Chapter 231
By the third day after the fire, everything felt… almost normal.
The training tents had been repaired. Our supplies replenished. The air in the courtyard still carried the bitter scent of charred earth, but it no longer lingered on our spirits. If anything, it made the women stronger. Bolder.
Danger had knocked. We hadn’t run.
We’d rebuilt.
Roman remained close, often patrolling the perimeter himself. He said it was about vigilance, but I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. He wanted to tear through whoever was responsible. So did I.
But today, I didn’t want to think about sabotage or spies or missing Elders.
I wanted a good, clean training session.
“Alright!” I shouted to the gathered circle of women. “Partner up! Ten rounds of defensive strikes and reversals. Don’t hold back just because you like each other.”
“I barely like Mari,” Ella muttered beside me, smirking.
“I heard that!” Mari yelled, already bouncing in place, fists raised.
Laughter scattered through the group, and the ring came alive with movement—kicks, grunts, calculated strikes. The energy lifted me. For the first time all week, I felt like things were turning.
I was wrong.
Halfway through the second round, a scream split the air.
Not from inside the ring.
From the trees.
Heads snapped around. I turned just in time to see a blur—a cloaked figure leaping from the tree line, blade drawn. Before I could shout a warning, the figure slammed into one of our sentries, driving him to the ground with a sickening crunch.
Then everything exploded.
More figures poured from the forest, fast and brutal. Dressed in dark leathers, masks covering their faces, armed with blades and batons. Not Syndicate. Not mercenaries.
These were wolves.
Our wolves.
Or… they used to be.
“Get back!” I shouted, grabbing Ella’s arm and yanking her out of the way as a masked attacker lunged at us. I parried with my forearm, twisted his wrist, and slammed my elbow into his throat. He dropped, choking.
“Everyone to the center! Defensive circle!” I roared.
Chaos. Screams. Fists flying. Dust rising.
Mari had already tackled one of the attackers and was pummeling him with a training baton. Nessa was a blur beside me—fluid, focused. She ducked a blow, spun, and slammed her heel into the back of her attacker’s knee. He crumpled.
“These aren’t just rebels,” she gasped. “They know our formations!”
I knew what that meant.
This wasn’t just sabotage.
This was treason.
From inside.
One of the attackers locked eyes with me—and hesitated.
I recognized his stance.
Darin. Former patrolman. Expelled for insubordination two months ago. Roman had warned me he’d been seen sniffing around Halrick’s territory.
He didn’t hesitate again.
He lunged.
I ducked, twisted, and drove my fist into his ribs, hard. He staggered, surprised by my strength.
“You should’ve stayed gone,” I hissed.
He growled. “You should’ve stayed quiet.”
I didn’t reply. I slammed my knee into his gut and dropped him with a final strike across the temple.
Around me, our women were holding the line—but barely. They were outnumbered, outarmed. Still, they fought like wolves. Like warriors.
Then I heard it.
A howl.
Not Roman’s.
Another Alpha.
A command.
More shadows poured from the forest—at least a dozen.
“We’re getting swarmed!” Ella shouted, blood running down her cheek. “We can’t hold much longer!”
I clenched my fists, heart pounding. I wasn’t going to let this be another story of loss. Not here. Not after everything we’d built.
Then another sound split the air.
**Roman.**
His roar shook the trees.
Like death on wings, he tore through the enemy lines, flanked by Wyatt and three elite guards. His fists were bloodied, eyes wild with fury. A black blur of power and vengeance.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
Within seconds, the tide shifted.
One of the traitors—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a crescent scar on his face—turned and fled. Roman followed, leaping like a shadow and tackling him to the ground. A blur of fists, snarls, and bone.
I didn’t have time to watch.
Another attacker came for Nessa. I stepped in, blocking the blow, and turned it into a counterattack. He fell. Hard.
“Thanks,” Nessa panted.
“Keep moving!”
Ella appeared beside me again, limping but still grinning. “We are never calling this a training *camp* again. Way too literal.”
I snorted—then ducked another strike.
The last of the rebels were being driven back. Some fell. Some fled. Two were captured. The rest vanished into the trees, leaving blood and chaos in their wake.
But we’d held.
We’d survived.
Again.
\---
Roman stood near the center of the ring, breathing hard, his shirt torn and stained. The women gathered around me—bloodied, bruised, but alive. I did a quick headcount.
Everyone accounted for.
Barely.
Mari clutched her ribs. Lila had a black eye. Nessa’s arm was bleeding. Ella’s limp had worsened.
But not one of them backed down.
I looked at Roman. “They were ours.”
He nodded grimly. “All of them. Former scouts. Disgraced patrolmen. And at least two I saw on active duty last month.”
“Who gave the order?”
Roman reached into his pocket and held up a medallion. Black iron. Marked with a strange symbol—a broken fang inside a circle.
“They’re not just rebels,” he said. “They’ve been planning this longer than we thought.”
A long silence followed.
Then Mari muttered, “Well… I guess we’re not making flower crowns today.”
The tension broke. Laughter—exhausted, shaky, but real—rippled through the group.
I looked around.
These women had been forged in fire. Sabotage hadn’t stopped them. Treason hadn’t broken them. They weren’t just surviving.
They were rising.
Roman turned to the guards. “Secure the area. Take the prisoners to the cellars. I want a full report in two hours.”
When they dispersed, he came to me. His hand found mine, grounding me like always.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “Ask me tomorrow.”
He brushed blood from my brow with a tenderness that didn’t match the battlefield around us.
“You led them like a true Luna,” he whispered.
I squeezed his hand. “They don’t need me to lead. They just need space to fight.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s why they’ll follow you anywhere.”
\---
By dusk, the courtyard was quiet again. The wounded had been treated. The tents were resecured. The bodies—ours and theirs—removed.
I stood alone near the edge of the ring, staring at the blood-stained earth.
Behind me, Nessa approached quietly.
“We found something,” she said, holding out a torn scrap of parchment.
I took it.
A map.
Our territory.
With several spots circled in red—including the council chambers and the western watchtower.
“They’re planning something bigger,” I said.
Nessa nodded. “They’re not done.”
And neither were we.
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