Rosari’e

Chapter 1:The will to live

Rosari’e’s POV

Watch out!” I screamed, my voice cutting through the clash of steel.

The blade missed Iris by inches, severing her long ponytail that had taken years to grow. The strands scattered like black silk across the snow.

“Son of aaa. Bbb—” she hissed, lunging at the man before her.

But even as she leapt, he was already shifting, bones snapping, skin tearing into fur mid-air. His roar shook the ground, his claws gleaming in the moonlight.

I knew in an instant—she wouldn’t make it. Not like this. Not unshifted.

The calculation was instinct, faster than thought. My wolf surged forward, shredding the fragile wall between us. Heat spread through my veins, but in my head it was the opposite—soft, cold, like my brain was being wrapped in cotton and mushrooms, massaged into surrender.

My vision snapped icy blue.

My wolf’s snarl tore from my throat. A sound that didn’t belong to mortals.

In a blink, light seared from me—lasers sharp as blades. The wolf before Iris didn’t even scream. He split in two, blood sizzling on the snow.

Iris groaned as she stumbled back, shaking with fury. “C’mon, Rose! I had this under control. He was mine.”

I only smiled, knowing she hadn’t seen how close death had brushed her. This wasn’t the first time I saved her. And it wouldn’t be the last.

This was our thousandth battle. And every single one ended the same way—me standing where death tried to take us, refusing to let it win.

The battlefield stretched around us like a nightmare frozen in white. The snow was no longer pure—it was trampled and soaked red, the copper scent of blood thick in the air. The stench of shifting wolves burned my nose: wet fur, sweat, iron, and rage all tangled together.

Bodies littered the ground. Some still twitched, half-shifted. Others lay in twisted silence, their eyes wide, their throats torn. Steam rose from them in the cold night, ghosts fleeing into the sky.

Around me, my warriors stood tall—armor cracked, weapons dripping, but alive. Some limped, others pressed hands to shallow wounds, but most bore little more than scratches. They were steel in flesh, these women of mine. Wolves with fire in their veins.

Victory was ours again.

And as the enemy survivors fell to their knees, shackled in chains of silver, I knew one thing with bone-deep certainty—no one in the South would ever forget the wrath of Rosari’e and her pack