Chapter 106

The air crackled with raw power as Emilia stepped through the wreckage. Behind her, silhouettes of at least twenty werewolves moved into position—members of distant packs loyal to the Wolfe bloodline who had answered her call.

Donovan's shock lasted only seconds before his face hardened into calculation. "Emilia. What a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect you to return to Lockewood after all these years."

"Save it," Emilia snarled, her voice carrying a resonance that made the remaining windows vibrate. "I've spent thirteen years preparing for this moment—gathering allies, strengthening our bloodline's connections, and waiting for Shea to discover her heritage."

Shea stared at her mother in awe. Gone was the grieving widow she'd known; in her place stood a warrior queen, radiating authority and deadly intent.

"Mom," she whispered.

Emilia's eyes softened momentarily as she glanced at her daughter. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you everything, sweetheart. Some knowledge can only be earned through experience."

Donovan's men shifted uneasily, clearly reassessing their odds. The Hawkins alpha raised his hand, signaling them to hold position.

"You've miscalculated, Emilia," he said smoothly. "Even with your reinforcements, you're outnumbered in the larger conflict. The other factions—"

"Have withdrawn their support," came another voice as Lucius stepped through the broken wall, flanked by his own elite guards. His clothing was torn and bloodstained, evidence of the battle he'd just fought. "Your conspiracy has been exposed, Donovan. The Council knows everything—how you manipulated the other packs, how you orchestrated Vincent's death, how you've been corrupting the sacred rituals."

Achilles used the distraction to move closer to Shea, positioning himself between her and the nearest Hawkins wolves. His eyes never left Ryder, who looked increasingly uncertain.

"It's over," Lucius continued. "The other faction leaders are converging on this location as we speak. They've agreed to honor the old ways—the true ways—not your perversion of them."

Donovan's composure finally cracked. "You fools! The old ways left us weak, hiding in the shadows! My way would have made us gods among men!"

"At what cost?" Shea challenged, finding her voice. "Sacrificing innocents? Twisting the balance of nature? That's not power—it's corruption."

The Hawkins alpha's eyes darkened with fury. "You know nothing of power, girl. Let me show you what real power looks like!"

With blinding speed, Donovan lunged toward Marcus, claws extended for a killing blow. But before he could reach him, Ryder intercepted his father's attack, catching his wrist mid-strike.

"No more," Ryder said, his voice tight with resolve. "This ends now."

Donovan's face contorted with rage and betrayal. "You dare—"

"I dare to honor our true heritage," Ryder replied. "Not the twisted version you've been feeding me."

The distraction was all they needed. In a coordinated movement, Emilia and Lucius signaled their forces to advance. The mill erupted into chaos as werewolves clashed on all sides.

Shea rushed to help Lyra while Achilles moved to free Marcus. Through the melee, she watched Ryder and his father locked in their own brutal confrontation—years of resentment and manipulation culminating in a fight that seemed inevitable in retrospect.

"We need to get to the ritual stones," Emilia shouted over the din, fighting her way to Shea's side. "They're the source of the imbalance. Donovan has been using them to siphon power for years!"

Achilles appeared beside them, supporting Marcus with one arm. "The entrance is beneath the mill. There's a trapdoor by the old grinding wheel."

Shea nodded, determination replacing fear. "I'll find it."

She moved through the battle with newfound grace, her werewolf senses allowing her to anticipate attacks before they came. Twice she was forced to defend herself, her claws emerging instinctively as she fought off Hawkins loyalists.

The trapdoor was partially hidden beneath debris, but Shea's enhanced vision spotted the iron ring embedded in the floor. With a powerful heave, she pulled it open, revealing stone steps descending into darkness.

"Mom! Achilles! This way!" she called.

As they converged on the trapdoor, a blood-curdling howl cut through the chaos. All eyes turned to see Donovan, partially transformed and mortally wounded, collapsing to his knees. Before him stood Ryder, his claws dripping with his father's blood, his expression a complex mixture of grief and resolution.

"Go," Ryder told them, his voice rough. "Fix what he broke. I'll hold the others back."

Achilles and Ryder exchanged a look of understanding—perhaps the beginning of a new alliance between their families.

Shea led the way down the stone steps, followed by her mother, Achilles, and Marcus, who insisted on coming despite his injuries. The passage opened into a vast underground chamber, illuminated by an eerie blue light emanating from a circle of ancient stones.

At the center of the circle lay a pool of silvery liquid that seemed to defy gravity, parts of it floating in midair like mercury freed from the constraints of nature.

"The wellspring," Emilia breathed. "The source of our power. He's corrupted it."

Shea approached the edge of the circle, feeling the stones calling to her. "What do we do?"

"The ritual requires balance," Marcus explained, leaning heavily against the wall. "Three bloodlines, working in harmony. That's why Donovan needed you and Achilles—descendants of the founding packs."

"And the third?" Shea asked.

Marcus smiled grimly. "Me. The Von Astrea line has always been the mediator between Wolf and Lunar."

Emilia nodded. "Together, you three can restore what was broken. But it will require sacrifice."

Achilles took Shea's hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Whatever it takes."

Shea looked between them—Achilles, her mate and protector; Marcus, the unexpected ally who'd become a friend; her mother, who had carried the burden of this knowledge alone for so long.

Above them, the sounds of battle continued, but here in this ancient place, a different kind of power was gathering. Shea felt it resonating within her blood, calling to something primal and ancient.

"Then let's begin," she said, stepping forward into the circle of stones.

The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the silvery liquid in the pool surged upward, forming a spiraling column that reached toward the chamber ceiling. The battle for Lockewood's soul had reached its final phase.