Chapter 14: Chapter 14

SELENE

I had never seen a battle before.

I’d heard about them. I’d seen the aftermath—the wounded being carried back through the gates, their bodies blood-streaked and bone-weary. I’d overheard the whispers of those who had fought, their voices hushed as if locking away horrors inside their throats. But I had never witnessed the moment when it all unraveled—when war bled into the very air, thick and suffocating.

The pack house sat at the center of the village, a fortress of dark stone and towering walls, surrounded by rows of tightly knit homes, market stalls, and the communal gathering halls. It was the heart of Nightshade’s territory. It was meant to be impenetrable, the last place a war should reach.

But tonight, war had ~found~ us.

The village was calm when I returned to the kitchens, my arms weighed down with the market goods I’d picked up for the pack. The scent of fresh bread, dried meats, and herbs clung to my skin. I had just set everything down when I ~felt~ it—a ripple in the atmosphere, a shift so sudden it was as if the very walls of the pack house had started holding their breath.

Then—a blur of motion.

Something solid slammed into my side, knocking the air from my lungs as I stumbled back against the wooden table. My vision reeled, heart hammering, as my hands instinctively shot out to steady myself.

~“Selene!”~

I looked up just in time to see Riven, one of the younger wolves, panting hard, his pupils blown wide with fear. He grabbed my arms, his touch frantic, unsteady.

“You have to get to the stronghold! Now!”

My stomach dropped.

~What?~

“Hunters.” His voice was strained, almost a growl. “They—fuck—they’re attacking.”

I barely had time to process his words before I heard the first ~scream.~

Outside, the village erupted in chaos. Doors slammed. Wolves shifted. The ground rumbled beneath the force of bodies moving, voices shouting, orders being barked across the streets. Somewhere beyond the pack house walls, the snarl of a beast was ~cut off~ by the sharp crack of a gunshot. The sound sent an ice-cold blade through my spine.

I turned back to Riven, who was still gripping my arms. “Where’s the alpha?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Front line.”

Of course he was.

Alpha Theron was already in the thick of it, tearing through the hunters without hesitation, without mercy. The image of him—blood-slicked, unyielding, a force of nature—flashed through my mind. A sharp pang struck through me—something primal, something that pulled at my ribs and made my breath feel too shallow. I ~needed~ to find him. But not yet. Not before I did what had to be done.

I shoved away from the table, boots skidding against the wooden floor as I sprinted toward the control panel by the back door. My fingers shook as I flipped open the metal cover and slammed my palm against the switch.

A second of silence—

Then, the sirens blared.

The sound was ~deafening~, slicing through the night like a blade, an unmistakable call for the pack to get to the stronghold. A warning. A demand.

The only entrance to the stronghold was through the basement—a heavily fortified structure built beneath the pack house itself, a last-resort refuge for the elderly, the injured, and the children. Wolves poured in from the village, ushering their families inside, some funneling in through the basement entrance from ~inside~ the pack house, others from the exterior stone staircase that led straight down to a heavy door beneath the earth.

The ground trembled with the force of the battle raging outside. Distantly, I heard the agonized wail of a hunter being torn apart, followed by the sharp, vicious sound of bones snapping.

The wolves were winning.

But ~winning didn’t mean surviving.~

I turned, moving fast. The elderly, the injured, the children—they were the priority. I shoved open doors to every room, grabbed hands, called names. Wolves in human form and those too young to shift clung to one another, their eyes wide with fear as I ushered them toward the stronghold.

~“Move! Now!”~

The sirens wailed on, vibrating through my bones, rattling the very foundations of the village.

I stayed until the last of the elders limped inside, scanning the growing mass of bodies huddled together in the stone-walled shelter. Someone sobbed quietly in the corner. A mother clutched her pup to her chest. The injured were being tended to in hurried movements, but no one spoke.

There was only the distant echo of war above us.

I took one last look around, making sure everyone was accounted for. Then, with a deep breath, I stepped back toward the heavy steel door.

“Lock it from the inside,” I ordered, my voice firm despite the pounding in my chest. “No one opens it until the all-clear is given.”

A few nods. A trembling hand reached for the latch as I stepped through.

The moment I was on the other side, the door swung shut behind me with a resounding ~clang.~ A second later, the bolt slid into place.

Sealed.

Safe.

Only then did I turn toward the stairwell, toward the ~chaos.~

Toward him.

