The night was alive with tension.
Every eye in the White Sky Pack was fixed on the two wolves circling in the moonlight, the Alpha and his son. Father and heir, predator and challenger. The ground between them bore the weight of decades of dominance, of blood spilled in battles that made their pack feared across every border.
The warriors stood silent, breaths shallow, the cold wind tugging at their cloaks. None dared interrupt. The full moon loomed above like a watchful god, casting both beasts in its silver glow.
Then it began.
A roar thundered from Damon’s throat as he launched himself forward, claws flashing in the night. He came at Thorne from the left, then spun with deadly speed to strike from the right. His movements were sharp, wild, unpredictable. Left. Right. Center. He was
