Chapter Twenty Eight On the Ridge
my son-and now they crouched in the fog, daring me to lose control. Every instinct screamed to tear down the ridge and leave their bodies for the crows. But instinct wouldn’t shield Elara. Wouldn’t keep Aeron safe.
“They’re baiting me,” I muttered, volce rough. “They think bond-rage will make me stupid.”
Julian’s smirk was thin, sharp. “And will it?”
My gaze dragged north, past pines and stone. Toward her. Toward the boy.
Elara.
f
I could feel her like a second heartbeat thrumming under my ribs. The bond wasn’t quiet anymore- it roared, wild and relentless. Every time Aeron laughed across that gate, every time she breathed without me there, it was a reminder. Mine. Yet still out of reach.
I turned back to the ridge, where Ashthorne’s stink fouled the fog. “If they cross,” I said, voice ringing like steel on stone, “We answer in kind. Until then, we hold. No weakness. No retreat.”
One of my captains-a broad-shouldered veteran, silver streaking his hair-bowed his head. “Alpha King.” His men echoed him, a ripple of obedience in the rain.
Julian exhaled. “Then let’s hope Ashthorne remembers how to count lines in the fog.”
But I doubted they would.
Ashthorne didn’t come here to remember. They came to bleed.
And if they made the mistake of touching Valemont’s soil-if they came within reach of my mate or my pup-then the Goddess help them. Because the only thing more dangerous than an Alpha King on his throne is one whose family is threatened.
And I was already past the point of forgiveness.
The ridge split open with howls,
Thin at first, eerie in the fog. Then more-layered, snarling, a chorus that made the hairs rise on my neck.
Ashthorne.
The sound belonged to them the way rot belonged to damp wood-hungry, bitter, tainted.
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Shapes moved in the mist. Broad shoulders. Claws catching faint light. Not hiding. Parading.
“Alpha,” one of my captains muttered, steady voice, wolf pressed tight under his skin.
I stepped into the rain. My wolf surged forward, hot and relentless, gold burning in my eyes.
The camp snapped awake behind me. Crescent wolves dropped cooking tins, blades slid free in a dozen clean pulls. Rifles checked, safeties snapped. Boots struck mud in rhythm, formation locking into place with lethal efficiency.
Not raw Valemont boys. Crescent soldiers. Wolves trained in fortress storms where the wind itself sharpened their claws. They didn’t flinch at Ashthorne’s howls. They locked shields and leveled barrels, water sliding in sheets down black steel.
The fog broke.
Ashthorne poured down the ridge.
Not scouts-packs. Two dozen at least, maybe more hidden back in the mist. Wolves prowling just under their skins, eyes red-gold, mouths curled for blood. Not ranks. Hunters. They came to harry, to spill and vanish.
They thought Valemont would greet them with hesitation.
Instead, they found me.
“Line!” I commanded, voice cutting the clearing like a blade.
My wolves obeyed instantly. A wall of black and gold snapped down across the mud. Shields hit earth in thunder. Rifles leveled as one. Wolves crouched low behind them, jaws wet with anticipation.
Ashthorne faltered.
I saw it ripple through their front-hesitation, surprise. They had not counted on Crescent steel standing guard over Valemont’s gate.
Julian came to my shoulder, rain dripping off his jaw, tablet flickering. “Thirty,” he said under his breath. “Too many for a bluff, not enough for war,”
Their leader stepped forward, scarred face twisted, claws flexing. “You’ve no place here, Majesty. This is Valemont soil. You’ve no right to guard it.”
I stepped clear of my men, rain soaking my coat. My wolf pressed outward, dominance heavy as stone. “It is mine when my mate and my son are threatened.”
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A ripple tore their line-growls, uncertainty.
The leader sneered. “You hide behind another Alpha’s walls because you cannot keep them yourself.”
My growl shook mud and bone. “Step closer and you won’t live to see them again.”
And then-
The alarm.
It split the valley in two.
A horn-blast, deep and resonant, rolled down Valemont’s slopes. Once. Twice. Three times. Steel and wolf-lung forged into thunder. It shook pines and shook marrow.
Attack.
Even from here I heard the answer-howls rising from Valemont proper, pack to pack, chamber to hall. Boots hammering stone. Wolves bracing pups tight.
My bond roared hot-Elara clutching Aeron, their fear threading through mine until it was one. My wolf clawed at my skin, half-mad to break formation, to reach them.
Ashthorne faltered again. That sound wasn’t meant for them-but it told them something else:
Valemont was awake. Valemont was ready.
Julian’s smile went knife-sharp. “There’s your answer. They’re not afraid. They’re prepared.”
