Crackling flames shot through the trees, their haunting light throwing long, flickering shadows on the battlefields. The smell of burning wood and blood was heavy in the air, thick and suffocating, joining shouts of warriors with the snapping jaws of the shifting wolves. The Moon Crescent Pack’s eastern border was under siege and right at the epicenter—Lucian.
He stood, tall, a little too relaxed for someone who had only moments before helmed an attack, his icy blue gaze glinting as he beheld the bedlam around him. His warriors did not hit us with brute force, they struck in waves, making our pack defensive.
It wasn’t a rash ambush.
It was a statement.
Gabriel growled next to me, golden eyes trained on Lucian, body coiled like a predator ready to spring. “This bastard planned this.”
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