Chapter 106: Tooth and Flame
The world snapped into motion like a storm unleashed.
Rowan charged down the slope with thunder in his blood and the scent of enemy wolves thick in his nose. The moment his paws hit the earth, he shifted mid-stride—bones breaking, reforming, fur bursting through skin until the massive obsidian beast of his wolf form thundered across the clearing.
All around him, the forest erupted into chaos.
Snarls and war cries cracked through the dawn. Traps fired—snaring limbs, toppling rogues into pits, or flinging sharpened stakes into the trees. A rogue alpha tried to leap out of the way, but Rowan met him mid-air, teeth closing around the wolf’s neck. The snap of vertebrae echoed before Rowan flung the lifeless body into the bramble and barreled forward.
He didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop.
Giselle was right behind him, her own wolf shimmering through her skin as she launched herself into the thick of it. One moment, her sword flashed—a sleek obsidian blade gifted by Avella—slicing through a witch’s protective ward. The next, she twisted, ducked, and gutted a rogue with deadly precision.
She was fire and fury, a ghost in moonlight and flame. And she stayed on his blind side—protecting him with every breath, every motion.
Another rogue lunged for Rowan’s flank, but Giselle was there, driving her blade into the attacker’s spine before he could land the blow. Rowan whirled, caught the next with his jaws, and slammed him into the earth so hard it caved in around them.
Their bond was wordless. Movement in sync. Each breath they took matched the other.
Together, they tore through the enemy lines.
He caught sight of Rhea across the battlefield—her long white cloak streaked in blood as she cast another spell, cutting a swath of fire through Rowan’s warriors. The man beside her—Merek or whatever name he wore now—was shouting orders, flanked by Bonecaster witches and snarling brutes with glowing red eyes.
Soon after being seen, they both disappeared from sight. Swallowed up by the waves of rogues pushing through around them.
‘They’re trying to break our middle line!’ Kalen’s voice rang through the packlink. ‘They're heading straight for the bunker route!’
That was where the young, the old, and the vulnerable were hidden.
‘We hold them here!’ Rowan barked back. ‘Push forward and force them to split!’
Giselle snarled beside him, her blade now slick with blood. She pivoted just in time to shield him from a whip of fire cast from a dark-haired witch, the flames hissing off her protective charm. With a snarl, Giselle hurled a dagger straight into the caster’s chest.
Another group of rogues broke through the smoke to their right. Rowan met them head-on—claws shredding, jaws rending flesh and fur. He knocked one aside, crushed another beneath his massive form, and ripped the throat out of a third before lunging again.
Every step he took was driven by fury.
By purpose.
By the knowledge that this was *his* pack—*his* family—and he would not let them fall.
Not to this. Not to *them*.
And beside him, Giselle was a shadow of vengeance and hope.
They were death incarnate.
And together, they were unstoppable.
The air was thick with blood, smoke, and the howls of the dying.
Rowan didn’t stop moving, not even as his muscles screamed and his paws were slick with the blood of rogues. He could smell her. Rhea. The sharp tang of her perfume layered beneath the stench of magic and death. She was close now.
Giselle snarled at his side, blade dancing through the last rogue that lunged for them.
“She's just ahead,” Giselle said, her voice tight with adrenaline. “I can feel it.”
Rowan surged forward, shifting mid-run back into his human form, claws retracting into hands now slick with blood. “Then we end this.”
The trees opened into a jagged clearing blackened by scorched earth. Chaos reigned across it—witches casting blindly, rogue wolves turning tail as Rowan’s warriors pushed through from all sides.
And there—on the far edge—was her.
Rhea’s white cloak fluttered behind her as she turned, panic contorting her features. Her pale eyes locked on Rowan and Giselle—and widened in pure, animal fear.
She stumbled back a step, scanning the battlefield. Her companion—Merek—was nowhere in sight.
She was alone.
Rowan bared his teeth. “Rhea!”
Her eyes snapped to him at the sound of her name, and for a heartbeat, she froze—like a deer in the crosshairs. Then she spun on her heel and bolted, shoving a half-injured rogue out of her path.
“Don’t let her get away,” Giselle growled, already taking off after her.
They ran.
The battle around them became a blur of motion and sound. Rowan leapt over bodies, ducked under a streak of flame, and kept his eyes locked on the white of her cloak as it disappeared into the thinning trees beyond the camp.
Rhea was fast—unnaturally so—and she hurled potions behind her as she fled. One exploded in a blinding flash of light. Another cracked against the earth, sending up a wall of smoke. But Rowan was faster. And Giselle cut through the fog like a wraith.
“She's heading toward the eastern ridge!” Giselle shouted.
Rowan growled through the packlink. ‘Cut her off from the south—don't let her double back!’
Warriors moved to flank.
And still, Rhea ran.
She climbed a ridge with clawed fingers, slipping on the blood-slick rock, cursing under her breath as she turned to look back—and found them gaining.
Her lips moved in a chant.
A flare of white-hot energy exploded at her back, forcing Rowan and Giselle to duck for cover. The bark of nearby trees blackened and peeled from the heat.
But when the smoke cleared, she was limping.
And she was slowing.
Giselle broke into a run, pushing past Rowan with her eyes locked on the traitor. “This ends now!”
Rhea looked over her shoulder one last time.
And realized the truth.
There would be no more escape.
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