Chapter 105: The Calm Before the Strike
The sun dipped lower toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the clearing and bathing the treetops in hues of gold and crimson. Rowan stood at the heart of the camp, surrounded by his most trusted warriors—Kalen at his right, Liam and Luther flanking the rear, their expressions sharp and focused.
A single breath passed, and then Rowan spoke, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Everyone knows where they need to be?”
A chorus of nods and low affirmations answered him.
“The first shift takes position now,” he continued, eyes scanning the gathered faces. “Those who’ve rested through the day, you’ll man the perimeter. I want our scouts up in the trees and our best archers in place. If they breach the outer line, we push them back hard. No mercy.”
His gaze slid toward a cluster of young warriors already securing weapons and gear. “You’ve trained for this. You’ve bled for this. This is our home, and no one is taking it from us.”
Luther stepped forward, holding a hand-rolled map. He opened it across the stone table they’d been using for planning. “Traps are set across the eastern ridge and along the old streambed,” he said. “If they approach from that angle like our scout claimed, they’ll have a hell of a time reaching the main clearing.”
Rowan nodded. “And the west?”
“That line’s thinner,” Kalen admitted, frowning. “But the cliffside limits their numbers. We’ve reinforced with guards, but if they’re smart, they won’t risk that path.”
“We assume they are,” Rowan said firmly. “They’ll hit just before dawn—they want us tired and scattered. So we rest in shifts. Anyone who hasn’t slept today gets two hours, then rotate out.”
A few warriors gave small nods, grateful for even a short reprieve.
“Get into place,” Rowan finished, his voice rising just enough for every wolf within earshot to hear. “This pack stands tonight. And tomorrow, we end this.”
The crowd dispersed quickly, warriors peeling away toward their designated sectors. Bows were strung, blades checked, traps double-checked beneath moss and soil. Rowan watched them all move with the precision of wolves who had survived too much to ever let down their guard.
Behind him, Giselle stood at the edge of the tent, her hand resting just above her heart as she watched the preparations unfold. Rowan met her eyes briefly, the echo of Seren’s words still haunting him.
She had chosen him.
And now, it was his turn to protect everything she stood for.
“Come dawn,” Rowan muttered under his breath, “we fight not just for our survival—but for what comes after.”
As the last rays of sunlight bled into twilight, silence settled over the forest. A silence that would not last.
The storm was coming.
And they would be ready.
—
The hours dragged.
Night cloaked the forest in a thick, tense stillness. Not even the wind dared stir the branches overhead. Rowan stood at the top of the ridge near the Alpha’s post, his eyes trained on the distant treeline to the East. Around him, warriors waited in near-total silence—some crouched in tall grass, others hidden beneath the brush or nestled in the trees with bows drawn, muscles still as stone.
Time blurred. The stars wheeled overhead. And still, the forest remained unnaturally quiet.
Until…
A low buzz filled the packlink.
‘Movement—north of trap point Delta. Shadows in the trees.’ The voice was Kai’s, one of the younger scouts Rowan had placed on the ridge.
Rowan’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Not yet.
Another voice came seconds later. ‘Confirmed—eyes on three groups fanning out. Heading westward, trying to flank. They’re using the mist for cover.’
‘There’s more behind them,’ came a third voice—Gareth, the broad-shouldered sentry stationed on a high perch near the streambed. ‘Numbers are still climbing. Fifty… no, more. Sixty. Maybe seventy.’
Kalen stood to Rowan’s left, his posture rigid, every line of him taut with readiness. “They’re trying to spread us thin.”
Rowan didn’t answer. He was counting the breath between each report. The rhythm was there—the rogue forces were coordinated. They knew what they were doing.
‘Two more groups emerging on the east slope. They’ve passed the first marker. Half a mile to the outer line.’
Rowan inhaled slowly through his nose.
Then Gareth again, his voice clipped with urgency. ‘Traps at Ridgepoint are about to be breached. Main force heading right for the clearing. Estimated eighty strong, armed. Two witches among them.’
There was a pause. Then another report, sharper this time. ‘Rhea is with them. I repeat, Rhea is in the front group. Hooded figure beside her—matches Merek’s build. They’re giving orders.’
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. The sun had just begun to break the horizon, light piercing the edge of the treetops in thin, golden spears. The tension snapped taut like a bowstring.
And still, his warriors waited.
Watching. Listening. Heartbeats loud in their ears, waiting for their Alpha’s voice.
Rowan’s jaw flexed. Through the link, he finally spoke—his voice low, steady, and resolute. ‘Hold your ground. Let them pass the outer traps.’
A ripple of acknowledgement moved across the mental tether connecting the pack.
He raised a hand for those nearby, fingers clenched in a fist.
“Wait…”
More reports poured in.
‘They’re almost through. Front line is twenty feet from trap line, Alpha.’
‘Another group split off toward the left flank. Five witches marked with sigils—likely Bonecaster’s own.’
Kalen looked to him. “Say the word.”
Rowan waited until he felt it—like a weight in his chest—the unmistakable sense that the rogues had just stepped into the exact position he’d prepared for.
Then he dropped his fist.
“Engage.”
From the woods came the sudden thunder of movement. Arrows flew. Earth burst as traps detonated—nets sprang from the ground, explosive roots twisted around legs, and poison-laced spikes snapped closed like metal jaws.
Screams tore through the dawn air.
And Rowan, shifting mid-stride, let out a snarl that echoed across the hills as he charged into the fight.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
