A Pack Divided
In the war room of the Crimson Fang packhouse, tension hung heavy in the air. Draven stood at the head of the table, his amber eyes blazing as he surveyed his warriors. Their faces reflected anger, fear, and frustration—emotions he shared but couldn’t afford to show.
“We cannot launch a full assault,” Draven said, his voice sharp, cutting through the murmurs of discontent. “Malrik would kill Isla and the twins before we even reached the gates. He’d do it just to spite us.”
The room fell silent for a moment, before a warrior stepped forward. His jaw was clenched, his eyes stormy. “And how long do we wait, Alpha?” His tone bordered on insubordination, but it carried the weight of the pack’s desperation. “Isla is our Luna, and those children are the future of Crimson Fang. Every second we hesitate is a second they’re in danger.”
Susan shot to her feet, her glare like a dagger. “You think Draven doesn’t know that? Do you think for a second he’s not doing everything possible to get her back?”
The warrior shifted uncomfortably under her fierce gaze but held his ground. “We’re warriors. We fight. Sitting here, waiting for answers—it’s not who we are.”
Draven raised a hand, silencing both of them. “Enough.” His voice was calm, but the force behind it demanded obedience. He looked around the room, his gaze locking with every wolf who dared meet his eyes. “If anyone here believes they can storm Malrik’s stronghold and bring her back alive, say so now. Step forward. I’ll give you the honor of leading the charge.”
No one moved.
Jamie stepped forward after a long pause, his voice steady but tinged with concern. “We trust you, Draven. But the pack needs to see a way forward. Even if the plan takes time, they need to know there is one.”
Draven let out a slow breath, his shoulders rigid. “Alaric is leading a stealth team into Onyx Dusk territory. They’ll gather intelligence—guard rotations, weak points, the exact location where Malrik is keeping Isla. Once we know, we strike with precision. No wasted lives. No failures.”
The room buzzed with murmurs, but this time they carried a sense of direction rather than discord.
Susan spoke up, her voice resolute. “We’ll prepare while Alaric does his work. And when the time comes, we’ll be ready.”
The warriors dispersed reluctantly, but the tension lingered. Draven remained in the room, his fists clenched as he stared at the maps on the table.
Susan lingered by the doorway. “You’ll bring her back,” she said, her tone softer than usual. “You always do.”
Draven didn’t respond until she left. Then, alone in the quiet of the room, he whispered to himself, his voice raw. “Hold on, Isla. I’m coming for you.”
