Chapter 100 – Hope Meets Bloodshed
The map spread out across the table was worn, dotted with markings in ink that had faded and bled from frequent use. Luther stood at its edge, one hand pressed flat against the border of Iron Hollow, the next pack they would visit. It was the furthest they had traveled yet—deep into disputed territory, beyond where their alliances reached. The tension in the room was thick, and even Liam, usually the more relaxed of the two of them, had his brow furrowed as he studied the layout of the enemy lands.
“We need more warriors this time,” Rowan said from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his voice tight. “Scouts spotted movement two miles from the eastern ridge. Either it’s a hunting party or they’re preparing for our arrival.”
Luther grunted. “We can’t show up like we’re marching in for war. That’ll only guarantee one.”
“And showing up light will get Charlie killed,” Liam argued, his eyes flickering toward the corner where Charlie sat quietly, her legs tucked beneath her, the flickering firelight casting a warm glow over her face.
She hadn’t said a word during the meeting, but Luther could feel her attention like a sunbeam on his skin. She was listening, trusting them to make the right call—and that trust stirred something in his chest that was equal parts pride and fear.
“We’ll take a detachment,” Luther finally said, straightening. “No more than twelve warriors. Enough to defend ourselves if it comes to that, but not enough to be mistaken for an invasion.”
Rowan nodded slowly. “We’ll approach from the north. Fewer scouts on that side. If things go sideways, we retreat through the ravine.”
“And if they don’t let us retreat?” Liam asked, his voice low.
Luther met his brother’s gaze. “Then we don’t leave survivors.”
Charlie finally spoke, her voice calm but firm. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
They all looked at her, and Luther felt the familiar pull in his gut—the weight of keeping her safe, of making sure the world didn’t crush her again. He gave a single nod, the conversation ending on a silent agreement.
—
They left before dawn, the sun a pale sliver on the horizon. The air was cold, the kind that bit through your clothes and settled in your bones. Their warriors were silent, tense, the knowledge of where they were going written in every furrowed brow and drawn mouth.
Charlie rode between the twins, hood up, her body cloaked in shadows and silence. Luther kept his senses tuned to her heartbeat, steady and strong, a quiet reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.
The Iron Hollow pack’s territory was dark and forested, the trees tall and close together like sentinels watching their passage. They arrived by late afternoon, the front gates of the pack compound looming like stone giants ahead.
“Here we go,” Liam muttered as they approached, hands ready at his sides.
A group of warriors met them outside the gates—heavily armed and not smiling. Luther stepped forward with measured calm.
“We’re not here to fight,” he announced. “We bring a cure.”
Their alpha, a broad-shouldered man with a long scar down his face, stepped out from behind his wolves. He looked them over with suspicion so thick it made the air feel heavier.
“We’ve heard about your cure,” he said. “But we’ve also heard about what happens to packs who welcome you in.”
Luther’s jaw tightened. “We’ve helped four packs already. No one’s been hurt unless they attack first.”
The Iron Hollow alpha narrowed his eyes. “You’ll stay here. Inside our compound. We’ll test your cure on our sickest wolves. If it works, you walk out alive. If it doesn’t—” his eyes cut to Charlie, “—we burn your corpses at our borders.”
Luther didn’t flinch. “Agreed.”
They were escorted inside, corralled like animals into the center of the pack compound. The sick were brought out—three wolves barely able to lift their heads, bones showing through their matted fur. Dr. Boyd moved quickly, efficiently, injecting the serum into their veins.
And then they waited.
The night dragged on. Luther stood guard near Charlie, barely blinking, every muscle in his body taut. The moon rose high, silver and indifferent above them.
Then the howls began.
It wasn’t the howl of healing.
It was a battle cry.
“They set us up!” Rowan barked, drawing his blade just as the Iron Hollow warriors turned on them.
Chaos exploded. Swords clashed. Wolves shifted mid-air. Luther threw himself into the fray, tearing through the enemy with ruthless efficiency. Blood splattered across the dirt, cries and snarls echoing in the night.
One of their warriors fell beside him, throat torn out.
Liam roared, shifting into his massive wolf, tearing limbs from bodies as they came at him. Rowan fought like a storm, whirling through blades and claws.
“Charlie!” Luther shouted, catching sight of her being cornered.
He launched himself at her attackers, ripping one from the air mid-leap. The other he crushed beneath his claws.
“Get to the sick!” Charlie shouted. “Protect them!”
But they were too late.
The Iron Hollow warriors had already begun killing their own, purging the weak before the cure could save them. It was madness. Fear disguised as cruelty.
Luther fought with everything he had, blood soaking his fur and staining the ground. It wasn’t until the last of the warriors fell, gurgling out their final breath, that the silence settled.
Only the moans of the too-sick-to-fight remained, cowering in corners. Charlie collapsed to her knees beside one of them, tears streaming down her face. “Why? Why would they do this?”
Luther shifted back, his body aching, blood dripping from his chest. He dropped to one knee beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Because fear makes monsters of us all,” he said quietly.
Charlie wept, and Luther held her close, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on them again.
They had brought hope, and it had been met with death. And still, they would go on, but they needed to make some changes to ensure their mate stayed safe.
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