The air still reeked of smoke and blood when Dominic gathered his warriors before the half-burned bodies of the last Inquisitors. The clearing where the battle had raged just hours ago was littered with charred wood, shattered shields, and the scent of singed fur. Wolves padded through the wreckage in silence, their yellow eyes gleaming with unspent fury.
Dominic stood tall at the heart of them, his bare chest streaked with dried blood—his and theirs, mingled as one. His dark hair hung damp around his face, and his golden gaze burned like firebrands. At his side, Seraphina stood draped in the remnants of her torn gown, the sea-sapphire glow of her eyes dimmed by exhaustion but sharpened with resolve. She looked less like a captive bride now and more like the Siren she had always been: dangerous, alluring, unbowed.
Dominic raised his voice, and the wolves fell still.
"Defense is no longer enough." His tone cut through the smoke like a blade. "The Church came into our woods, burned our land, slaughtered our kin, and sought to chain what is mine. We repelled them, yes. But to sit and wait for their next strike is to invite our own extinction." His hand curled into a fist. "We will take this war to their holy ground. We will answer blood with blood."
A growl rippled through the pack—low, resonant, hungry.
One of the elders stepped forward, his muzzle streaked with gray. "The Church is powerful, Alpha. To march on their sanctuaries is to provoke annihilation."
Dominic's lip curled in a snarl. "They already declared annihilation when they branded us beasts. Better to die as wolves with teeth bared than to rot in chains."
The words ignited something in the pack. Heads lowered in agreement, claws dug into earth, tails lashed. Rage and loyalty fused into one.
Seraphina's voice was softer but no less piercing. "And you will not march alone." She moved beside Dominic, her hair catching the faint moonlight, her eyes luminous pools of storm. "The Church thinks itself shielded by holy wards, by hymns and consecrated stone. But their prayers are not stronger than a Siren's song."
The wolves turned to her, some with awe, others with suspicion. But none dared interrupt.
Seraphina lifted her chin. "I was once chained in their dungeons. I know their walls, their sanctuaries, their rituals. Let me lead you inside their fortress. My voice will shatter their wards. My song will be their ruin."
Dominic looked at her then, and for a heartbeat the weight of his fury eased. Pride and something deeper flickered across his face—something unspoken, but palpable enough to quicken Seraphina's pulse. He touched her hand briefly, only briefly, but the gesture sent heat spiraling up her spine.
He turned back to his wolves. "You hear her. Tonight, we stop running. Tonight, the wolves bare their fangs not in defense, but in vengeance."
A howl rose in the night—long, savage, triumphant. It rolled over the woods, echoing from tree to tree, a chorus of defiance.
The war had turned.
---
They marched at dusk the following evening. No longer cloaked in shadow, they moved as a host. Wolves in their beast form loped through the underbrush, armor clinking on those who remained human. Smoke still trailed from the scorched forest, mingling with the mist that coiled low across the ground. Villagers peered from shuttered windows as the army passed; some made the sign of the cross in fear, others spit in the dirt at the name of the Church. Many whispered blessings beneath their breath—for though wolves were feared, the Church was hated more.
Seraphina walked at Dominic's side, wrapped in a cloak of black fur he had pressed upon her before they departed. She felt his warmth beside her, the steadiness of his presence, though he barely spoke. It was enough to remind her that though the road ahead led into fire, she would not walk it alone.
Hours passed until the looming shape of the abbey rose from the mist: stone walls rising high, towers crowned with bells, windows of colored glass glinting faintly with the last light of the setting sun. This was no mere monastery—it was a fortress of faith, and within it the Church forged its cursed Seraph Blades, weapons soaked in ritual and blood meant to kill her kind and his alike.
The wolves fanned out, forming a half-circle around the outer wall. Torches hissed to life, their glow reflected in golden wolf eyes.
Dominic's voice carried low and hard. "Tonight, we tear out the heart of their sanctum. Seraphina, the wards are yours."
She stepped forward, the hood of her cloak falling back. The abbey loomed like a mountain, its stones pulsing faintly with runes etched by priests and sealed with centuries of hymns. Any wolf who touched it would have been burned by the holy fire.
Seraphina drew a breath. Her lips parted. And she sang.
