Chapter 56 – The Edge of Fate
Rowan stood at the cliff’s edge, wind whipping through his hair, eyes locked on the shimmer that hovered like a mirage in the air. It pulsed faintly, responding to his presence. A veil. A barrier. A trick.
Behind him, Charlie, Luther, Beta Kalen, and Avella watched in silence, the weight of unspoken questions heavy between them.
“I’m going,” Rowan said, his voice steady. “None of you have to follow me.”
Charlie snorted softly. “Don’t be stupid, Rowan. There is no way I am allowing you to go in there alone.”
“I’ve already followed you into worse,” Beta Kalen added with a smirk.
Luther gave a curt nod, jaw tense. “I go where my Luna goes, we finish this tonight.”
Avella simply raised a brow, already moving to his side. “The veil will recognize her bloodline. You carry her scent. You’ll get through.”
Rowan didn’t wait for more. With a breath, he stepped forward and vanished through the veil.
The fall was instant.
But instead of plunging into darkness, his boots struck solid ground.
He staggered forward, the others crashing through behind him one by one. The air smelled different here—stale, bitter, touched by decay and blood. The false cliff had masked an entire hidden camp, tucked between layers of illusion and forgotten magic.
Then the noise hit—howls, snarls, the clatter of claws on stone.
“Looks like they heard us,” Kalen muttered, drawing his blade.
The first rogue wolf launched from the shadows, teeth bared.
Rowan met it head-on, his claws ripping through fur and flesh with brutal efficiency. All thoughts of stealth were obliterated by the chaos that erupted around them.
Charlie moved like a storm, her dual blades flashing in deadly arcs as two wolves lunged at her. She dodged, pivoted, and sliced. Luther, silent and ruthless, broke bones with precision, his wolf not far from the surface as he tore through the enemy ranks.
Avella was fire and fury. Her chants twisted the air, pushing back attackers with invisible force, her eyes glowing with eldritch light.
Kalen fought at Rowan’s side, their movements practiced, seamless. But even with the strength of their group, the rogues were relentless—crazed, wild, and many.
Blood sprayed across Rowan’s arm as he downed another, his heart pounding, his wolf howling for more.
And then he saw him.
The rogue leader.
He emerged from the central stone structure, cloak torn, shirt bloodied, but a twisted grin stretched across his face. His eyes burned with madness.
“ALPHA!” he roared. “COME TO CLAIM WHAT’S MINE?”
Rowan’s eyes locked onto him. “She was never yours.”
Rowan stalked forward, blood dripping from a cut along his brow, fists clenched and muscles coiled with deadly intent. The rogue leader waited for him in the center of the camp’s courtyard, surrounded by the bodies of fallen rogues and the echoes of battle still ringing in the distance.
He looked wild—shirt torn open, chest heaving, blood slicking one side of his face where Luther had landed a brutal blow earlier. But his eyes were locked on Rowan, glowing with a madness that pulsed with something deeper than hate. Obsession.
“You came all this way,” the rogue drawled, grinning through bloodstained teeth. “And for what? A broken little rogue who won’t even remember your name when the moon rises?”
Rowan didn’t respond.
“Do you know what she said when she screamed for you?” the rogue went on, circling. “Nothing. She screamed for her wolf. Not you. Not Rowan. She doesn’t even know who she belongs to anymore.”
Rowan moved first—fast and silent.
His fist cracked across the rogue’s jaw with bone-jarring force, sending him stumbling back. But he caught himself, spat blood, and laughed.
“That’s it,” he sneered. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Alpha.”
They collided with a savage force—no magic, no powers—just claw against claw, fury against madness.
The rogue struck wild and wide, relying on brute strength and speed. Rowan countered with precision, years of disciplined training in every movement. He ducked low, slammed a knee into the rogue’s gut, then followed it with an uppercut that snapped the rogue’s head back.
But the rogue didn’t stay down. He surged up with a roar, tackling Rowan into the stone wall behind them. The impact cracked through Rowan’s ribs, but he twisted free before claws could sink in.
“You think you can save her?” the rogue spat, blood leaking from a gash on his cheek. “You think she’ll even *remember* you when I’m done with her?”
Rowan struck hard, driving his claws into the rogue’s side. “You don’t get to break what you never deserved.”
“I own her!” the rogue shouted, lunging again. “I’ve been inside her mind—do you know what that’s like? Feeling her struggle while she breaks?”
Rowan’s fury exploded.
He grabbed the rogue by the front of his shirt and slammed him into the ground. The rogue fought like a rabid animal, biting, clawing, writhing—but Rowan was no longer just fighting for victory. He was fighting for her.
Giselle.
Her laugh. Her bite. Her wild spirit that refused to be tamed.
He drove his elbow down hard into the rogue’s face—once, twice—until the man’s grin cracked into a grimace of pain.
“You think breaking her makes you strong?” Rowan panted. “All it makes you is weak. A coward who couldn’t earn power, so he tried to steal it.”
The rogue grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it into Rowan’s face. The distraction worked—Rowan stumbled back, blinking grit from his eyes—and the rogue lunged, catching him in the ribs with a vicious punch.
“You’re too late, Rowan,” he spat, face twisted with rage. “The bond’s already cracking. She’s mine now!”
Rowan wiped the blood from his lip and stood tall.
“You talk too much.”
And with one brutal swing, he sent the rogue crashing into the wall. The crack of bone echoed, followed by a groan of pain.
Rowan closed in, his claws glowing faintly in the moonlight.
“This ends tonight,” he said, voice low and final.
Around them, the battle raged—wolves howling, warriors clashing, the sound of snarling echoing through the stone corridors.
But Rowan only saw *him*.
And this time, there would be no retreat.
With a savage roar, Rowan struck the final blow, sending the rogue crashing to the ground, unmoving.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Only Rowan’s ragged breathing remained as he stood over the rogue’s body, blood dripping from his fists, heart pounding with the echo of his mate’s name in his soul.
Giselle.
He was coming for her.
And nothing would stand in his way.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
