The wind howled through the Stormborn encampment, carrying with it the scent of impending battle. Dark clouds churned overhead, a harbinger of the storm that mirrored the unease tightening every wolf’s nerves. The allied packs had gathered, their warriors sharpening blades, reinforcing armor, and whispering among themselves. The weight of what was to come settled on every shoulder like an iron chain.
Layla stood at the center of it all, her gaze locked on the distant horizon. She could feel the pulse of the Blood Moon approaching, the energy in the air shifting with each passing hour. Ronan was beside her, his expression hard, unreadable. They had made it this far together, but the final battle was closing in, and their alliances were already on fragile ground.
The tension within the cam
