THE OATHBREAKER

CHAPTE THREE

Waking up in enemy territory wasn’t new but waking up, not dead? That was. My wrists still burned from the iron cuffs which were not silver, smart, since they knew I’d chew through my arms before letting silver claim me.

The linens clinging to my damp skin were scratchy like I’d been wrapped in a sack and politely tucked into hell.

The man, Alpha Torian Vex, stood across the tent like a storm held still, arms crossed, and eyes unreadable. I’d seen Alphas who growled and postured, who built their power on violence and fear. This one though? He didn’t need to raise his voice, because he was the kind of danger that spoke quietly and made the world lean in to listen.

I hated that and his confidence and cool attitude pissed me off more than I should have let it.

“You’re lucky we pulled you from the river,” he said, stepping closer. “Your lung was half full of water so you would’ve drowned before your wounds killed you.”

“Maybe that would’ve been simpler,” I rasped, my voice dry and cracked but he ignored the jab as I expected. “You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

Two days?

I tried to sit up but my body screamed and I noticed that a fresh bandage was wrapped around my ribs, thick and tight which meant someone had treated me and someone with skill.

“Didn’t figure you for the gentle rescue type,” I said, dragging my gaze over the inside of the tent, it had a military setup, sparse and efficient with every object in a specific place, every tool within reach as well.

“I’m not,” he said. “But you’re useful, for now.” Ah, there it was, the motive behind this false sense of security.

I narrowed my eyes. “You said something about a deal.” Torian nodded once in response. “You know blood magic. You’ve seen what it can do and I need someone who’s faced it before plus, the stories say you’ve done more than that.”

“They say a lot of things,” I muttered, leaning back on my elbows. “Most of them are bullshit.”

“I believe that,” he said. “But I also believe you’re the only one who survived a full-scale attack by a blood witch and lived to tell the tale.”

That made me freeze. He didn’t know the whole story, not yet but he knew enough to be dangerous. “And if I say no?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Then I let my wolves drag you out of here, toss you back to the Nightmoor hounds sniffing at your heels, and watch what’s left of you rot in the dirt.”

I smiled thinly. “So generous.”

“I’m not interested in your comfort,” he said, voice low. “I’m interested in ending this war before it begins. You know something, you’ve seen it, so you know what’s coming.”

I turned my face away, toward the opening of the tent, and beyond it, I could hear faint rustling of voices, campfires, and movement, on my the type a pack possessed.

But not like Nightmoor because there was no shouting or whimpers, just order and balance.

They were obviously still wolves so they were still dangerous but something about them was quieter and different than what I was used to.

“I’ll help,” I said finally, voice low. “But only on my terms.” Torian raised a brow at me. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

“I am if you need me,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I don’t play loyal, I don’t kneel, I don’t follow blindly. If you want me as a weapon, that’s fine but I don’t belong to anyone, got that?.”

He stared at me for a long, measured moment. Then he reached into his coat and tossed a key onto the floor. “Free yourself,” he said.

“Then meet me outside, I’m not wasting more time on dead weight.”

He walked out the next second without another word and I stared at the key for a moment. Then laughed, quietly, and a little bitterly as I bent to pick it up with shaking hands.

Outside the tent, the camp stretched out in a wide crescent, built along a steep ridge overlooking a mile of the wild forest. Wolves moved between makeshift barracks and weapon racks, their scents layered with sweat, steel, pine, and a faint hum of ozone that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

Magic.

It was not the wild, chaotic kind the blood witches used though, this was more subtle, controlled and ancient so I didn’t trust it one bit.

Torian was standing near a fire pit, speaking with a woman who must’ve been his second—Tall, lean, sharp-eyed. She noticed me first, and her gaze flicked to my ribs before scanning my posture like she was sizing me up for a fight or a grave.

“Welcome back from the dead,” she said coolly. “I don’t recommend the view,” I muttered as Torian turned. “Celeste, this is Kael, my Beta.”

Of course she was because she moved like she’d earned it, not inherited it. Different from Nightmoor, where power was passed through blood like a disease.

“Nice camp,” I said. “Planning a war?” Torian’s eyes hardened. “I’m trying to stop one.” He gestured for me to follow, and I did, slowly, every step burning. We moved past the central fire toward a larger tent with thick canvas walls and strong beams.

Inside, maps were pinned to every surface. Scattered notes, scent markers, red threads, even burned symbols I hadn’t seen since childhood and my breath caught.

“The blood cult isn’t just resurfacing,” Torian said. “They’re recruiting too. Packs are disappearing across the Northern Crescent, entire dens are gone. No scent or bodies, just blood sigils scorched into the ground.”

He handed me a photograph, black and white, grainy with a clearing and mark carved into the earth which made my hands tremble because I’d seen it before.

Twelve years ago, the day my uncle’s mate died screaming under a blood moon. “You know this,” Torian said and it wasn’t a question but I nodded. “It’s a binding rune. Blood magic of the old kind, it wasn't just a kill, it was a calling.”

“For what?” He questioned and I looked up at him, throat dry. “For something worse than death.” The air in the tent shifted then and even Kael stepped back slightly as I dropped the photo.

“You brought me here for information,” I said. “Now you have it but if you want me to help stop them, we need to move fast.”

Torian watched me carefully. “Because they’re coming?” “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Because they already know I’m here.”

A sudden howl ripped through the camp, deep, guttural, full of alarm a second later, it was a sentry and Torian drew his weapon in a blur.

“Stay inside.” He ordered, leaving the tent quickly but I didn’t listen as I limped to the flap and looked past it. At the edge of the tree line, something stood between the shadows, cloaked and hooded.

It wasn’t moving but watching our reactions and on the ground before it was a corpse.

One of Torian’s wolves, their throat slit and runes carved into his chest.

My blood went cold but Torian was already moving, ordering flanks, securing the perimeter, but my eyes were locked on the figure in the trees.

It lifted a hand and made a single, deliberate gesture. A bow, to me, and then it vanished like it was never there.