The Council’s Summons
The Crimson Fang packhouse was a hive of tension. Wolves paced the halls, their voices low but urgent as the weight of the Council of Alphas’ summons pressed down like a storm cloud. The council rarely intervened unless there was a dangerous imbalance. Tobias’s accusations of rogue alliances and fractured leadership had hit their mark, and now Draven’s authority was under scrutiny.
Whispers about Tobias and the Obsidian Howl pack were always drenched in menace, but the rumors surrounding his mastery of dark magic bordered on the grotesque. They said Tobias didn’t just dabble in forbidden rituals—he reveled in them. Some claimed he once bound an alpha’s mate to him using a blood-spell, forcing her to renounce her bond while her true mate clawed at his own throat, consumed by an uncontrollable rage. Others spoke in hushed tones about wolves who defied him, dragged before an altar of obsidian where Tobias’s words twisted their wills until they howled their loyalty through broken, bloodied mouths. His rituals were whispered to involve flesh and flame, his victims left with scars that glowed faintly in the moonlight, a permanent mark of his dominion.
It wasn’t just power Tobias sought; it was control, and his methods were enough to make even seasoned alphas wary of crossing him. These weren’t idle tales, either—there were wolves who bore the marks, their auras forever tainted by the magic that had violated their minds. To face Tobias wasn’t just to face a cunning alpha; it was to risk stepping into a darkness few could comprehend.
In the great hall, Draven stood before his pack, his presence a commanding force even in the sea of whispers. Isla stood beside him, her silver hair gleaming under the torchlight, her face calm but alert.
“The council believes they can test us,” Draven said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “They think we’re weak. They think we’re divided. We will show them otherwise.” His amber eyes swept over the gathered wolves, daring anyone to voice dissent.
Micah, standing near the front, raised her voice. “What happens if they don’t believe us? What if they side with Tobias?”
Draven’s gaze shifted to her, unyielding. “Then they’ll regret underestimating us.”
Alaric, leaning against a nearby column with his arms crossed, let out a quiet chuckle. “Bold. But Tobias doesn’t play fair, does he? He’s not interested in diplomacy—he’s setting you up to fall.”
“And yet here you are,” Draven said, his tone cutting, “standing with us instead of running back to your rogue ways.”
“Call it self-preservation,” Alaric quipped, though the edge in his voice hinted at something deeper.
Isla’s eyes narrowed as she observed the exchange, but her attention shifted when one of the guards entered the hall and approached her. “Seraphine has requested a meeting with you,” the guard murmured.
Draven’s jaw tightened. “She’s always scheming,” he muttered.
“She’s still my sister,” Isla said softly, though her tone carried a sharpness that stopped Draven from arguing further.
Moments later, Isla entered the cell where Seraphine was held under heavy guard. Her sister sat poised, her crescent mark faintly glowing, her expression unreadable.
“Sister,” Seraphine began, her tone unusually calm. “There’s a force plotting against you and Draven. They’ve been working in the shadows for years. Let me help you, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Isla folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve lost the right to call yourself my sister. If there’s a threat, speak plainly, but don’t think for a moment I’ll trade your freedom for another web of lies.”
Seraphine’s eyes darkened, her composure cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of desperation. “You’re making a mistake. You think you can do this alone, but you’ll see—when they come for you, you’ll wish you’d listened to me.”
“No,” Isla replied, her voice steady. “I’ll wish I hadn’t wasted my time here.”
She turned sharply, leaving Seraphine in furious silence.
Back in the hall, the pack prepared for the journey. Whispers spread like wildfire, some wolves voicing their fears openly.
“The Obsidian Howl’s magic isn’t just rumors,” one warrior muttered. “They say Tobias can control minds, twist bonds—”
“Enough!” Draven’s voice rang out, silencing the chatter. He stood tall, his amber gaze hard as steel. “We don’t cower from myths or manipulators. Remember who you are. Remember who I am.”
The tension lifted slightly, though unease lingered in the air. Isla caught Draven’s eye, and he gave her a small nod of reassurance before they led the pack into the unknown.
