Chapter 48 Attacked by Patrol

Chapter 48 Attacked by Patrol
Bram

I struggle to open my eyes, the dark walls blurring until they sharpen the unmistakable cage of a dungeon cell. Iron bars, damp floor, and the sour tang of wolfsbane. They must’ve drugged me.  Whoever they are. 

My head pounds. The last thing I remember is the cart jolting beneath me, rough hands shoving me down as something sharp nicked my neck. However, the  blindfold, paired with the rocking sway of wheels rolling up what felt like mountains and being repeatedly knocked in the head every time we stopped and made camp–along with possibly being drugged–has made me more than a little fuzzy on the details. I know we climbed, dipped, jolted again, and then nothing. I must’ve blacked out.

I push myself upright, biting back a groan. The cell is empty other than a bucket shoved in the corner. My wrists burn where they tied me before, though the ropes are gone now. 

Then I hear a scrape of metal, and a door swings open. An armored guard shouts, “The Luna will see you now.”

I don’t move. My throat is dry, but I force the words out. “Where am I?”

He drags me up by the arm, and I stumble. We climb a narrow stairwell carved into the stone then pass through a hall that reeks of incense. The air thins. We’re high up, probably in the very peaks I imagined while blindfolded.

Two great doors open before us, and the chamber inside is vast, hung with black banners streaked red, the mark of Blood Moon Pack. At the far end, three thrones rise on a dais of polished obsidian. The center is the widest, taller than the others, carved into the shape of snarling wolf heads with ruby eyes. On that throne sits the Luna, regal, elegant and powerful. 

She is beauty sharpened into steel, every line of her face perfect and severe, her silver gown sweeping like spilled moonlight down the steps. Her crimson lips form a malicious smile, and a golden crown with emeralds and rubies rests against thick dark braids threaded with silver. She is ageless, gorgeous, and magnificently evil. 

To her right, on a smaller throne, sits a woman who causes my chest to instantly tighten. She’s not  Lyra, not my mate, but the resemblance is impossible to ignore. She’s the wolf I fought at Running River–and the woman who lured me into abduction. Every instinct screams danger.

She meets my stare, calm and poised. Her presence radiates authority and threat in equal measure. She’s clever, ruthless, and I’ve faced her before. I won’t underestimate her, and I won’t be caught off guard again.

And on the Luna’s left sits Kaelen, smug as ever, sprawled like the throne belongs to him. His smile is poison in my veins. My stomach knots. 

What is he doing here?

The guard shoves me forward until I’m on my knees at the foot of the dais. I glance again at the warrior woman on the right, my mind spinning. 

The Luna leans forward, her eyes glittering. “Bram of Running River.” Her voice is velvet edged with claws. “You are far from home. You’ve found yourself in Blood Moon territory, beyond the Blood Fang Peaks.”

The mountains. I was right.

She studies me for a moment then gestures delicately to the woman beside her. “I see your confusion. You think you know this face, but she’s not the one you love.”

The warrior’s mouth twitches with either disdain or amusement. I can’t tell.

The Luna rises, every inch of her radiating power. “Allow me to make introductions. I am Maelis. Sister to your mate’s mother.”

Lyra’s aunt.

I stare, unable to reconcile the idea. This Luna of Blood Moon’s blood runs through my mate. 

“And this,” she continues, her hand resting lightly on the armored woman’s shoulder, “is Lyra’s sister, Kiayara.”

I can’t breathe.

Kaelen chuckles, low and pleased with my shock. “Welcome to the family, Bram.”



Lyra

The first light of dawn glints off the jagged peaks, turning frost-coated stone to silver. Mist curls through the ridges, and the forest smells of mud mixed with snow. 

I lead our small band, paws pounding, hearts hammering in sync. Jorin stays at my side, his wolf imposing, ears flicking to every sound. The trail of Bram’s scent carries through the cold morning air, faint but unmistakable, and I won’t let it slip away.

Sunlight splashes off the rushing stream winding between the rocks, and the water’s roar mixes with the distant crash of a waterfall farther up the mountain. 

Birds call from the pines, darting through shafts of gold as they chase one another. The mountains would be beautiful if they didn’t feel so alive with danger, every shadow between the trees a potential threat. 

