The bells of Saint Lucien tolled through the night, desperate and frantic. Smoke curled into the sky from the burning chapel, and panic rippled through the city streets like waves. Wolves howled in every quarter, their cries echoing from rooftops and alleys. The city was no longer the church's fortress—it was Dominic's hunting ground.
The siege had begun.
---
From the forest edge, Dominic stood cloaked in moonlight, his wolves fanned around him like shadows of death. His eyes burned gold, his body thrumming with power. No longer the restrained strategist, no longer the whispering shadow—tonight, he was wrath unchained.
"Tonight," he growled, his voice carrying across the pack. "We show them what they tried to leash. We show them what it means to touch what is mine."
The wolves bared their teeth, their growls harmonizing into a thunderous chorus. When Dominic raised his hand, silence fell.
"No mercy," he said simply.
The war cry that erupted shattered the silence of the city. Wolves surged forward, not in scattered strikes this time, but in a storm. They poured over the walls, through the gates, bursting from the sewers where scouts had tunneled days before. The church guards barely had time to light their torches before the first wave descended.
The private war had ended. Ruthless revenge had arrived.
---
Seraphina woke to the sound of steel clashing and men screaming. From her chamber window, she saw fire licking the sky, wolves tearing through the streets. Her heart leapt—not with fear, but with fierce, desperate hope.
He's here.
The bond flared like a star inside her chest, hot and undeniable. She pressed her palms against the stone wall, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Dominic…" she whispered.
But her door burst open, and Maeron strode in, his face twisted with rage. He wore no robe tonight—only black armor etched with holy runes, a blade gleaming at his side.
"You feel him, don't you?" Maeron hissed, stalking toward her. "The beast clawing at my gates. The savage who dares call you his. You think he will save you?"
Seraphina held her ground, her chin high despite the chains at her wrists. "He will save me. And when he does, Maeron, you will beg for death."
The cardinal's eyes flared, fury and something darker flashing in them. "Then let him come," he spat. "I will carve his heart before your eyes."
He seized her by the arm, dragging her from the chamber. She struggled, but the chains and his grip bound her fast.
Outside, the cathedral shook with the sounds of war.
---
Dominic led the charge through the southern gate. His claws shredded steel, his blade drank blood. He moved with the precision of a predator, cutting down any who dared stand before him. The soldiers of the church fought valiantly, but they were no match.
Wolves surged past him, tearing through ranks, scattering formations. Torches fell, banners burned, blood pooled in the cobblestones.
But Dominic's eyes never left the towering cathedral in the city's heart.
Every strike, every kill, was only a step closer to her.
"Seraphina," he growled to himself, his voice a vow. "I'm coming."
---
Within the cathedral's grand hall, chaos reigned. Priests rushed to hide relics, acolytes scrambled for cover, guards formed desperate barricades.
Maeron dragged Seraphina onto the dais before the altar, forcing her to her knees. Veynar and the other cardinals gathered, their faces pale.
"They breach the gates," one whispered.
"Then call upon the prophecy," Veynar snapped, turning to Seraphina. "Sing, girl! Sing and silence the beast!"
But Seraphina only laughed, a sound sharp and wild. "Do you not see? My song will never be yours. It belongs to him."
Maeron struck her across the face, his fury snapping. "Then you will watch him die."
---
Dominic crashed into the hall as if the walls themselves had bent to his will.
The great doors splintered beneath his claws, and he strode in, his presence filling the chamber like a storm made flesh. His wolves followed, their eyes glowing in the stained-glass light.
Priests screamed prayers. Guards raised spears. But Dominic saw only her.
Seraphina, on her knees at the altar, blood on her lip, chains at her wrists—yet her eyes blazed like fire when they met his.
"Dominic," she breathed.
The bond surged between them, roaring like thunder.
"Seraphina," he answered.
The world narrowed to them alone.
---
"Kill him!" Veynar shrieked, spittle flying from his lips. Guards surged forward, steel flashing.
Dominic didn't slow. He ripped through the first line with a single sweep of his claws, his blade cutting down two more. His wolves tore into the flanks, dragging men screaming to the ground.
Maeron released Seraphina, stepping forward, his runed blade glowing with holy light.
"This ends tonight, beast!" Maeron roared.
Their clash shook the hall. Steel against steel, claw against rune. Sparks lit the air as they struck, again and again.
Dominic's power was raw, feral, unstoppable—but Maeron's strikes were fueled by desperation and holy wards etched into his very armor. Each blow rattled the stone beneath their feet.
"You think her love makes you strong?" Maeron snarled between strikes. "It makes you weak! You are nothing but a slave to her voice!"
Dominic's eyes blazed. He caught Maeron's blade on his clawed gauntlet, forcing him back step by step. "And yet it is you trembling," he growled.
With a roar, he hurled Maeron across the dais. The cardinal crashed into the altar, splintering wood, coughing blood.
---
Seraphina's chains clattered as she scrambled to her feet. Wolves surged around her, shielding her from priests who dared approach. Dominic moved to her, tearing the silver shackles from her wrists with his bare hands.
Her skin burned from the touch of silver, but when his hands closed over hers, the pain dissolved.
"You came," she whispered, tears in her eyes.
"Always," he said, his forehead pressing to hers. "They could chain the world itself, and I would still come for you."
The bond flared so bright it silenced everything else—the screams, the fire, the clash of blades. For that moment, there was only them.
---
But Maeron rose again, bloodied yet unbroken. His eyes glowed with madness, his blade lifted high.
"If I cannot have the prophecy," he snarled, "then neither will you!"
He lunged, his blade aimed for Seraphina's heart.
Dominic moved faster than the eye could follow. He caught Maeron's wrist mid-strike, twisting until bones cracked. With his other hand, he drove his claws deep into the cardinal's chest.
Maeron gasped, blood spilling from his lips. His eyes widened in disbelief as Dominic leaned close.
"She was never yours," Dominic growled, voice low and final.
With a savage twist, he ripped the heart from Maeron's chest.
The cardinal crumpled, lifeless, the holy blade clattering from his fingers.
Silence fell.
Every priest, every guard still standing, froze in terror.
Dominic stood at the center of the cathedral, Seraphina at his side, Maeron's body at his feet.
The prophecy was no longer theirs.
It belonged to the Alpha and his siren.
---
But the war was not done.
Veynar screamed for retreat, his robes swirling as he fled through hidden passages. The remaining priests scattered, their faith shattered, their holy ground desecrated.
Dominic turned to his wolves. "Burn it," he commanded.
Flames caught on banners, on pews, on relics. The cathedral of Saint Lucien, the jewel of the church, became a pyre.
And as fire devoured the altar, Seraphina lifted her voice for the first time in chains.
Her song rose, not hollow, not restrained—but full, raw, and wild. It swept through the flames, through the broken city, through the bond that tied her to Dominic.
It was not the church's song. It was theirs.
A song of vengeance. A song of freedom.
---
The city of Saint Lucien would never forget that night. Wolves in the streets, priests fleeing, the cathedral burning while a siren's voice rose above the flames.
It was not simply victory.
It was ruthless revenge.
And it was only the beginning.