I stood at the edge of our makeshift headquarters, a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of Shadow Crest, and stared at the city skyline in the distance. The sunset painted the horizon blood-red—fitting for what we were about to do. Behind me, dozens of wolves moved with military precision, preparing for battle. The scent of steel, gunpowder, and determination filled the air.
But all I could think about was Seraphina. My mate. My queen. My everything.
She was miles away in the desert with Lyra and Queen Neferet, seeking answers from the Goddess while I prepared to lead our forces into what might be a suicide mission. The separation was a physical ache in my chest. And Rhys—my son, barely three months old—I'd only held him twice since we'd gone underground.
"Alpha Thorne." Jasper appeared at my side, his normally immaculate appearance now rough and worn from weeks of guerrilla warfare. "Final preparations are complete."
