The wind carried the scent of scorched trees and spilled blood. It settled deep in my lungs, staining every breath with a memory of the chaos that had unfolded hours before. Dawn had arrived, weak and gray, but it brought no peace. Only smoke, silence, and the long shadow of defeat.
We had survived the night, but survival came with a cost.
I stood at the edge of the battlefield, the frost beneath my feet melting into crimson slush. My claws were stained. My fur matted. Around me, my pack gathered the wounded, burying the dead in hurried silence.
The Black Pines were behind us now, and that cursed clearing—where she had appeared—was just a scar in the distance. But her presence lingered, clinging to the very air like a poison.
And I could not shake her voice from my head.
That laughter.
That chill.
That power.
Talia approached with a limp, one arm wrapped tight in blood-soaked cloth. She met my eyes and gave a nod, grim and steady.
We lost five more, she said. And three others are barely holding on.
Jarek's leading a sweep through the western flank. He thinks some of the Nightborn retreated deeper into the valley.
I nodded, jaw clenched.
Have the wounded moved back to Hollowstone. We can't afford another surprise.
And Aria?
She hesitated.
She hasn't spoken since the fight.
I found her by the river. The water ran shallow but fast, slicing through the frozen ground like a silver blade. She sat on a rock, staring into the current. Her hair hung loose, wet from snow, and the bruises along her arms were still fresh.
I said nothing at first. Just stood nearby, listening to the silence stretch between us.
Finally, she spoke.
I couldn't stop her.
She didn't look up.
I threw everything I had at her, and it was like I was a child waving matches at a storm.
I stepped closer.
She is not immortal, Aria.
No one is.
She turned to me then, her eyes hollow but burning.
She didn't feel like something that belonged in this world. She felt… ancient. Like she was carved from something forgotten.
And yet she bled, I said.
She looked at me, startled.
She bled when I struck her.
Aria's mouth parted.
So she can be hurt.
I nodded.
And if she can bleed, she can fall.
Back at camp, Jarek returned with news.
There's movement in the mountain pass. Not vampires. Something else. Shadows, maybe. Fast ones.
Scouts?
Maybe.
Or bait.
I stood, my back stiff with exhaustion.
Either way, we need to see it for ourselves.
Jarek frowned.
You want to go now?
We wait, we risk another ambush. We move, we keep the advantage.
And the others?
Hold the line. Guard the wounded. Keep them hidden.
Jarek gave a short nod, then turned to gather a strike team.
We moved light and fast—myself, Jarek, two scouts, and Aria. She insisted on coming, and I did not argue. Whatever haunted her, she had chosen to fight it head-on.
The path to the mountain pass twisted through dense forest, the trees growing closer together, the light thinning to a dull gray. Snow clung to the branches, heavy and still.
But something felt wrong.
The woods were too quiet.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
I lifted a hand, signaling a halt.
The others froze.
I sniffed the air.
Smoke.
But no fire.
We crept forward until we found it.
An old hunting cabin, broken down and nearly buried in snow. Its roof sagged, and its door hung loose on one hinge.
But smoke rose from the chimney.
I motioned for Jarek to circle right. The scouts took the left.
Aria stayed behind me, her fingers already glowing faint with heat.
We approached slow.
I pushed the door open.
The smell hit me first—burned wood, dried blood, and something older. Decay. Not fresh. Like the scent of long-dead things stirred from rest.
The inside of the cabin was dark, lit only by a single flickering lantern.
And in the corner—
A figure sat slumped in a chair.
He was human once. That much I could tell. His eyes were sunken. Skin stretched tight across his bones. His hands trembled on the armrests, bound by thick black chains pulsing with faint light.
His lips moved as we entered.
I stepped closer.
He looked up.
And I saw the mark.
A vampire brand. Etched deep into his skin just below the collarbone.
But it was no symbol of feeding.
This was control.
He's bound, I said. Not just physically. Magically.
Aria stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
I can feel the chains. She's woven darkness through his soul.
She?
The red woman.
The man coughed, blood staining his chin.
She comes at dusk, he rasped. She drinks from me. Not for thirst. For memory.
What memory?
He looked at me, and for a brief second, there was clarity in his eyes.
Yours.
I froze.
Mine?
She's searching you. Reaching backward. Looking for something.
My throat tightened.
What does she want?
He gasped once more.
The first Alpha.
Then he slumped forward.
Dead.
We burned the cabin before we left. Not out of rage. Not out of fear.
But respect.
The man had been twisted, turned into a vessel for something ancient and cruel. We would not let his soul be taken further.
As the flames climbed into the sky, I stared into the smoke and whispered a promise.
She wants the first Alpha?
Then she wants a ghost.
And ghosts cannot bleed.
But I can.
And I will make her regret every drop she spills.
By the time we returned to camp, the blood moon had risen.
It hung low and bright, painting the trees in red. The fires crackled, and the wolves gathered in tight circles, sharpening blades and cleaning wounds.
We were preparing.
Whether we were ready or not, another battle was coming.
I stood before them all, and they turned to face me.
I raised my voice, steady and low.
We have been hunted. We have been pushed from our lands. We have buried our own.
But we are not prey.
We are wolves.
And wolves do not run.
The red woman wants to wake the dead. She wants to tear open the past.
Then let her see the future we will carve.
With tooth.
With fire.
With blood.
They howled then.
A chorus of fury.
A promise of war.
And beneath the blood moon, we swore it together.
She would not break us.
We would break her.