Alpha's Regret: The Forsaken Luna

Chapter 7: The Silver Claws

Rhiannon's POV

Five Years Later

"Mama, watch!"

I looked up from sharpening my blade just in time to see Soren shift.

One moment, he was a five-year-old boy with dark curls and mischievous gray-gold eyes. The next, he was a silver wolf pup—small but already showing the lean muscle of a predator.

He yipped excitedly, his tail wagging.

"Very good," I said, crouching down. "But your back left paw positioning is off. Again."

He shifted back to human, pouting. "You never say it's perfect."

"Because perfect gets you killed." I ruffled his hair. "Again."

He groaned but obeyed, shifting once more. This time, his stance was better. Balanced.

"Better," I acknowledged.

Nyx emerged from the treeline, carrying a brace of rabbits. "The boy's progressing fast. Too fast, perhaps."

"He's strong," I said, watching Soren practice stalking an imaginary prey. "He should be proud of that."

"Strength without control is dangerous." Nyx's tone was pointed. "Especially for a hybrid. His magic is already manifesting—did you see what he did to that tree yesterday?"

I had. Soren had gotten angry during training and his hands had erupted with silver light. The tree he'd touched had withered and died within seconds.

"I'm working with him on control," I said.

"Work faster." Nyx's expression was grave. "There are wolves who can sense powerful magic. If word spreads that a hybrid child with Chimera blood exists..."

She didn't need to finish. I knew.

They'd come for him.

Just like they'd come for my mother.

"Then we need to be ready," I said, standing. "The Silver Claws need to expand. More numbers. More territory."

The Silver Claws. The mercenary group I'd built over the past three years. What had started as me and two outcasts—a rogue wolf named Marcus and an exiled witch named Sera—had grown into a force of twenty skilled fighters.

We took jobs others wouldn't. Rescued kidnapped pack members. Eliminated rogue threats. Guarded trade routes.

And we never asked questions about our clients' pasts.

Because we all had demons.

"There's a new contract," Nyx said, pulling a sealed letter from her cloak. "A pack in the western territories. They're being harassed by a rogue gang. They're offering triple our usual rate."

I took the letter, scanning it quickly. "Western territories. That's close to—"

"Crescent Moon borders," Nyx finished. "Yes."

My jaw tightened.

Five years. Five years since that night. Since Darius had ripped my heart out and left me to die.

I'd built a new life. A new identity. The Silver Claws were feared and respected across three territories. No one knew our leader was a woman. They called me "The Phantom"—a figure who appeared in silver and shadow, who could shift into forms that shouldn't exist.

But I'd never gone near Crescent Moon.

Never let myself think about what—or who—might still be there.

"We take it," I said, folding the letter. "We need the money. And I'm not afraid of running into old ghosts."

Nyx's eyes searched mine. "Are you sure?"

No.

"Yes," I said.

Darius's POV

The marriage was falling apart.

Isolde sat across from me at dinner, her face a mask of polite disinterest. We hadn't spoken in three days. Hadn't touched in longer.

The pack knew. They whispered about the Alpha and his cold Luna. About the lack of an heir.

About the fact that I still searched the forests, even now, five years later.

"You need to let her go," my father had said last week. "Rhiannon is dead. Move on."

But I couldn't.

Because some nights, I swore I felt her. A flicker of something—life, warmth, her—just beyond my reach.

It was impossible. The bond was broken. She was gone.

But I couldn't stop looking.

"There's a rogue problem," Cade said, entering the dining hall. He nodded curtly at Isolde, then turned to me. "Western border. They've hit three patrols this month."

I set down my fork. "How bad?"

"Bad enough that we might need outside help." He slid a document across the table. "I've contacted a mercenary group. The Silver Claws. They're expensive, but they're the best."

"Mercenaries?" Isolde spoke for the first time all evening, her tone clipped. "We're hiring common thugs now?"

"They're not common," Cade said. "They've cleared out rogue nests in four territories. Their leader—they call him The Phantom—has never failed a contract."

Something about the name made my skin prickle.

"Fine," I said. "Hire them."

Cade nodded and left.

Isolde stood, her chair scraping loudly. "I'm retiring. Don't bother joining me."

She swept out of the hall, leaving me alone.

I stared at the document Cade had left.

The Silver Claws.

The Phantom.

Why did it feel like something was about to change?