Chapter 27 First Clash
A flaming arrow ripped past Tiara’s cheek.
She didn’t flinch. She tackled a NightFang warrior to the ground, claws slicing through his armor before his body hit the soil. Wolves roared around her like thunder, steel and fur colliding in chaos. SilverShield wolves fought in tight formation, exactly as she trained them.
“Hold the eastern line!” Tiara shouted, eyes glowing a fierce red as her Alpha power surged. “Do not break ranks—push together!”
Rye, her second-in-command, barrel-rolled through an attacker, panting. “They’re too organized! NightFang doesn’t attack like this—someone’s directing them!”
“I know,” Tiara growled, blocking a blade, her claws catching the metal, bending it. Her red eyes flashed brighter. “Which means they didn’t come to test us…”
“They came to eliminate us.”
Rye cursed loudly, tightening formation. Tiara leaped over him, landing on top of three wolves at once, shattering their stance with a single Alpha strike.
“Fall back to the ridge!” Tiara ordered, sensing a trap forming. “We use the terrain; force them uphill.”
Wolves obeyed instantly.
That was SilverShield strength—not numbers, but unity. Every movement was controlled, strategic, loyal.
A NightFang brute rushed at her with two blades, energy crackling. Tiara sensed his attack before he even moved. She spun, dodging effortlessly, then slammed her palm into his chest—an Alpha pulse blasting through him like raw moonfire. He crashed ten feet back, gasping.
Tiara felt her wolf pant under her skin, exhilarated. This is what we are.
Not prey. Not a breeder.
Alpha.
On the other side of the battlefield, a strange hum vibrated through the ground. Tiara’s vision blurred for a second—moonlight distorting into shapes, symbols, warnings. The Moon Goddess whispered strategy, her voice flowing through Tiara’s blood like prophecy.
Shift formation. Right flank is bait. Western trees conceal archers. Disarm. Redirect. Strike.
Tiara snapped back to reality.
“Rye—west flank! Archers hidden in pine growth. Take ten!”
Rye looked shocked. “How did you—?”
“Just move!”
He obeyed instantly, and the moment the SilverShield wolves lunged into the trees, three hidden archers were dragged out, snarling in panic.
The pack cheered, morale bolstered.
Tiara didn’t celebrate.
Her instincts screamed: NightFang wouldn’t throw their elite archers so early. Unless—
A massive explosion shook the ridge.
SilverShield wolves stumbled as smoke burst from the ground, disorienting them. NightFang surged forward, roaring.
“They’re using smoke bombs against wolves?” Rye growled.
“That’s not wolf strategy.” Tiara’s eyes widened. “That’s council strategy.”
Before Rye could respond, a new sound tore through the battle—
A deep, commanding howl.
A leader entering the fight.
NightFang wolves straightened, focused, renewed.
Tiara’s heart hammered. This attack wasn’t random.
It was planned.
It was political war disguised as pack conflict.
And then—
The ground trembled with a new force.
A different howl cut through the chaos—dark, furious, powerful as thunder.
Damien.
He launched into battle like a storm breaking chains, armored in council steel but fighting against council agenda. Wolves froze as he tore through NightFang warriors, spear glowing with moon-etched symbols. He fought like a man who knew the cost of mercy.
A NightFang captain lunged at Tiara from behind, blade raised.
Damien’s spear pierced the attacker’s chest before Tiara turned.
Their eyes met through blood and smoke.
Damien’s voice, ragged but steady, reached her.
“I told you I wouldn’t let them touch you.”
Her chest tightened—not soft emotion, but a fierce, burning acceptance. Their wolves surged at the same time, drawn to each other in primal recognition.
“Fight with formation,” Tiara said quickly, knowing time was short.
“Not fury. We defend, not chase. They want chaos.”
Damien nodded. “And they want you exposed.”
“Then let’s show them how an exposed Alpha bites,” Tiara smirked.
Together, they moved like a joined force—his political strategy, her visionary instinct. Damien redirected lines, cutting off the enemy’s escape paths; Tiara channeled her Alpha pulse, forcing NightFang warriors to break stance, fall back, or surrender.
The SilverShield Pack roared with unity.
NightFang faltered.
The battle reached its peak at the ridge, moonlight cutting through the smoke. NightFang ranks began to retreat, dragging injured wolves away. Tiara stepped forward, panting, blood marking her cheek and arms, sweat clinging to her hair.
“They didn’t come to win,” she murmured.
Damien followed her gaze. “They came to measure us.”
“To test leadership. Territory,” Tiara added. “To report how strong we’ve become.”
Damien clenched his jaw. “The council sent them.”
“Or someone who wants the council to think we’re a threat,” she countered. “A puppet master.”
The last wave of NightFang wolves dispersed into the shadows.
Silence settled over the ridge.
SilverShield wolves stood tall, victorious yet uneasy.
Tiara’s eyes tracked the retreating shadows—
Until she noticed one figure not retreating.
Someone watching her.
Standing among NightFang elites.
A woman in dark armor, silver hair flowing, eyes sharp as blades.
Tiara’s heart stuttered. The air vanished from her lungs.
She knew that face.
She had memorized it from childhood lullabies and nightmares.
Her voice cracked without sound.
Damien whispered, noticing her expression, “Tiara? Who—”
She cut him off with a trembling whisper.
“That’s her,” she breathed.
“My mother.”
Her wolf screamed inside her.
Not with joy.
With shock—and betrayal.
Because her mother stood with NightFang…
as their leader.