Chapter 204
The silence before the storm was always the loudest.
At 2:55 a.m., the air inside the barracks was saturated with tension. Even the wind held its breath. Alpha Jake stood atop the ridge that overlooked the forest—his forest—separated only by trees and treachery from Arnold’s territory. The moon loomed low on the horizon, bloated and blood-orange, casting an ominous glow over the sleeping earth. Each swaying tree, each shiver in the leaves, felt like a whisper of something ancient and unforgiving.
Behind him, a hundred warriors stood poised, half in human form, half already shifted—muscle coiled tight, fur bristling, eyes reflecting silver in the moonlight. Their weapons gleamed faintly. No one spoke. There was nothing left to say.
Jake took a long breath, cold air filling his lungs, and felt the weight of the moon press into his bones. The full moon always called to him, but tonight it wasn’t just primal instinct surging beneath his skin—it was purpose. Fear pulsed in the marrow of his spine, but so did love. He closed his eyes, and Ayla’s face filled the darkness. Her smile, crooked and defiant. The way she kissed him when he was angry. The sound of her voice when she told him they were expecting again.
He opened his eyes, jaw tight.
This wasn’t just war. This was a promise.
He turned to Chris, his Beta and closest friend. “On my signal,” he said, his voice low but certain.
Chris nodded, mouth a firm line. “Fast and clean?”
“We hit hard and get out. Minimal casualties. But if they come at us—”
“We finish it.”
Jake’s gaze locked with his. “We finish it.”
A hawk’s cry shattered the sky above.
The first wave moved instantly, wolves flowing through the forest like smoke, swift and silent. Jake broke into a sprint, his boots pounding against the earth before he leapt mid-stride—bones cracked, muscles tore and reknit, fur erupted from skin.
He landed on four massive paws, his Alpha form dwarfing the others. Midnight-black fur shimmered under moonlight, his eyes two glowing coals.
Arnold’s camp lay ahead, wrapped in false peace. Tents clustered in organized rows, fire pits burning low, only a handful of guards in sight. They had grown lazy. Overconfident.
Jake didn’t hesitate.
He barreled into the first guard like a freight train, claws ripping flesh before the man could even scream. The pack swarmed behind him. Within seconds, the perimeter was theirs.
But just as Jake reached the heart of the camp—just as victory felt within grasp—he heard it.
A roar. Then a snap of ignition.
Fire.
Explosions shattered the silence. Trees exploded into flames. The earth heaved.
A trap.
Flames surged through the forest, engulfing wolves and warriors alike. Screams tore through the air—burning fur, splitting bark, shattering hope.
“Fall back!” Jake growled, but the words twisted in his muzzle, distorted and half-swallowed in the inferno.
A sudden blast hurled him like a rag doll across the clearing. He slammed into the ground with a wet crunch. His ribs cracked beneath the impact, and pain exploded in his side.
Smoke choked his throat. Blood pooled beneath him, hot and thick. His world blurred, reduced to pain and chaos.
“Alpha!”
Chris’s voice, raw and desperate, punched through the fog.
Jake tried to move. His body refused. He shifted back to human form with a cry of agony, clutching at his side. Blood spilled through his fingers.
The camp had turned into a war zone. Wolves collided mid-air, weapons clashed. Arnold’s reinforcements had been waiting. Watching.
Jake dragged himself upright, barely standing. His vision swam. He tasted blood.
“Chris!” he shouted hoarsely. “Get to Arnold! End this!”
Chris hesitated, torn.
“You won’t survive—”
“I don’t care! Do it!”
Snarling, Chris shifted and bounded toward the main tent, where the enemy Alpha lurked.
Jake stumbled forward. Wolves closed in on him. One lunged—Jake ducked, twisted, drove a dagger into its side. Another leapt, claws raking across his back. He roared and slammed his elbow into its snout, then stabbed again, again, again.
The air reeked of blood and smoke. Every breath burned.
Still, Jake fought.
Each swing of his blade was for Ayla. For his child. For every life stolen by Arnold’s ambition.
Then, suddenly, the noise shifted. The battlefield parted like a curtain of shadows.
Arnold stood atop a raised platform, untouched by flame, a grim king in a burning court. His greying hair whipped in the wind. His eyes, deep-set and cruel, locked on Jake with relish.
“Still breathing?” Arnold mocked. “I’m impressed.”
Jake wiped blood from his mouth. “You lost the second you threatened my family.”
Arnold barked a bitter laugh. “Always the noble Alpha. But me? I’ve got nothing left. Nothing to fear. That makes me unstoppable.”
Jake raised his sword. “No. That makes you reckless. And dead.”
Arnold jumped down, sword in hand.
They collided.
The clash was brutal—blade against blade, bone against bone. Arnold moved like a man possessed, every strike wild with desperation. Jake, despite his injuries, fought with measured fury. His strength was fractured, but his will was iron.
Arnold slashed low. Jake grunted as the blade sliced his thigh. He staggered but held his ground.
Jake countered, slashing Arnold across the chest. Blood sprayed. Arnold hissed but didn’t stop.
“You think this changes anything?” Arnold spat, voice strained. “Kill me, and others will rise.”
Jake drove his blade forward.
Arnold gasped as cold steel punched into his gut.
Jake stepped in close, twisting the sword. “Then I’ll bury them too.”
Arnold collapsed, blood gurgling from his mouth.
Silence fell.
All around them, the fighting slowed. Arnold’s men surrendered. Some fled. Some dropped their weapons and howled for mercy.
Chris limped toward Jake, soaked in blood. “It’s over.”
Jake tried to nod. The world tilted.
Chris caught him just before he hit the ground.
“Let’s get you home.”
\---
He woke to lavender. Clean sheets. Soft light.
Pain laced through his body, dull and heavy. But the touch beside him was warm.
Ayla.
She sat by his bed, her eyes red-rimmed but glowing with relief. She reached for his hand, holding it like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Hey,” she whispered, voice breaking. “You scared me.”
Jake tried to speak. All he managed was a broken sound.
She leaned in and kissed him—gently, like he was breakable.
“You saved us,” she whispered. “It’s done. It’s over.”
His chest trembled. He wanted to tell her everything. How her face had kept him alive. How the baby had fueled every strike.
Instead, she took his hand and pressed it gently to her belly.
“You’re going to be a father again,” she said softly.
His laugh was cracked and raw—but real.
Even in war, even in pain, he had everything to fight for.
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