Chapter One Hundred – War At Their Door
The war table in the center of Rowan’s office had never felt heavier. Not with its weight in wood, but with what it represented: risk, strategy… and the cost of failure.
The map was spread wide, held down at the corners by weathered tomes and daggers. Red markers—each shaped like a wolf—stood clustered at the eastern ridge, right where Rowan’s scouts had last seen the rogue activity. Black tokens denoted unknowns: areas too heavily guarded for the scouts to get close. One black marker sat farther north, at the base of the mountain range that bordered their territory. The Bonecaster’s stronghold.
Rowan stood with his arms folded, jaw clenched tight as Kalen finished reading through the scout report.
“They’ve moved again,” Kalen said, tapping the marker closest to the treeline. “They were here four days ago, then relocated about six miles southeast into the hollow.”
“That hollow gives them elevation,” Luther said from where he leaned against the wall. “It overlooks both the creek path and the forest pass. If they hold that, they see us coming.”
Rowan nodded grimly. “Then we don’t go through the pass.”
Liam leaned over the table, eyes scanning the map. “There’s a ravine here—” he pointed to the west side of the Bonecaster’s claimed land, “—narrow, but unguarded. My men can come through there. Quiet. Hit them from behind once you make your move on the main camp.”
Rowan looked over the marked routes, considering. “We divide into three groups. Liam, you take the western flank. Luther—your people have the strength and discipline to hit their middle line hard. Kalen and I will lead the frontal assault.”
Kalen gave a curt nod, but his brows furrowed. “That means you’re taking the Bonecaster’s wall head-on.”
“I know.”
Giselle’s face flashed in his mind. That arrow had nearly taken her from him. He wasn’t about to let this enemy bring more destruction to their doorstep.
“We strike at nightfall three days from now,” Rowan said, his voice resolute. “That gives us time to rally, prepare the warriors, and coordinate communication between the units.”
“And if they catch wind of it?” Liam asked.
Rowan’s eyes darkened. “Then we move sooner. But we don’t hesitate.”
Luther finally stepped forward from the wall, voice low and lethal. “What about the Bonecaster herself?”
Rowan looked at him, gaze steady. “She’s mine.”
A beat of silence passed as that statement settled in the air.
Kalen was the one to break it. “Then we end this.”
Rowan gave a single, solemn nod. “For the pack. For the peace that should’ve never been stolen.”
The men closed around the map, their hands brushing over it as they locked in the strategy. No more retreats. No more guessing. This was war. And it was time to finish it.
The knock came like a crack of thunder, sharp and desperate.
Rowan’s head snapped up, as did every warrior around the table.
“Enter,” he barked.
The door burst open and a young man stumbled through, panting hard. His cloak was damp from sweat, mud caked up to his knees. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he looked around at the gathered Alphas, eyes locking on Rowan last.
“Alpha,” he rasped, one fist clenched tight against his side, “I came as fast… as I could.”
Rowan stepped forward, recognizing the boy. “Tarin. Catch your breath.”
“No time.” Tarin straightened, still breathless but resolute. “I found her. Rhea. She’s alive. She was in the rogue camp—standing beside a man that looked like Merek, only... older. Harder. But he went by another name.”
“What name?” Kalen asked sharply.
Tarin hesitated, brow furrowing. “He was called Aven. And they weren’t hiding. They were commanding.”
Silence fell like a blade.
“I got too close while scouting the northern ridge,” Tarin continued. “They almost caught me. I had to lie low near one of their outposts for a day. I overheard them… Rhea and Aven. They were making plans.”
Rowan stepped closer, the pressure in his chest mounting. “What plans?”
Tarin’s jaw tightened. “They spoke of the Bonecaster’s people marching toward them. Said they’d meet this evening. Then… they plan to launch a full assault on our pack at dawn tomorrow.”
A low growl rumbled in Rowan’s throat.
“We have to move now,” Liam said immediately, already reaching for the hilt of his blade.
“Or it’s a trap,” Kalen cut in, voice like ice. “They could’ve sensed Tarin. Fed him that lie to draw us out.”
Rowan didn’t speak at first. His mind raced.
He looked down at the map—at the red wolves clustered near the ravine, at the black marker on the mountainside, at the carefully constructed assault he had only just finalized.
And now this.
He turned to Tarin. “You’re sure of what you heard?”
Tarin nodded. “They weren’t hiding their conversation. They thought no one could hear them. Rhea mentioned taking out the Luna if they could. Something about how it would weaken you.”
The room vibrated with tension.
Rowan’s voice was cold and commanding. “Then we don’t wait. If they’re planning to attack at dawn, we strike tonight.”
Kalen frowned, but nodded. “We’ll need to move fast. No staggered approach—one coordinated attack. Hit them before their allies arrive.”
Luther slammed his fist lightly into his palm. “Surprise will be our greatest weapon.”
Rowan’s gaze swept across the faces of the warriors in the room. “No more waiting. No more letting them choose the battleground.”
He turned back to the map and swept the black marker from the mountainside, letting it clatter across the table.
“Prepare the warriors. We march before nightfall.”
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