I catch it first—something foreign on the wind.  A small patrol of wolves moving deliberately, their scent carried by the breeze. My fur bristles. Jorin presses close to my side. 

I focus on the mind-link, sending the signal to the others: “Spread out slightly, keep the patrol in sight, and be ready. Don’t let them flank us.” Their responses are immediate, confirming they understand, and my body tightens with the pulse of anticipation.

The wind switches, scattering the scents I’ve been tracking, and before I can adjust, a sudden crash of movement erupts from the rocks above and beside us. The enemy patrols hit the trail like shadows made solid, teeth bared, and we’re in the middle of them before any of us can fully react.

They dart between the boulders, with their red eyes glowing, snarling jaws, and claws scraping stone. Blood Moon wolves cut off our path, surrounding us before we can escape. 

“Left flank!” Rain grunts through the mind-link.

I pivot, twisting low and fast. One wolf lunges at me from the rocks. I spring aside, fangs sinking into his shoulder as he scrabbles to regain balance. Another lunges from behind, catching my flank. Pain bites sharp and hot.

We crash together in chaos. Jorin rams through the center, knocking two wolves down with sheer force, teeth flashing, a growl vibrating through the ground. The others fan out, driving back the patrol in small bursts.

But one wolf is silver-tipped, bigger than the rest, his cruel red eyes fixed on me. He leaps, and my paw slips on the ice, sending me sprawling. His jaws snap inches from my throat.

I twist, slamming my claws into his neck, but his weight pins me, crushing me into the frost-hardened stone. Pain radiates through my shoulder. My lungs are straining. He knocked the wind out of me, and I can’t catch a breath. 

“Lyra!” Jorin’s roar crashes through my mind. “Roll away! I’ve got him!” 

I roll out of the way, and the wolf is ripped off me. Jorin hits him with the force of a falling tree, teeth sinking, jaws clamping. The wolf thrashes once, then goes still. Jorin turns, his golden eyes locked on mine, commanding, grounding.

“Up!” he screams through the mind-link.

I stumble to my paws, cold blood soaking fur, muscles trembling. Another wolf comes at me. I snap, dodge, and bite, forcing it back toward Fenric, who tears into it with practiced precision. The rest of the patrol begins to falter under our coordinated attack.

But the largest wolf, the one who hit me first, circles back, snarling, his teeth bared. I plant myself, growling, my heart hammering. Jorin stands beside me. He launches himself at the wolf just as the enemy lunges again, knocking it aside with one powerful sweep.

We move as one. Every breath, every strike, every dodge flows through the mind-link. Eventually, the patrol shrieks and retreats, fewer and fewer remaining as we press forward. Jorin nudges me as the last wolf collapses into the mist. His muzzle brushes mine briefly. 

Breathing hard, I pause only long enough to check the others. Our ears swivele for any sign of movement in the tree line. The patrol is down, but the air still hums with tension, and I know better than to let our guard drop. 

We move cautiously, senses still sharp, letting nothing slip past as we push forward. Bram’s scent is faint again, but it’s there, weaving through the cold air, pulling us onward.

The peaks rise before us, fog rippling up from  ebony stone. Every cell in my body aches, every claw is nicked, every nerve on edge, but there’s no hesitation. Bram waits, and we will tear through whatever stands between us and him.

Jorin falls in beside me again, his eyes sweeping the edges, watching for more patrols. “We’ll  be less easily scented and caught if we split up. You and I take the western pass; the others go east.”

I pause, my nostrils flaring, scanning the distant horizon. 

“Fenric, Rain, Mack, you go up the east ridge. Keep tight, stay within mind-link range, and alert us if there’s any sign of Bram or any more patrols. We’ll take the west passageway and meet up outside the castle walls.”

They don’t hesitate. Their paw scrape over stone as they vanish into the mist. The distance stretches fast, mountains swallowing them.

Jorin stays close. “Good,” he murmurs, almost a growl, his gaze sweeping the ridge. “This way, we move faster and quieter.”

“We have to find him, Jorin,” I whisper, though  I’m beginning to lose all hope.