Her words settle heavy in my chest. I move on.
Near the sparring ring, Jennifer’s voice cuts through the air, low but resonant. Two wolves circle each other, their movements sharp, their teeth bared. She calls out, her voice threading into their rage, her words softening sharp edges, drawing them back from bloodlust. They lower their claws, their breaths slowing, their eyes clearing. One mutters thanks, the other nods stiffly, and both step back.
Jennifer catches my eye. “They’re tired,” she says. “Fear makes them strike too hard.”
“Then keep talking,” I reply.
She nods once, her voice already rising again, carrying calm into restless hearts.
Beyond them, Angie sits cross-legged in the snow, her hands pressed to the ground. Wolves stand near, their shoulders tight, their jaws clenched, waiting for her word. She whispers low, her magic seeping into the earth, the tension in their bodies easing as though the ground itself steadies them. One drops his head, another exhales hard. For a moment, their fear fades.
But not all fades so easily.
Shouts rise near the northern ring. I move fast, pushing through bodies until I see it—two wolves squared off against one of the witches, their teeth bared, their rage sharp. The witch holds steady, her eyes glowing faint, her hands raised.
“She’s binding us,” one wolf snarls. “Slowing us.”
“She’s keeping you from tearing each other apart before you face the real enemy,” the witch snaps back.
The wolves growl louder, shoulders bunching, ready to strike.
“Enough!” My voice cracks across the air. My wolf pushes forward, her growl low, fierce, commanding. Silence drops heavy, eyes snapping to me.
I step between them, my gaze sharp on the wolves first. “You think she’s your enemy? You think her chains weigh heavier than Roman’s? If she binds you, it’s to keep you standing, not to tear you down.”
I turn to the witch, my voice steady. “And you—remember they bleed beside you. You chain them too hard, you break more than their bodies. You break the trust we’re trying to build.”
For a moment, no one moves. Then the wolves drop their eyes. The witch lowers her hands. The air shifts, tension bleeding out.
I stand tall, my chest heaving, my wolf bristling. The hall doors creak then, and Darius steps out, his presence heavy, his eyes burning. “They’re waiting.”
I know what he means.
Inside the great hall, the air is permeated with smoke and sweat, wolves filling the benches, witches standing along the walls. Maps are spread across the long table, marked with circles and lines. The murmurs fade as I step forward, the weight of every eye pressing sharp against me.
My hands tremble. My throat tightens. But my wolf presses close, her strength bleeding into me, steadying my spine.
I draw in breath and speak.
“You all know what’s coming,” I say. My voice is rough at first, but it carries. “Roman is not a shadow anymore. He is at our gates. He binds witches, he breaks foxes, he burns villages to ash. He thinks we’ll fall as we always have—scattered, scarred, divided.”
My voice grows stronger as I move, my wolf pressing harder. “But we are not divided anymore. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not when the fire comes. Wolves stand beside witches. Foxes beside wolves. Scars beside scars. Roman fights with fear. We fight with unity.”
A murmur rises, sharp and restless.
I lift my chin. “I know what you carry. Every one of you has lost something—family, pack, a home you’ll never see again. You bear scars that ache when the cold sets in, wounds that never truly healed. But scars are not weakness. Scars are proof that you endured. That you lived when others fell. That you are still standing.”
My hands curl into fists, my wolf howling inside me. “He wants us broken. He wants us to believe we are less. But look around you. Look at who stands at your side. Broken we may be, but broken things cut sharper. Broken things can build something new.”
Voices rumble louder, wolves slamming fists against tables, witches lifting their hands, sparks of power flickering in the air.
I push forward, my voice shaking now but strong. “When the fire comes, we don’t meet it as fractured pieces. We meet it as one. One body. One pack. One family. And no fire will ever consume that.”
The hall erupts. Wolves howl, their voices shuddering the rafters. Witches raise their hands, light spilling across the walls. The ground itself seems to shake with the sound.
And then I see him—Darius, standing near the front, his eyes locked on mine. There’s no doubt there, no anger, no shield. Just pride, sharp and fierce. He inclines his head, slow, deliberate, not as my brother guarding me, but as my equal.
My throat tightens, my wolf pressing against me, her howl rising into the storm of voices.
