A Trail of Blood
The Eastern mountains loomed on the horizon, their jagged peaks shrouded in mist. The scent of magic lingered in the cold air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of decay. Isla led her warriors through the dense forest, her silver eyes sharp and focused as they tracked Eira and her father’s movements.
“They’re close,” Jamie said, his low voice cutting through the quiet. He crouched beside a disturbed patch of earth, his sharp senses picking up the faint scent of blood. “They tried to cover their tracks, but they left signs behind.”
Isla nodded, her hand tightening on the hilt of her blade. “They’re desperate,” she murmured. “That’s the only reason they’d make mistakes.”
The pack moved as one, their steps silent as shadows. As they neared the ruins of a fortress, its broken towers jutting into the sky like skeletal fingers, Isla’s chest tightened. The air grew heavier, tinged with the unmistakable energy of dark magic. The wolves around her bristled, their instincts sharpening in the presence of danger.
Jamie, walking at Isla’s side, muttered under his breath. “They’ve underestimated us.”
“They always do,” Isla replied, her voice calm but deadly. Her silver light flickered faintly, a reflection of the rage burning inside her. “And that will be their downfall.”
As the group reached the fortress gates, Isla raised her hand, signaling them to stop. The wolves crouched low, their eyes glowing faintly in the gloom as they awaited her command. She turned to Jamie. “Take the scouts and circle the perimeter. Look for weak points.”
“And if we find resistance?” he asked, his claws already extending.
Her gaze hardened. “Deal with it. Swiftly.”
Jamie nodded, disappearing into the shadows with a few warriors in tow. Isla turned back to the looming fortress, the weight of her mission pressing against her chest. Somewhere inside, her children were waiting for her. And she would tear the place apart brick by brick to find them.
