POV: Zack
The war table groaned under the weight of maps, rune-inscribed parchments, and the bitter scent of burned sage. Each mark across the parchment wasn’t just a tactical line — it was a scar across my territory. Kieran’s last strike had been calculated; a viper’s bite meant to paralyze.
I leaned forward, palms flat on the wood, my eyes sweeping over the gathered alphas and elites.
“We don’t hit back like wounded prey,” I growled, voice low but carrying. “We hit back like the Bloodmoon Pack — and we tear his fangs out.”
Sam, standing at my right, tapped a mark on the southern flank. “These wards he’s using aren’t old-world fae runes — they’re hybrid. Some kind of blood magic anchored in iron.”
“Meaning?” Ashley’s tone was sharp as a blade, her golden-brown eyes fixed on the map.
