Chapter 101 – Before the Storm
The training yard buzzed with activity—armor being strapped, weapons being sharpened, scouts delivering hurried messages. Warriors moved with purpose, but there was a current of unease beneath the urgency.
Rowan stood at the center of it all, a storm in motion, barking orders to captains, updating formations on the chalkboard map they had dragged outside, adjusting the timeline for the night’s assault. His blood pounded in his ears—not from fear, but the bone-deep instinct to protect, to end this war before it reached the ones he loved.
“You’re not leaving me behind, Rowan.” Giselle’s voice cut through the chaos like a dagger, sharp and unyielding.
Rowan didn’t turn at first. He kept marking symbols on the board, pretending her presence didn’t unsettle him in the way only she could.
“You’re still healing,” he said coolly. “You shouldn’t even be standing, let alone fighting.”
She strode to his side, chin tilted defiantly. “My leg is fine, the healers cleared me. Avella said whatever poison was in that arrow is gone.”
“That’s not the point,” he growled, finally facing her. “You almost *died*, Giselle. I’m not risking that again.”
Her eyes flashed. “You think I care about risk? You think I can sit here, knowing my people—our people—are bleeding and fighting while I’m tucked away in a safe room like a coward?”
“Don’t you dare,” he snapped, his voice low but laced with fury. “You are not a coward. But you are my mate. And I *won’t* let them take you from me.”
Around them, conversations faltered. A few warriors glanced over, eyes wide, but quickly turned away, pretending to be absorbed in their tasks.
Giselle stepped closer, her voice quieter now but no less fierce. “And what happens if we lose because I wasn’t there? What if my wolf—my strength—is what turns the tide?”
Rowan clenched his jaw, the image of Rhea’s smirking face flashing in his mind. *Take out the Luna.*
His hands curled into fists at his sides. “That’s exactly what they want. To draw you out. To make you a target. They know what you mean to me. And if they take you…” His voice cracked, just slightly. “I won’t survive it.”
She softened for a heartbeat, stepping close enough to touch his chest. “And I won’t survive losing you either.”
The air between them sparked with tension—not of desire, but of fear. Of love pressed against the jagged edges of war.
Before Rowan could respond, Kalen’s voice cut through the storm behind them.
“Alpha.”
Rowan spun, grateful for the interruption. “What is it?”
Kalen came at a brisk pace, his expression unreadable. “Avella is at the border. She’s brought someone with her.”
Rowan’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“She didn’t say. Only that it’s someone we need.”
Rowan shared a glance with Giselle, whose brows pinched with concern. “Send word to the southern gate. Bring them in under full guard.”
“They’re already on their way,” Kalen said. “Avella insisted we meet them in your war tent.”
Rowan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Giselle moved beside him, prepared to follow.
He hesitated.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m coming, Rowan. You can argue later.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t fight her this time.
Together, they walked toward whatever surprise Avella had delivered.
The war tent was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a set of enchanted lanterns hanging above the central table where the battle map lay. Rowan stepped inside with Giselle at his side, flanked by Kalen, Liam, Luther, and Charlie. They had barely taken a few steps before the scent of wildflowers and earth filled the tent—something ancient, something not entirely of this world.
Avella stood near the back, her black shawl draped over her shoulders, the silver rings in her hair glinting in the soft light. But it was the figure standing beside her that drew all eyes.
The young woman was beautiful—otherworldly in a way that made Rowan’s wolf stir with caution. Her hair was a curtain of pale rose-gold, almost metallic in its luster, falling in soft waves to her waist. Her eyes were not one single color, but a kaleidoscope—silver and blue and a shimmer of green that shifted depending on the angle. Her skin had a faint glow, like moonlight filtered through mist. She wore a long tunic of deep violet, cinched at the waist with a belt of braided leather and crystal. Around her neck hung a charm shaped like an eye.
Rowan didn’t have to ask to know—this wasn’t an ordinary witch.
“This is my niece,” Avella said, her tone more reserved than usual. “Her name is Seren.”
The girl—Seren—stepped forward with a grace that was almost too fluid, too silent. Her eyes swept over the group, pausing briefly on each face. Rowan could feel her gaze almost inside his bones, not invasive, but curious. Knowing.
“She insisted on meeting with you,” Avella went on. “Said it was urgent.”
“It is,” Seren said softly, interrupting. Her voice had a melodic lilt to it, like wind over water. “Because I’ve seen what’s coming.”
Avella stiffened beside her. “Seren—”
“I can see the future,” Seren said, her voice unwavering. “And they deserve the truth.”
Avella’s gasp was sharp and immediate. “That isn’t true. You’re not—”
“There is nothing to fear from them, Aunt,” Seren said gently, resting a hand on Avella’s arm. “You said yourself this Alpha and his people were not like the others. I feel no cruelty in this place. No desire for conquest or corruption. Only fire and pain and love. The kind that changes everything.”
Rowan shared a look with Giselle, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure what to make of her yet—but he couldn’t deny the girl radiated something powerful.
Avella’s eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the faces around them—Kalen’s hard stare, Luther’s suspicion, Liam’s quiet observance, Charlie’s wary curiosity, and Giselle’s calm strength. Finally, her eyes rested on Rowan.
“She’s safe here,” she murmured, almost reluctantly. “You have my word, Alpha.”
Rowan gave a single nod. “What did you see?” he asked Seren.
The young witch stepped closer to the table, looking down at the map they’d all been studying for days.
“I saw the battle that is to come,” she said, tracing a delicate finger over the lines representing the Rogue encampment. “And I saw your wolves fall. Your walls burning. Your people dying.”
The air in the tent thickened. No one moved.
“If you take the fight to them,” she said quietly, “you will fail.”
Silence crashed around her words.
Giselle’s breath caught.
Kalen’s jaw flexed.
Rowan narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
Seren looked up, her strange eyes meeting his without fear.
“You don’t bring the storm to them,” she whispered. “You let the storm come to you.”
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