubt me.
A low whisper moved through the crowd too soft for most ears, but mine were not like theirs.
“She is the cause of this.”
“He would have never broken tradition if not for her.”
“She is the omen.”
I did not move at first. I let their words hang there, let them reveal themselves. Let them show me how quickly loyalty could bend, how fragile belief could become when fear dug its claws in deep.
Then I spoke.
“Do you think,” I said quietly, my voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade through cloth, “that a coward leaves warnings carved into trees?”
The silence that followed was absolute.
I stepped forward, placing my palm flat against the carved symbol. The wood was rough, splintered, still wet. My fingers curled slowly, tasting the violence that had lingered here.
“This was not a message,” I said, my voice low, controlled. “This was a challenge.”
My warriors straightened. I did not raise my voice when I said:
“We will answer it.”
A ripple passed through the group relief for some, fear for others, hunger for many. But they all listened.
They always listened.
I turned to them fully then, allowing them to see the truth in my expression. I did not hide the fury. The promise. The certainty of violence that had already begun to build inside my chest like a storm preparing to break.
“Lucien believes he can cross into my territory,” I continued. “He believes he can threaten what is mine.”
My gaze slid, unbidden, to Sera.
“My mistake,” I said, “was letting him live this long.”
The pack roared with rage, devotion, bloodlust all rising like heat off stone.
I simply stepped behind Sera and wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her into me, grounding her to the world before she drifted away from it.
She flinched just slightly. “They are afraid,” she whispered, barely audible.
I turned her gently to face me, my hand lifting to her jaw. Her eyes met mine wide, frightened, filled with something like hope and despair woven together.
“There’s no need for them to be,” I said quietly, letting every word fall heavy and certain between us, “I will make sure to take Lucien down no matter what.”
She looked at me like the words were both a blessing and a tragedy.
A hush settled over the ridge, the kind that comes before something irreversible. The pack waited for my command, their breaths held, their bodies coiled. But the forest answered before I could speak. A faint vibration pulsed beneath the soil, like something massive shifting beneath the earth. Warriors exchanged uneasy glances. Even Sera stepped closer, drawn by instinct rather than trust.

Then the sigil carved into the tree—a split crescent—began to drip again. Not sap. Not blood. Something darker, thicker, seeping from the cut as if the tree itself was reacting to Lucien’s presence. A warning. A countdown.

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The ground buckled.

A shockwave tore through the clearing, hurling warriors backward. Trees bent as if pushed by an invisible force. And from deep inside the forest, a voice echoed—not Lucien’s, not any wolf’s, but something older:

“Jade, your territory is no longer yours.”

Before I could respond, the eastern ridge erupted—split open as figures surged out of the earth.