Chapter 42: The Teeth of War

Chapter 42: The Teeth of War
The attack began before sunset.

A lone wolf breached the southern treeline—limping, bloodied, and barely alive. His fur was matted with dirt and crimson, and his staggered steps echoed with desperation. The guards shouted, arrows lifted, and the castle braced.

But it wasn’t a rogue.

It was one of their own, he was a scout from the outer village.

He collapsed at the gate, blood pooling beneath him.

By the time Alyra and Kaelan reached him, his breath was shallow, his chest torn open by claws that weren’t shaped like anything natural. Too sharp. Too long.

Kaelan knelt beside him. “How many?”

The scout’s eyes rolled, glazed with pain. “Too many to count,” he rasped.

Then he stilled. His body slackened. The silence after was louder than any scream.

Alyra’s heart clenched. “It’s begun.”

Kaelan stood, voice hard. “Form the lines.”

War horns thundered across the Royal Pack lands, shaking birds from trees and rippling the flags above the castle towers.

Every able-bodied wolf snapped to readiness.

The warriors donned armor etched with the Royal crest. Archers lined the walls. Shifters in both human and wolf form gathered at command points. The air crackled with ancient energy, and the scent of metal, sweat, and magic hung thick.

Alyra stood in the inner courtyard, wind tugging at her braid. Her armor shimmered silver beneath her cloak. She was no longer the outcast, the overlooked, or the uncertain.

She was a Silver Wolf.

She was the Queen.

She had trained for this. Bled for this.

Now, she would defend it.

On the northern ridge, Jessica watched the commotion with cold calculation.

She didn’t flinch. She smiled.

The sorcerer at her side raised a crooked staff. Around them, twisted creatures shifted in the underbrush—wolves no longer wolves. Their forms distorted by blood magic, eyes glowing red, their snarls warped and guttural.

Jessica’s cloak whipped around her as she raised a hand.

“Send them,” she said.

The sorcerer slammed his staff into the earth.

A sound like a scream echoed from the trees.

Then the rogues charged.

They hit the southern wall like a tidal wave.

Steel clashed with fang. Wards shimmered and cracked. Arrows rained from the ramparts. The battle exploded in a storm of blood and fury.

Alyra stood atop the wall beside Sarya, casting shields over the archers and unleashing bursts of silver magic.

Kaelan was already deep in the fray, his wolf form sleek and deadly. He fought with brutal grace, flanked by warriors who followed his every move like the current of a river.

Alyra could feel him—every heartbeat, every slash. The bond between them thrummed like a live wire.

A roar cut through the din—a massive rogue, its body riddled with runes, leapt toward the wall.

Alyra didn’t hesitate.

She raised her palm, and silver light surged forward in a clean arc, slicing the beast mid-air. It evaporated in a burst of dark mist and ash.

Sarya blinked. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Inside the castle, the halls buzzed with urgency. Guards secured gates. Healers prepared triage stations.

But something slipped past them.

A second wave—smaller, faster—crept through the eastern corridor. Rogues cloaked in darkness, illusion spells wrapped around them like veils.

This was no siege tactic.

It was a strike.

Their goal wasn’t battle, it was capture.

And their prize was Alyra.

She didn’t sense them until they were already inside.

One moment she was preparing another protective spell. The next—a blade hissed past her cheek, slicing the air.

She ducked, rolled, came up with a dagger drawn.

Three intruders. No, four. Moving too quickly, too quietly.

“East wing breach!” Eric’s voice shouted from beyond the hallway.

But Alyra didn’t wait. She ran.

Not in retreat, but to draw them away.

She darted through the castle corridors, leading the intruders through winding halls. She could feel them gaining—faster than normal wolves, more agile.

Blood magic.

She reached the old watchtower and bolted inside, slamming the door and pressing her hand to the stone.

A ward flared—bright silver lines forming a glowing seal.

The first rogue slammed against it with a snarl, bouncing off.

“Nice try,” Alyra muttered, breathless.

But her heart stopped when she saw who stood behind them.

Riley.

Her brother.

His eyes were wrong—glowing red. His face was pale, too still. His aura felt empty.

But it was him. She knew it. Somewhere beneath the corruption, her brother was still alive.

“Riley?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

The other rogues waited like shadows. Riley stepped forward.

“Riley, it’s me,” Alyra said louder. “Alyra. Your sister.”

A flicker.

He blinked.

“Lyra?” he rasped. The sound was raw, torn from some distant memory.

She stepped forward.

But the sorcerer’s grip pulled him again. His limbs tensed. His lips curled back in a growl.

He lunged.

Alyra didn’t fight.

She dropped the ward and caught him mid-tackle, rolling with the force, absorbing the impact. They hit the stone floor hard.

“Riley, listen to me!” she shouted, holding his face in both hands. “You know me. You know me!”

His claws scratched at her, but he didn’t strike.

She reached inside herself—not to hurt him, but to call to him.

To awaken the bond of blood.

Silver magic sparked beneath her skin. Not aggressive. Not explosive.

Just true.

It whispered through the air, brushing against the corrupted threads in Riley’s mind.

They shimmered. Cracked.

Then shattered.

He screamed.

And collapsed.

Kaelan found her minutes later, kneeling beside her brother’s unconscious body, shaking.

“He’s alive,” she said hoarsely. “He’s still in there.”

Kaelan knelt, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You did it. You brought him back.”

Alyra looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes. “Jessica took him. She turned him into a weapon.”

Kaelan’s voice was like iron. “Then we’ll make sure she never touches anyone again.”

She nodded, her hand trembling as it hovered over her brother’s chest.

“He’s my blood,” she whispered. “And she used him against me. That ends now.”

Kaelan’s eyes locked on hers, fierce and unyielding. “Then let’s end it.”

Far from the castle, in the heart of the corrupted woods, Jessica felt the spell break.

She screamed, knocking over a brazier with a sweep of her arm.

The sorcerer paled. “The sister’s bond—stronger than expected.”

Jessica bared her teeth. “Then we sever it next time.”

Her voice was cold as ice. “Next time, we don’t aim for her brother.”

She turned toward the map, her finger pressing over the center of the Royal Castle.

“We aim for her.”