Chapter Ten: The Quiet Before Blood
447 Words
Luka
Luka stood in the war den, silent except for the sound of his breath.
The room was hidden beneath the old stables, long abandoned since Kellan had claimed the Alpha’s Lodge. It smelled of dust, iron, and memory.
He ran a hand over the old weapons rack—knives still sharp, blades kissed by silver and time. These were the weapons of wolves who once fought with honor, not politics. Not power.
He chose three: two short daggers and one curved blade. His father’s.
Not for war.
For protection.
For survival.
He strapped them to his belt and turned to the crates lining the far wall. Inside: scrolls, coded sigils, smuggled messages from wolves still loyal to the old bloodlines. Quiet resistance.
He pulled one out and read it.
> “The moon breaks over the southern ridge. The chain weakens from within.”
A signal. The others were waiting.
He tucked the scroll into his boot.
No mistakes now.
A sound behind him made him whirl, blade drawn—but it was only Mira.
The healer.
The only one besides Lena who knew.
“I heard,” she said quietly. “Kellan’s shifted his guard patterns. He’s circling Lena’s house twice a night now. That’s not routine.”
“He’s closing in.” Luka sheathed his blade. “I need your help, Mira. If this goes wrong—if he moves before I do—I need to know Noah and Lena can get out.”
She nodded once. “I’ll be ready.”
He looked down, jaw tight. “You believe me now? About the blood?”
She nodded again. “I believed you before the test. I saw it in Noah’s eyes the first time he looked at you. Wolves know their fathers. Even before they can speak.”
His chest cracked open at her words.
But there was no room for softness now.
“I won’t let him hurt them,” he said.
“You’ll have to kill him.”
He looked up at her.
“I know.”
---
Later that night, Luka moved through the trees like a shadow, circling the packhouse.
Not to strike.
Not yet.
But to lay the ground.
He planted sigils beneath the western wall—old runes that could mask scent and sound.
He whispered to two wolves he trusted—Arlen and Frey, once loyal to his father, now watching the rise of a tyrant.
And then he returned to the ash tree one last time.
To wait.
To choose the ground of his battle.
If Kellan wanted war—he’d get one.
But Luka would strike first.
And this time, he wouldn’t miss.
- Writer
