Chapter4
875 Words
Fabian shifted back into his human form, muscles still humming from the change. He had been searching for Seris, dread tightening his chest with every passing second—and then he found her.
She lay fast asleep on the cold ground before the shack.
He refused to call it a temple.
That miserable structure was an insult—to him, to Nightor, and to the goddess he revered with a devotion bordering on reverence. This was no place of worship. No sacred ground. Certainly not worthy of the faith their pack still carried so fiercely.
“Beta,” he said softly, nudging her shoulder.
She mumbled incoherently, words tangled and senseless.
“Beta Seris!”
She jolted upright, eyes wide, body instantly alert though her mind lagged behind. For a fleeting moment, she looked exactly what she was—too young, too worn, a child thrown into the lion’s den and expected to fight not just for herself, but for an entire broken pack.
“We have a council meeting,” Fabian said gently. “With the rest of the pack.”
Yes, the survivors would be there. They had to be. The letter demanded it.
“A letter was sent to us from Stormclaw,” he continued. “The invading pack.”
“Stormclaw?” she echoed, confusion knitting her brows.
She pushed herself to her feet. “Where is the letter?” she asked, extending her hand.
“With the councilmen,” Fabian replied. “And the pack. They’re waiting for you.”
Understanding struck her all at once. Shock flickered across her face, quickly buried beneath resolve.
“Then let’s go,” she said, though her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it.
They walked back through the forest.
Seris admitted she was too weak to run, and when Fabian offered to carry her in wolf form, shame flashed in her eyes.
“I don’t think the pack would appreciate seeing their beta like that,” she said quietly. “They’re looking to me for strength. For guidance.”
He didn’t argue. He understood.
The forest was unnervingly silent as they moved through it, the usual chorus of life muted—as if the animals themselves feared another attack. Above them, the moon shone brilliantly, unmarred by clouds, illuminating the scarred earth below.
Fabian clenched his jaw. Stormclaw had destroyed homes, shattered trees, torn through the land itself. What kind of wolf kin hated nature enough to ruin it simply to prove dominance?
His thoughts drifted to Alpha Aeden—how fiercely the man had fought to protect his people during the battle.
But Kael was dead.
And no matter how much it hurt, the pack had to move forward.
The letter weighed heavily on his mind.
It bore the sigil of Stormclaw: a stark black circle, a single lightning-scarred claw at its center, framed by a fractured spiral of storm and split by a vertical bolt of lightning. A symbol of dominance forged through chaos. An unspoken warning—Stormclaw did not avoid the storm.
It commanded it.
Fabian had placed the letter on the conference table in Alpha Aeden’s house, beneath the watchful eyes of the council, before leaving to find Seris. None of them had dared open it.
Out of respect for the surviving beta.
Or fear of the doom its contents promised.
When they reached Alpha Aeden’s house, the pack nurse, Beatrice, rushed toward them.
“Fabian—where was she?” she demanded, not waiting for an answer as she took Seris by the arm and guided her toward the kitchen.
Fabian exhaled, grateful. Without Beatrice and the standby healers, the aftermath of Stormclaw’s attack would have been chaos incarnate.
“She was down by the shack,” he said as he followed.
Beatrice turned, confusion flickering across her face before realization set in—followed by a sharp frown. She clearly disapproved of his wording.
He didn’t care.
That place was no temple.
Nightor was one of the few packs still deeply devoted to the goddess, and Fabian refused to pretend that rickety structure honored her in any meaningful way.
Seris, if she heard his words, showed no reaction.
“She needs to eat before the meeting,” Beatrice said firmly. “She’ll need her strength.”
Fabian nodded and let her take Seris away.
Instead of joining the council immediately, he turned toward the makeshift infirmary.
What he saw there nearly broke him.
Wolves lay on cots and the floor, bandaged and broken, pain etched into every familiar face. Fabian knew each of them by name. Knew their parents. Their stories.
These weren’t just soldiers.
They were his children.
Young, promising warriors—maimed.
Stormclaw had done this.
Tears burned his eyes, and rage followed close behind. What angered him most was not that Stormclaw had killed—no, death would have been kinder.
They had aimed for the legs.
Crippled them.
How were they supposed to fight now? To defend their home? To retaliate?
As much as he hated to admit it, Stormclaw had been tactical. Precise. Informed.
Too informed.
A heavy certainty settled in his chest.
Someone had helped them.
There was a traitor among them.
The only question was—who?
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