Heather's POV
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I could feel the trap long before I saw it.
The way Mikaela's warriors shifted, tightening a circle around me, not to protect—but to corner. Their gazes weren't uncertain. They were loyal. But not to me.
To her.
Mikaela stepped forward, smugness oozing from every movement as she shifted back into her human form, blood-splattered and barely breathing hard. Her long hair was matted with sweat, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
"Did you really think you belonged here, Heather?" she sneered, circling me. "That Darrian would choose a broken thing like you over me?"
I said nothing. My fingers clenched tighter around the hilt of my blade.
"You fooled everyone for a while," she continued, tilting her head. "But I see what you are. Weak. Soft. Useless in war or peace. You think being mated to an Alpha makes you Luna? You've done nothing to earn that title."
Anger sparked in my chest, white-hot and unrelenting. I swallowed it down, but it simmered.
"I don't need to prove myself to you," I said, voice steady despite the fear crawling up my spine.
"Oh no, darling," she purred. "But you're going to. Right here. In front of everyone."
She raised her voice, calling out to the warriors gathered nearby, their gazes flicking uncertainly between us. "Let the pack see who their Luna really is!"
She shifted before I could respond.
One moment a woman.
The next—a massive grey wolf, teeth bared, rage in every line of her body.
I didn't shift.
I couldn't.
Fear clawed at my ribs.
My wolf had been silent for so long. Suppressed. Buried. Silver had ruined us. Broken us.
But Mikaela lunged.
And instinct roared.
Pain ripped down my spine as my body moved without command, bones breaking, reforming, reshaping. I screamed, or maybe growled—I couldn't tell the difference anymore. The world warped. Grew sharper.
And then I was on all fours.
My vision glowed blue.
Gasps echoed.
Not the white of a common wolf. Not the dark grey of a typical Alpha.
No. My fur was jet black.
And my eyes—piercing, glowing, Alpha.
Mikaela hesitated.
Too late.
I struck her with the full force of my fury.
We collided, claws tearing, teeth snapping. The crowd roared, but I didn't hear them. I heard only the wild, primal cry of my wolf.
She had been silent for too long.
Now she was done hiding.
Mikaela yelped as I pinned her, fangs at her throat. Blood coated my muzzle. My wolf snarled, a deep, guttural warning that echoed over the battlefield.
One word rang in every watching mind:
Luna.
And just as I was about to end it—
A blast shook the earth.
Magic.
Dark. Heavy. Reeking of Marcus.
The world tilted. Screams echoed as a second wave of enemies stormed in from the north.
And I turned—blood still dripping from my jaws—to face what was coming.
This wasn't over.
This was just beginning.
Axel emerged from the trees, his dark aura crackling like thunderclouds around him, flanked by unfamiliar wolves—ones I didn't recognize, ones whose eyes glinted with hunger and madness. Four packs, Darrian had said. And I could feel every one of them now pressing in.
I shifted back, body trembling, the afterburn of battle heavy in my limbs. Mikaela lay where I'd left her, whimpering, no longer a threat. I didn't even spare her a glance.
"Form ranks!" Darrian's voice roared across the clearing, a sound so commanding it silenced the fear for a breathless moment.
Wolves scrambled, weapons raised, and I moved toward him—toward where he stood at the center, sword in one hand, his Beta barking orders beside him.
Our eyes met.
For the first time, he looked at me not as a broken mate, not as a burden.
But as a warrior.
"We fight," I said, stopping beside him.
He nodded. "Together."
And then the enemy charged.
The final battle had begun.
---
Darrian's POV
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The battlefield was soaked in blood and littered with the broken bodies of wolves from every side. The moon hung high overhead, casting silver light over a war that had left us more fractured than victorious. We'd survived.
But barely.
And Marcus… he was gone.
No body. No scent trail. No broken pieces to bury.
I paced the smoldering edges of the clearing, stepping over scorched grass and splintered weapons. My men were gathering the wounded, hauling the dead, and dragging the unconscious to the triage zone we'd hastily set up. But my eyes scanned every shadow. Every whisper of wind.
He had vanished.
Heather's wolf had shifted back sometime during the final hour. She fought like a creature born of fire and vengeance, her presence alone turning tides. When she moved across the battlefield, wolves stepped aside, enemies hesitated. There was no doubt anymore—she was Luna, whether anyone said it or not.
Now she was gone too, led off by a pair of medics to check for injuries. I'd seen her limping slightly, a bruise blooming across her side, but she'd waved them off until everyone else had been treated first.
Always selfless. Always brave. And now stronger than I'd ever imagined.
Mikaela was under guard, her supporters detained. Some fled mid-battle. Others lay unconscious or bleeding among the wounded.
But Marcus…
Where the hell had he gone?
I'd fought him myself, seen his snarl, felt his blade meet mine. He was real. Solid. Unyielding.
Then a flash of magic, and he was gone like smoke.
Some say he'd used forbidden magic. Others whispered he'd made a deal with something worse than death. I didn't know. But I would find out.
I swore it.
---
Heather's POV
---
The hospital wing reeked of antiseptic, blood, and pain. Wolves moaned softly from cots, medics moved like ghosts between them, silent and efficient. I sat on the edge of a bed, a bandage wrapped around my ribs, my palms scraped raw.
But I was alive.
We were all alive. Most of us.
Darrian had come by once. Silent. His eyes unreadable, lingering on me for a moment before nodding once and vanishing again to deal with the aftermath.
I didn't expect him to stay. Not now.
I wasn't even sure if I wanted him to.
After they cleared me, I walked back to the pack house on shaky legs. Every step echoed with memories—Mikaela's challenge, Marcus's magic, the taste of blood on my tongue. I passed warriors bowing their heads, some whispering my name, others simply stepping aside.
The halls felt different now.
Not cold.
Not hostile.
I reached my room, the one Darrian had given me, still untouched. My favorite books were neatly stacked on the shelves, the soft bed untouched, a clean robe folded at the foot.
I stood in the doorway for a long time.
Then I stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned my back against it.
For the first time in years, I was safe.
But the war wasn't over.
Because Marcus was still out there.
And I could feel him waiting.
Watching.
Plotting.