The night was ablaze with silver and fire. They came from the ridge and ravines like a swarm, rogues twisted by something more than hunger, more than pain. Their howls were war cries, guttural and unnatural, echoing like broken glass across the valley.
Celeste stood at the front line, armor strapped tight, Luna snarling beneath her skin. The moon hung low and full, casting light on the soldiers behind her. Lunar Fang—two packs, one heartbeat. Shadow Fang and Silver Moon, shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall between their home and the enemy.
Hunter stood beside her, eyes molten gold, voice low. “They’re not just desperate. They’re organized.”
“They’re waiting for something,” she murmured, gaze sweeping the field. “Or someone.”
Then the charge began. The rogue army struck like a storm, v
