10 - Shadows on the Border

KAEL POV

The wind shifted, and Kael stilled.

He stood at the edge of the western ridge, high above the dense forest, where the treetops rolled like waves toward the horizon. Dusk had begun to stain the sky in hues of bruised violet and dull gold, but the quiet was brittle—waiting to break. A single scent pierced the air, sharp and unmistakable.

Blood.

Not Nightclaw blood. But fresh. Wrong. Wrong in the way that made every instinct in him snap awake.

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. Something had happened.

Behind him, the faint crunch of boots over leaf litter grew louder. He didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“You felt it too?” he asked without turning.

Elias’s voice came low and grim. “I did. Just got the report from one of our outer patrols.”

Kael turned now, his Beta—his oldest friend—already tense. The last embers of the day painted sharp shadows across Elias’s face.

“Rogue?” Kael asked.

Elias nodded. “Crossed into Moonfang territory earlier this morning. Lone wolf. Didn’t make it out.”

Kael’s lips pressed into a hard line. “Casualties?”

“One dead rogue. But Ryker took a hit. Badly injured.”

Ryker. The Moonfang Beta. Fast, and brutal in a fight when necessary. For someone to land a wound on him, they either got lucky—or were out of their mind.

“Was it an ambush?” Kael asked, already turning toward the trail that led down from the ridge.

“Not that we can tell. Moonfang thinks he pushed deep on his own. Straight through to the northeast quadrant.”

“Near our border.” Kael’s voice was low, but no less sharp for it.

“Too close,” Elias confirmed.

They moved in sync as they descended through the trees, their footsteps swift and quiet. Nightclaw’s pack house loomed ahead like part of the mountain itself—fortified with thick stone, weathered wood, and the kind of magic old packs rarely spoke aloud. The air was colder here, heavier. More ancient.

Inside, Kael didn’t bother stopping. He moved straight through the entryway and toward the war room. He could already feel the prickling unease spreading through the den—the scent of tension sharp as flint. Something had changed, and everyone sensed it.

Ronan, his younger brother, had arrived the night before—without warning or a plan. Now, he was already waiting in the war room.

He sat at the long stone table, flipping through border reports with a familiar scowl etched into his features. Tall, leaner than Kael, with a spark in his eyes.

Where Kael was force, Ronan was finesse—and just as dangerous.

“You heard?” Kael asked.

Ronan didn’t look up. “Moonfang’s Beta almost got himself gutted. Lucky bastard survived.”

Kael crossed the room. “And you think that’s all it is?”

“I think it’s too convenient.” Ronan’s voice was flat. “They get hit, scramble to defend their pride, and then what? Start pointing fingers. You know how Theron operates.”

Kael knew. Moonfang’s Alpha was a study in contradictions—regal, loyal, stubborn, and paranoid. The kind of leader who saw a threat and acted fast. If he thought Nightclaw was responsible, he wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate.

“I want full alert status,” Kael said.

Ronan finally looked up. “You think it’s the beginning?”

“I think if we act like it’s not, we’ll regret it.”

Before his brother could reply, a knock sounded at the door.

Elder Malric entered, walking with the deliberate pace of someone who had long stopped rushing for anything. He was ancient even by werewolf standards—gray-haired, broad-shouldered, eyes like weathered stone.

“I heard about the rogue,” he said, moving toward the table.

Kael nodded stiffly.

“You’ll need the council’s support if you escalate defenses.”

“I’m not asking for permission to protect this pack,” Kael said evenly.

“No,” Malric agreed. “But you’ll need unity. You know what happens when the old families start whispering. Fear spreads. Doubt follows. We need to stand as one.”

Kael didn’t argue. Marlic had seen more wars than any living wolf. His word carried weight, even if Kael bristled under it.

Malric leaned over the map etched into the table—outlines of territories, rivers, and ridgelines all inked with precision. His finger traced the border between Nightclaw and Moonfang.

“This rogue didn’t wander,” he said. “He was desperate. Or driven.”

“By what?” Elias asked.

“That’s the question,” Malric murmured. “Borders shift. Seasons change. And when famine or fear creeps in, it’s always the rogues who move first. But something about this feels… calculated.”

Kael stared down at the line that divided their land from Moonfang’s—thin as thread, thick with history. Their packs had once been allies, centuries ago. But peace didn’t hold where pride ruled. Too much blood had soaked the soil since then.

“We’ll prepare,” Kael said quietly....

That night, the wind carried strange sounds.

Kael stood on the balcony outside his bedroom, his gaze turned to the moon as it rose high and full above the trees. Pale silver bathed the forest, lighting the pines like bone.

His wolf stirred beneath his skin, restless. The pull of something ancient—warning or promise, he didn’t know which.

He thought of Aria. The healer. The girl with stormlight in her eyes and the scent of wildflowers on her skin.

He’d seen her, once, bent over a bed of herbs, completely unaware of the force she’d awakened in him. He’d watched her—too many times since—always from the shadows. Always from just far enough not to cross a line.

But the bond had begun to itch beneath his skin. Familiar. Electric. Dangerous.

He was the Alpha of Nightclaw. She was Moonfang’. The child of their late healer, Seraphina, whose name was still spoken with reverence across both packs. She belonged to peace and healing. He was forged from war.

And still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

A bond between them would fracture the fragile line between their packs. It would be betrayal. It would be blasphemy.

But it would also be fate.

He closed his eyes and let the wind rush over him.

Let the stars decide what they will.

But if war was coming, he would not be caught dreaming.

Not again.