Some Ashthorne wolves snarled, some lunged half a step before being barked back. Their leader’s fury blazed through the rain.
“You can’t keep her forever,”
“Forever or a day,” I said, voice carrying over the horn’s last echo. “She and the boy are mine. Touch Valemont again and I’ll salt your graves with your blood,”
The shields of Crescent slammed once, a sound like the sky cracking. Wolves growled behind them, eager, unyielding,
Ashthorne faltered. Then, grudgingly, began to pull back. One step. Two. Swallowed by their fog again. Their howls trailed after them, ugly, defeated.
Silence returned. Rain. The dying echo of alarm.
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Chapter Twenty Eight -On the Ridge
Julian exhaled. “Well. That escalated quickly.”
But my wolf still clawed north, toward her. Toward our son.
I stared into the fog. My voice came low, raw. “They’ll be back.”
Julian tilted his head, smirk faint. “So will we.”
And under it all, the alarm still thrummed through my bones like a heartbeat that refused to still.
Elara’s POV
The ridge breathed unease.
I felt it before the alarm, before the howls, before the scout’s boots thundered up the hall. Wolves don’t need words to know when danger watches. The air grows heavier, like the mountain takes in a
breath and holds it.
From the council wing windows, the pines looked wrong. The same ancient sentinels, but the silence between them was sharp as knives. My wolf bristled, restless.
By the time the horn blared-three deep blasts rolling down from the ridge-I already had Aeron locked against my hip. His curls pressed under my chin, soap-sweet and warm. Mister Dwagon dangled from his fist.
“Mommy, what’s happenin’?” His voice was small, steady, but his eyes searched my face like he already knew I was lying.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I said. Calm. False.
The keep shifted around us, Guards jogged in clipped rhythm, radios spitting orders. Apprentices herded toward the lower halls, elders shoving prayer cords into nervous hands. Pups whined. Wolves pressed close to skin.
I pushed through until the council chamber swallowed us.
Alpha Darius stood hard at the head, storm-colled, his gaze grey steel. Luna Lyanna beside him, braid tight, voice calm enough to anchor ships. My mother laid bandages by the hearth though no blood had spilled yet. Healers never trusted chance,
Caius leaned wolf-lazy against the wall, blade strapped high, golden eyes restless. Cassia prowled, sweater clinging like armor, pacing the table’s edge. Elders sat rigid, hands trembling against wood, their
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Chapter Twenty Eight – On the Ridge
wolves pressing hard. Younger warriors fidgeted with blades, itching.
VPN
“They’re not crossing,” the scout reported, dripping rain, voice taut. “Holding position. Crest visible. At least two dozen.”
Ashthorne’s crest. My stomach turned.
My mind filled with the memory I couldn’t shake-the knife glinting in Ashthorne’s hall, my son in its path. Their eyes on him not as a boy but as a threat.
My wolf snarled, claws dragging my skin raw.
Aeron tipped his head up, curls brushing my jaw. “Mommy, you makin’ scary faces.”
I kissed his hair. “Just listening, baby.”
But truth burned in me. I wanted blood.
Luna Lyanna’s voice cut steady. “Ashthorne won’t cross. Not with Crescent on the ridge. They posture. They test. They hope Valemont cracks first.”
“They hope we hand over my daughter and her son to save ourselves,” my mother said suddenly,
her voice like a blade unsheathed.
Her words hit like stone dropped in water. All eyes shifted to me.
My arms tightened on Aeron, as though stares themselves could pierce him. My wolf’s hackles rose.
And then-blessedly, absurdly-Aeron wriggled upright.
“Mommy no go,” he declared, loud as a horn. “I stay here. We build big castle. Daddy King find us.”
Silence broke.
Cassia doubled over, laughter sharp and bright. “Goddess, pup-do you even hear yourself?”
“Yes,” Aeron said, pointing at his curls like proof. “I loud,”
Caius barked a laugh. “He’s not wrong.”
The elders frowned, scandalized. But fear cracked. Tension eased a fraction. Even Alpha Darius’s
mouth twitched,
Still, my wolf paced. The bond thrummed, relentless, pulling toward the man waiting just beyond the
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Chapter Twenty Eight – On the Ridge.
gates. Ashthorne lingered on the ridge.
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The chamber swelled with debate-elders for caution, young wolves for blood, Cassia flaming, Caius growling, my mother hovering protectively over Aeron as if she could shield him with sheer will.
I clutched my son tighter, his heartbeat against my collarbone. Mister Dwagon’s frayed ear tangled in my fingers like a talisman.
Ashthorne watched from the ridge. Crescent held the line. Valemont braced itself.
War was no longer distant.
War was here.
