“I was just about to wake you,” he says as he does his button. “Demons were sighted on the north boundaries.”
“Red Moon territory…?” I gasp, and Damian nods.
“James just contacted me about it, and we need to go.”
I'm about to open my mouth to fight him when I realize I don't have to. Damian isn't asking me to stay behind. That's why he said he was about to wake me.
For the first time, it feels like he actually needs me, or rather,wantsme to fight beside him. I race to my bedroom to get dressed, and Damian meets me at the front door, his expression troubled when I find him.
I know why he looks like that—it’s because there’s a gnawing feeling that the demons are plotting their worst attack by far. And this time, they’re coming directly for Red Moon.
They’re coming for me.
I slip my hand into Damian’s, offering him a terse smile, perhaps to reassure him, or to reassure myself, I’m not sure. He returns it tentatively before we head to the clearing near the woods, the air ominous as James approaches us to give us an update about the demon sightings at the border.
“Have you alerted Henry and Conan?” Damian asks his beta, and James nods.
“Yes, Alpha. They’re on their way.”
Damian’s hand tightens on mine when a screeching cry can be heard in the distance. James promptly rushes back toward the woods, disappearing between the trees to join the other soldiers as they prepare for the looming attack.
What frightens me most is that this attack doesn’t begin with chaos, but it grows in the valley, and we can feel it settling over us, like a dark cloud covering the valley right before a storm.
There’s no more screaming, no rushed alarm bells tearing through the valley. Instead, there’s a pressure that rolls in low and steady, like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air grows thick enough to press against the lungs. I feel it even before Damian stiffens beside me, even before the bond sharpens into warning.
This isn’t a raid.
This isn’t a test.
This is a push.
The demons come in waves that don’t scatter when met with resistance, that don’t retreat when the first lines of werewolves hold. They surge forward together, coordinated in a way I haven’t seen before, forcing the packs to respond all atonce as Heinrich and Conan come charging in with their wolves. The wolves shift, magic flares, weapons rise, but something is wrong, and it becomes clear almost immediately.
The alphas are slower.
Not unskilled. Not hesitant. Just…dulled. Heinrich’s strikes land when he uses his magic, but the earth answers him reluctantly, cracking where it should have split clean through. Conan’s lightning arcs wide instead of sharp, dispersing more than it destroys. Even the wind magic carried by the rest of Conan’s pack falters, whispering rather than cutting through any demons.
They are fighting well, not fighting powerfully, and the demons know it, mocking them with teasing attacks that are meant to taunt them instead of delivering any real damage.
The wolves aren’t what the demons want.
They want me.
Damian moves with me without needing to look, water already coiling at his command as I step into position beside him. This time, there’s no argument, no command to stay back. Just alignment, our training gathering up to this moment. His power meets mine the way it always has when we’re in sync, neither overpowering the other, not consuming, but steady, shaping the battlefield around us instead of tearing it apart.
Fire answers me cleanly, wild with power, but not greedy enough to consume me, because I’m controlling it this time. I draw it up from the center of myself, the way Damian taught me, breathing through the heat until it settles into something I can hold. I release it in controlled arcs, forcing demons back without chasing them, without losing myself to the pull of destruction. Water surges where my flames strike, steam exploding outwardin violent bursts that stagger the front lines of the demons whooshing in.
For a moment… just a moment… It works.
The valley holds.
But then the demons change. They don’t just counter us. They close in on me, targeting me specifically, moving away from the wolves and rushing at me.
The first corrupted attack slips through the defensive line like smoke, blackened flame threading itself through the chaos with deliberate precision. It doesn’t burn the way fire should. It corrodes like burning acid, eating at the edges of my control, twisting heat into something unstable, something that wants to explode outward instead of obey.
I falter.
Just a fraction, but it’s enough to throw me off guard.
