The Pack Divided
The sound of the approaching howls echoed through the forest, sending a chill down Isla’s spine. Draven’s hold on her tightened as his amber eyes scanned the dark treeline, his jaw clenched. Alaric moved to Isla’s side, his expression grim as Kael stood a few paces away, his defiance momentarily replaced by unease.
“They’re coming,” Alaric said, his voice low. “It’s not just rogues.”
Draven’s gaze shifted to him. “Explain.”
Alaric’s golden eyes flicked toward Kael before locking onto Draven. “Kael’s actions drew attention. There’s unrest in the region, and some packs are taking advantage of it. If I’m right, we’re about to have company from more than just a few strays.”
Kael scoffed, his bravado returning. “They’re here for me,” he said. “They won’t harm her.”
Draven turned on him, his voice like thunder. “You’ve caused enough damage. Stand down, or I’ll end this here and now.”
Kael’s lips curled into a snarl, but he didn’t argue. Isla’s heart raced as the tension in the clearing thickened, the approaching howls growing louder. Draven released her, stepping forward as the first wolves emerged from the shadows.
The group was larger than Isla had expected—at least a dozen wolves in their shifted forms, their fur glinting under the moonlight. They moved with purpose, their eyes fixed on the clearing. At the center of the group was a man who shifted seamlessly into his human form, his broad shoulders and scarred face giving him an air of authority.
“Alpha Draven,” the man called out, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t expect to find you here.”
Draven stepped forward, his posture commanding. “Tobias,” he said, his tone clipped. “What brings Midnight Crest to my territory?”
Tobias’s sharp gaze flicked to Kael, then to Isla, and finally back to Draven. “Rumors,” he said simply. “That one of our own was taken, that your pack has been hiding a secret.”
Draven’s wolf bristled beneath the surface, but he kept his composure. “You were misinformed. My Luna was taken, yes—but I’ve recovered her.”
Tobias’s lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And yet she stands with a rogue and a traitor,” he said, nodding toward Alaric and Kael. “Are you sure your pack’s loyalty isn’t… divided?”
Draven’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into a growl. “Crimson Fang’s loyalty is to me. If you have an issue, Tobias, you address it with me—not my Luna.”
Tobias took a step closer, his pack moving in unison behind him. “The council won’t be so easily convinced,” he said. “There are whispers of a challenge, Draven. Of instability in your leadership. Are you ready for what’s coming?”
The tension in the air was suffocating, the wolves in the clearing poised on the edge of violence. Isla’s gaze darted between Draven and Tobias, her heart pounding. Before Draven could respond, another sound broke through the night—a deep, mournful howl, distant but chilling.
Draven stiffened, his expression darkening. “Enough of this,” he snapped. “Take your pack and leave.”
Tobias smirked, but he didn’t argue. “For now,” he said, shifting back into his wolf form. His pack followed suit, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they had appeared.
Draven turned to Alaric and Kael, his expression thunderous. “This isn’t over,” he growled. “We’re heading back to the packhouse. Now.”