The sound began as a whisper, a silver thread weaving through the air. Then it deepened, swelling, darkening. Her voice wound around the stones, coiled into the cracks, seeped into the wards. The runes flickered, sputtered, then one by one burst like dying embers.
Glass rattled in windows. Bells clanged as if struck by invisible hands. Wolves flinched, not from pain but from awe—the sheer raw force of her song made their fur stand on end.
A final note shattered the silence like a scream. The gates of the abbey groaned and split, their hinges snapping like brittle bone. Holy fire sputtered, then died.
The fortress was open.
"Forward!" Dominic roared.
The wolves surged as one. They poured through the broken gates, claws on stone, blades flashing, snarls echoing off the walls. Guards shouted, priests screamed, bells rang frantically in warning.
Blood sprayed across the stones as the first clash erupted. Wolves tore through armored soldiers, ripping steel apart with claws, sinking fangs into throats. Human warriors fell like wheat before the scythe.
Seraphina's song shifted mid-note, no longer breaking wards but shattering minds. Priests dropped their rosaries, clutching their heads as blood poured from their ears. Others collapsed entirely, their prayers drowned by the Siren's ruinous melody.
Dominic cut through knights like a storm. His blade was a blur, his wolf half a snarl in his throat, golden eyes burning. When a soldier raised a Seraph Blade, Dominic caught his wrist mid-swing and snapped it clean in two, steel clattering to the floor. His claws sank into the man's chest, ripping free his heart.
The abbey became a slaughterhouse. Blood ran down the altar steps, pooling on the consecrated stone. Wolves ripped through pews, overturning relics, snapping crucifixes. Sacred chants gave way to screams.
And above it all, Seraphina sang—her voice not of healing now, but of vengeance. Windows shattered, colored shards raining down like jewels. Statues split down the middle. The air itself seemed to tremble with her fury.
Dominic found her in the chaos, her hair whipping like fire around her face, her body trembling with the force of her song. He caught her arm, steadying her, his chest heaving.
"You are magnificent," he growled, his voice rough with awe and something more.
She looked at him, her pupils wide, her lips parted. The heat of battle mingled with the heat of their bond, and for a heartbeat the carnage around them blurred into nothing. Only he and she existed, bound by blood and ruin.
Their mouths met in a searing kiss, hot and desperate. The taste of ash and copper lingered, but it only sharpened the hunger. His hand tangled in her hair, hers clawed against his back, and for that moment they were no longer alpha and Siren, wolf and enemy's daughter—they were fire and storm, united in wrath.
A clash of steel ripped them apart. Dominic snarled, his blade rising again, cutting down the intruder who dared interrupt.
When the last bell clanged silent and the last priest gurgled his final prayer, the abbey lay in ruins. Stained glass gaped like shattered eyes, the altar cracked in two, the crucifix overturned in a pool of blood. Wolves prowled through the wreckage, their muzzles crimson, their eyes alight.
Dominic raised his sword, its edge dripping. "This is the cost of their crusade!" he roared. "Let it be known—the wolves are no longer prey. Any who raise blade or hymn against us will drown in their own blood."
Howls rose, deafening, shaking the very rafters.
Seraphina stepped onto the broken altar. The moonlight streamed through shattered windows, painting her in silver fire. She lifted her voice one last time—not a song of ruin, but of dark triumph. The note climbed, soared, and with it the abbey walls cracked, stone groaning as if under unbearable weight.
With a thunderous crash, the central spire toppled, burying the sanctuary in rubble. Dust billowed, sparks hissed, fire licked at the ruins.
When silence fell, nothing of the abbey remained but ruin.
Seraphina descended the altar steps, her chest heaving, her lips flushed. Dominic caught her as her knees buckled, lifting her into his arms. She was trembling, not from fear but from the sheer power she had unleashed.
He pressed his forehead to hers. "No one will ever chain you again," he swore. His voice was a vow, raw and unbreakable.
Her fingers curled weakly against his chest, her eyes shimmering. "And no one will ever tear you from me," she whispered.
For a long moment, amid the ruins of holy stone, they held each other, bathed in the blood-red glow of firelight.
The war was no longer coming. It had begun.