Chapter 65

The night detonates around me, shattering into a thousand shards of chaos. Howls, snarls, and screams tear through the air as the battlefield erupts into brutal, unrelenting combat. The ground quakes beneath the thunder of clashing wolves—limbs, teeth, elements, and fury blurring into violence. Moonlight fractures across their bodies, catching blood and fur, glinting off claws that rip through air and sinew alike. The scent of iron and ozone chokes the air, mingling with ash and sweat and something older—something primal.

Above the chaos, Silas and Damon shift mid-air, their bodies contorting with savage grace. Bones snap and reform, fur and muscle ripple beneath skin, fangs elongate, claws gleam under the fractured glow of the moon. They collide with the force of storms—thunderclouds made flesh, rage made real. Every movement is viciously elegant, the dance of two titans who know each other’s every weakness and strength, every pause and pattern.

They are a perfect match: every strike countered, every movement mirrored in reverse. Brothers bound by blood and now torn by it. Equal in strength. Equal in power. The only true difference lies in their intent—one fights to protect, the other to destroy. There is no compromise in their battle. Only a single, inevitable conclusion.

Beneath them, chaos reigns. The midnight-moon wolves weave through the battlefield like living shadows—half-shifted warriors with curved spines and glowing eyes, built for speed and precision. Darius leads the charge, a silver blur amidst the crimson mess. His pack moves with lethal harmony, slashing and ducking, dodging and striking in rhythm with the pulse of the fight. They are smaller, yes, but faster, more focused. Calculated.

But the rogues, sensing momentum shift like the pull of a tide, launch themselves skyward in a frenzied, desperate bid for escape.

And for a moment—just a breath—the tide threatens to turn.

But then the sky answers back.

Silas’s aerial warriors descend in a vengeful storm, led by Lotte—her wings wide, her fury incandescent. She crashes into the rogues mid-air like a comet trailing vengeance. Her fangs gleam with divine judgment, her claws slash through the shadows with surgical precision. Around her, the others follow, raining fury from the heavens. It is a slaughter. Wings snap. Bodies plummet. The air belongs to us now.

This should be the moment the battle breaks in our favor.

But war never walks a straight line.

A flare of silver and gold tears across the night sky—raw power colliding in the distance. Freya and Sybil, locked in a storm of elemental magic. Ancient, electric sorcery whips between them—writhing tendrils of fire and shadow. Lightning cracks across the sky as they clash, a ballet of destruction and will. Two witches, mirrors of each other, locked in a battle that goes beyond this moment—beyond this war. It is legacy. It is vengeance. It is unfinished history reborn.

A sudden, guttural snarl jerks my gaze back to the sky.

My heart seizes.

Damon’s jaws are clamped around Silas’s hind leg. The sickening crunch of bone is a sound I will never forget—louder than any scream, louder than any cry. Silas roars in pain, the sound tearing out of his throat like the last breath of a god. He falters mid-air, wings dipping violently, blood spraying into the wind like crimson rain.

Rage slams into me. Cold, blinding, and absolute. The numb stillness that once held me shatters like glass. Blanche—my wolf—howls through my marrow, her fury splitting the night like a blade.

He dared to harm what is mine.

I shift before I think. Bones snap and reform. White fur bursts from my skin like frost chasing across a windowpane. I am ice and fury and vengeance incarnate. The world narrows, and there is only Damon—only the predator who dared to touch him.

I leap.

My body collides with his in a crunch of bone and muscle. We fall together, snarling, twisting mid-air. He tumbles away, flung from Silas’s side. I land beside my mate, snow-white fur stained with blood that is not mine.

Silas’s leg is a ruin. Blood pools beneath him.

I lower my head and press my muzzle to the wound. My tongue touches torn flesh, and I call forth the gift Artemis herself once breathed into my bloodline. Divine healing hums in my bones. Light floods from me into him—warm and golden, radiating outward in a soft, ethereal pulse. The air shimmers with it. Skin knits. Bone resets. The jagged, raw wound smooths beneath my touch.

Within seconds, it’s gone.

Silas’s eyes lock onto mine—wide with shock, then something deeper. Awe. Pain. Devotion. But it vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by the fire of rage. He lifts his head, fangs bared, and turns his gaze back to Damon.

Good.

I bare my teeth beside him. No words needed.

He will pay.

Together, we launch into the sky—black and white streaks of fury and justice. Damon sees us coming. His eyes flare with something unfamiliar—fear. He twists in panic, wings flaring, trying to flee into the upper dark.

Let him try.

We give chase, cutting through the wind like vengeance born. The cold bites at my fur, but I do not feel it. The fire inside me rages hotter, brighter. I call upon my birthright. I summon the ice.

Crystals spark into life around me, glimmering like stars—sharp and perfect. They orbit my body in a silent halo, then sharpen, elongating into blades of glassy death. With a flick of thought, I send them hurtling forward.

Damon senses the strike. He veers, dodging desperately. Most miss. But one finds flesh—sinking deep into his shoulder. He screams, the sound raw and broken. Blood fans into the air.

It’s not enough.

He falters mid-flight. Staggers.

Silas doesn’t.

He slams into Damon like a meteor, knocking the breath from him. The rogue spirals, wings limp, and crashes into the earth below with a sickening thud.

We hover above him like vultures, circling. Watching. Waiting.

And then I see something strange—something that cleaves through the haze of war.

Off to the side, fifty yards maybe, Lotte stands face-to-face with Aiden.

But Aiden doesn’t move. Doesn’t strike. He stands frozen—eyes hollow and wide, expression torn. Like something inside him is breaking. Lotte stares at him, equally still, as if unsure whether she’s facing an enemy or a memory. Her expression softens. Hope? Doubt? It’s hard to tell.

I don’t have time to figure it out.

Damon moves again.

He rises, blood-matted, eyes blazing red. He is wounded, but far from done. Another wolf joins him, just as cloaked in darkness. His second-in-command. The hatred between them burns like a beacon.

They charge.

I answer.

I raise my head. Ice responds. Sleek, gleaming shards spin into the air, born of rage and precision. I release them with a shriek of will. The wolves dodge, too slow. The blades slice into their sides—deep gashes, flowing red.

Still not enough.

I pull the remaining shards back to me, spinning them again. This time, I strike while they’re mid-dodge. The attack hits home. Blood sprays. They stumble.

That’s our moment.

Silas and I dive together—him a shadow, me a storm. I conjure a blade as I fall—an extension of me, sharp, crystalline—a weapon of my own making. Pure ice, shaped like sword. I clamp it between my jaws.

I’ve never fought like this before.

Time to learn.

Silas crashes into Damon once more, his fury unstoppable. I veer toward the second wolf, slicing low. My blade flashes toward his throat, but he’s fast—ducking, weaving. He counters, barely missing.

I circle, my paws brushing the earth. I spin and strike again, aiming for his eyes.

He dodges.

But not forever.