Fractures in the Pack
The tension in Crimson Fang’s war room was suffocating, the flicker of torches casting restless shadows on the stone walls. Warriors crowded around the central table, their voices rising in frustration as maps and battle plans lay sprawled before them.
“How long do we retreat before we fight back?” one wolf growled, slamming his fist against the table. His anger mirrored the restless energy in the room.
Susan stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the stone floor as her hands slammed down hard enough to make the table shake. “Enough!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the noise. “You think you know better than the Alpha? We retreat because we’re regrouping. Or would you rather charge into a trap and end up like Kael?”
The room fell into a heavy silence. Susan’s words hung in the air like a blade, slicing through the warriors’ defiance. A few glanced away, ashamed, while others nodded grimly.
At the head of the table, Draven stood with his arms crossed, his amber eyes burning with quiet fury. His commanding presence was undeniable, his tone cold steel. “We’ve been hit, yes. But we’re far from defeated. Seraphine and Tobias think they’ve won, but they’ve underestimated what we’re willing to do to protect our pack.”
Jamie leaned toward Isla, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Do you think we can win this, Isla? I mean, really win it?”
Isla didn’t answer immediately. Her silver hair spilled over her shoulder as she studied the maps and plans, her expression sharp and calculating. Finally, she turned to Draven, her voice steady. “We have to,” she said softly. “Because the alternative isn’t survival—it’s destruction.”
Draven’s gaze softened for a moment as it met hers, his silent assurance a thread of strength between them.
The heavy atmosphere was shattered when the doors to the war room burst open. Alaric strode in, his face grim and his usual calm replaced with urgency.
“Draven. Isla,” he said, his voice tight. “We’ve got a problem.”
Draven turned sharply, his shoulders stiffening. “What kind of problem?”
Alaric hesitated, his golden eyes dark with the weight of his words. “Tobias and Seraphine have united more rogues—and they’re moving fast.”
