Chapter 63 64
A few hours later.
The northern cliffs rose like jagged teeth against the horizon, their peaks dusted in snow, their caves carved out by centuries of storms. Perfect for hiding. Perfect for regrouping.
Xander’s team had set up a rough camp inside one of the larger hollows—stone walls muffling the wind, firelight flickering against damp rock. It wasn’t luxury, but it was shelter. And it was far enough from the castle that the Queen’s spies shouldn’t have reached us yet.
Or so I thought.
I sat apart from the others, sharpening my blade with deliberate, slow strokes. Wolfbane still lingered in my blood, but my wolf clawed against the poison with every breath, furious and restless. I couldn’t stop thinking about Marigold—how I’d left her in that chamber of liars, how her face had gone white at the sight of that cursed video.
My jaw ached from clenching. I swore when I got back, I’d rip the Queen apart limb by limb. I’d—
A low growl cut through the cave. One of Xander’s scouts at the entrance stiffened, nostrils flaring.
Not wind. Not pine.
Blood.
The air shifted before I heard them.
A dozen shadows poured from the treeline, then two dozen, then more—wolves in sleek black combat armor, their bodies shifting in mid-leap, their eyes burning with the Queen’s command.
The Black Fang.
“AMBUSH!”
The cave erupted into chaos.
Arrows tipped with wolfbane streaked through the night, whistling past the scouts. Xander bellowed orders, his voice sharp and controlled, but even he hadn’t expected this many. The Queen hadn’t sent hunters. She’d sent an army.
I didn’t wait for orders.
The instant one of those bastards crossed the threshold, I shifted.
Bones snapped, skin tore, fur ripped through my flesh in a burst of fire. My wolf surged forward, black and massive, claws like steel, fangs dripping venom.
The first Black Fang warrior lunged at me, blade raised. I caught him mid-strike, crushed his arm until bone splintered, and tore out his throat in a spray of hot blood.
The second slashed from behind. I spun, claws catching his chest, ripping through armor like paper. He gurgled, collapsed, and didn’t rise.
“Hold the line!” Xander roared somewhere behind me. His team was fighting tooth and nail, but the Fang were endless—an ocean of snapping jaws and glinting steel.
I didn’t hold the line.
I broke it.
I plunged into their ranks like a beast unchained, my wolf reveling in the carnage. Every scent was blood, every sound was screams and snapping bone. My claws tore through ribs, my jaws ripped out spines. I moved with nothing but rage and instinct, the Queen’s lies fueling me.
They called me savage?
Then savage I would be.
One wolf drove a spear of silver through my side. Pain exploded, white-hot—but it only sharpened me. I howled, ripped the weapon free, and buried it in his gut, twisting until his eyes went dull.
Another leapt at my throat. I caught him mid-air, slammed him into the rock wall hard enough to crack his skull, then tore his head clean off.
Blood slicked the ground, pooling around bodies. My fur was drenched crimson, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
Ten fell.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Each death was a message. Each kill was a promise.
You will not take me.
You will not touch her.
You will choke on your own blood before I let you.
When the last of them staggered, broken and bleeding, I pinned him with a paw the size of his chest. He wheezed, clawing at the ground, eyes wide with terror.
“Tell her,” I snarled, my voice half-wolf, half-man, dripping with fury. My fangs pressed against his throat. “Tell your Queen I’m still alive. Tell her I’ll come for her. And when I do…”
I ripped his chest open, hot blood spilling across the stones.
“…I’ll bring hell with me.”
The battlefield went quiet except for the crackle of fire and the labored breathing of the survivors. Xander staggered toward me, blood running down his temple, his blade still dripping.
“You killed two dozen of her elites,” he said hoarsely, disbelief flickering in his eyes. “No one’s ever done that.”
I shifted back slowly, skin knitting over torn muscle, though blood still ran down my side. My hands shook as I wiped gore from my mouth.
“She wanted savage.” My voice was gravel. “Now she’ll have it.”
I turned to the survivors—what remained of Xander’s team, battered and bleeding but alive. Their eyes locked on me with something raw, something primal. Fear. Awe. Loyalty.
I raised my blade, blood still dripping from its edge. “This is war. She thinks she can erase me? Let her try. We’ll cut down every Black Fang she sends, until she learns what it means to hunt an Alpha.”
The men roared, fists slamming to their chests.
But inside, my thoughts weren’t of war.
They were of her.
Marigold.
My mate.
My reason to survive.
The Queen wanted to turn me into a monster. Fine. I’d be her monster. But I’d also be Marigold’s protector.
And I would kill every single bastard in the kingdom before I let them touch her again.