Chapter 55: The Calm Before the Storm
The Northern Rogues weren't just coming; they were hungry. After the execution of the traitor Marcus, the Silver Moon Pack was on high alert. The border patrols had been doubled, and the scent of war was thick in the air.
Inside the pack house, however, a different kind of intensity was building.
Elara stood in the training yard, a wooden staff in her hand. She was no longer the trembling girl who hid in the shadows. She was practicing her forms, her movements fluid and precise. Silas watched her from the balcony, his chest swelling with a mixture of pride and fear. He knew he couldn't keep her in a gilded cage anymore. She was a warrior in her own right.
He walked down the stairs, his presence silencing the other trainees. "You're leaning too far to the left, Elara," he said, his voice softer than usual.
He stepped behind her, his large hands guiding her arms to the correct position. The contact sent sparks flying through both of them—the fated bond they had both tried to ignore was now screaming to be acknowledged.
"I have to be ready, Silas," she whispered, leaning back into his warmth. "They won't just come for the territory. They'll come for me, to use me against you."
Silas tightened his grip, his lips brushing against her ear. "Then let them come. They will find an Alpha who has nothing left to lose and a Luna who has everything to gain. I won't let them touch a single hair on your head."
The romantic moment was shattered by a scout rushing into the yard, his face pale and covered in blood. "Alpha! The northern watchtower... it's gone. They've crossed the river!"
Silas's eyes shifted to a lethal gold. The time for talk was over. "Sound the horn," he commanded, his voice echoing across the valley. "Tonight, we hunt."