The march took three days.
Three days of relentless movement, shifting formations, and scouts riding ahead through mountain passes and river bends. The closer they came to the valley, the stronger the air vibrated, like static rolling over skin.
Magic.
Old magic.
And something darker.
Dustin felt it first, the way an Alpha always did, a low rumbling pressure that gathered behind the sternum like a storm waiting to break. Every warrior sensed it too. Even the youngest wolves walked stiff, ears twitching, glancing constantly toward the horizon.
Bane rode at the front with him. “Scouts confirmed it,” he said grimly. “The dark troops have started moving. They’ll hit the valley by tomorrow morning.”
Dustin growled low. “Then we intercept them before they take the high ground.”
“Assuming
