The peace shattered three days later.
Howls echoed from the ridge, wrong and twisted, filled with hunger. Wolves rushed from the den, their golden eyes wide. Aradia and Kael followed, their bodies tense.
And there he was.
Ronan.
But he was no longer wolf. No longer man. His copper hair hung in tangled strands, his amber eyes burned red with shadow. Black runes coiled across his skin, glowing faintly with each heartbeat. Behind him stood dozens—no, hundreds—of shadow-wolves, their forms half-flesh, half-smoke.
"Behold," Ronan called, his voice dark, echoing unnaturally. "The future. Wolves freed from chains. Fire that bends to shadow."
Kael growled, his claws sliding free, his massive form trembling with fury. "You are no wolf. You are nothing."
Ronan's smile was sharp, cruel. "And yet, Alpha, she still dreams of me."
Aradia stiffened, her fire flickering wildly. Kael's eyes darkened, his jealousy flaring hot, but before he could lunge, Ronan lifted his hand. The shadow surged forward, crashing against the pack like a tidal wave.
The war had begun.