POV EMMA BELLE
The dawn didn't break; it bled. A jagged line of crimson sliced through the gray clouds, illuminating the valley floor where Caleb's "Silver-Tide" stood waiting. They weren't just wolves. Thousands of human mercenaries, clad in armor etched with anti-shifter runes, stood in silent, terrifying formations. Their pikes weren't steel—they were pure, cold silver, gleaming with a light that made my wolf's skin crawl.
"They've sold their souls to the Council for a chance to butcher us," Damon growled, his amber fur standing on end as he stood at the edge of the ridge. He was already half-shifted, his jaw elongated, his eyes two burning suns of pure fury.
"It's a m******e in the making," Nathaniel added, his voice tight with a rare trace of fear. He was holding a glowing