I should have stayed inside. Should have kept my back pressed against that door and waited it out with the others.

But I couldn’t.

Something was ~pulling~ me.

And I had no choice but to follow.

The sirens howled overhead as I moved through the carnage, my breath unsteady, my hands trembling at my sides as my boots pressed into the ~bloodied earth.~ The scent of iron and death clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Bodies littered the ground, some still shifting between forms in the wake of death, others unrecognizable.

And then—

I saw ~him.~

Luxury.

No.

~Fen.~

His wolf was massive, too big for anything mortal, standing in the wreckage of what had once been men. His fur—once white as untouched snow—was now slick with blood. The red painted him like ~war itself,~ streaked across his muzzle, dripping from his fangs.

His chest heaved, slow and controlled, but I could ~feel~ it. The raw pulse of power humming off of him.

The battle had ended.

But he had ~not~ come down from it.

I stopped at the edge of the clearing, barely able to breathe. My heartbeat slammed against my ribs, too loud, too fast.

He turned.

His head lifted first, and then the weight of his eyes found me. Clouded, dark, unreadable. A storm I couldn’t decipher.

He was aware of me. I knew that much.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t shift.

I should have run. Should have stepped back. But I didn’t. I just ~stood there.~

He took a step toward me.

I didn’t move.

But I ~flinched~—just slightly—when he lowered his massive head toward me.

For a breath, I thought he would say something. Thought he would shift, pull himself from whatever depths the battle had dragged him into.

And then, he moved.

The air crackled, the raw pulse of power shifting around him. The change swept over him like a second breath. Bones cracked, reshaped, the thick press of fur pulling back, revealing bare skin beneath.

He stood before me.

Alpha Theron.

~Naked.~

The sight of him hit like a blow, sharp and consuming. A rush so sudden I nearly forgot how to breathe.

I had never seen him like this. Never seen him fully—beyond the strength of his presence, beyond the weight of his command. But now, there was nothing between us.

Broad shoulders, thick muscles, streaked in blood. His skin, golden beneath the moonlight, stretched tight over the sheer power coiling beneath it. He was all raw edges and dominance, a living god carved from war and destruction.

I should have looked away. I should have felt fear.

But I didn’t.

Because this wasn’t fear clawing up my spine.

My stomach clenched. Heat curled low, sharp and insistent, the pulse between my thighs undeniable.

I wanted him.

The realization was suffocating, burning through me like wildfire. I had wanted him before—had dreamed of the way he touched me, the way his voice wrapped around my name like a command. But this?

This was ~need.~

Primal. Desperate. Consuming.

He was right there, bare and unbothered, as if the sight of him didn’t unravel me. As if the heat pooling between my legs didn’t exist.

His hands flexed at his sides, his body still thrumming with the fight, his jaw set with quiet control. But I saw it. The tension in his stance. The way his breath came just a fraction too slow as if he felt it too. As if, for just a moment, he could ~smell~ what I was fighting to hide.

I swallowed, my thighs pressing together instinctively. But I didn’t look away. I ~couldn’t.~

~Would he touch me if I asked?~

The thought sent a violent shudder down my spine. The image of his hands on me—those hands still slick with blood, still pulsing with power—gripped me like a vice. Would he be rough? Would he pin me beneath him, take me like I belonged to him?

A wicked thought whispered through me—~what if I do?~

I sucked in a sharp breath, willing my pulse to slow, willing the ache inside me to settle. But it was impossible. Not when he stood there, powerful and untamed, a creature carved from war itself.

But he didn’t speak. Didn’t acknowledge the way my breath hitched, the way my lips parted as my traitorous body reacted to his presence. He only turned, already moving as Erik stepped through the remains of the battlefield.

“Status?” The alpha’s voice was smooth, level, as if the blood still drying on his skin wasn’t his concern.

Erik’s eyes flicked toward me once before answering.

“Some escaped. We’ve got scouts tracking them, but the main force is down.”

The man exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

“They’ll be back,” I murmured.

Both of them turned toward me.

I swallowed.

And then—a ~howl.~

Not any of ours. Distant, but close enough that the warning cut through the thick, humid air of the battlefield.

Erik stiffened. “Scouts are reporting movement. More hunters, further out.”

The alpha didn’t hesitate.

“Then we end this.”

His words were calm. Absolute. A cry to action.

But even as the battle loomed, even as I braced for war, my body ~still~ ached for something else.

Something far more dangerous.

Him.