The morning started almost normal.

  Almost.

  “Hold still,” I scolded, tugging at the ribbon with all the authority of someone who’d lost every ounce of it two minutes ago. “I’m trying to make you look distinguished.”

  Fluffy growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. He sat rigidly in front of me, a massive wall of fur and quiet fury, wearing what was, admittedly, the most ridiculous thing I’d ever put together: an oversized pirate hat perched between his ears, a bright red scarf tied awkwardly around his neck, and a pair of cheap sunglasses balanced across his muzzle.

  Bagel, ever the supportive menace, sat on the table behind me, tail flicking as she watched with unholy amusement.

  “You look incredible,” I said, stepping back to admire my handiwork. “Like you own an expensive yacht and regularly commit tax fraud.”

  Fluffy blinked slowly.

  “Fine, maybe not that distinguished,” I amended. “But you’re intimidating in a… kitschy way.”

  Riven’s voice drifted from the doorway, dry as ash. “What the hell is this?”

  I turned, arms flailing a little. “Training exercise!”

  His brows lifted, incredulous. “Training exercise?”

  “Yes,” I said with full confidence, even though I’d come up with that on the spot. “Fluffy -”

  Fluffy’s head whipped toward me at the nickname, glowing eyes narrowing in slow, deliberate offense as if he was well beyond his last bit of patience.

  "-needs to learn basic commands,” I continued, ignoring the heat rising in my face. “Sit, stay, don’t terrify the mail carrier, y’know, normal dog things.”

  Bagel yowled, like she was calling me a liar.

  Riven leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “And the hat helps how?”

  “It builds character,” I shot back.

  He snorted but didn’t argue, just watched with that unreadable, quiet intensity that made my pulse stutter.

  I huffed, brushing imaginary dust from Fluffy’s ridiculous hat. “You think you could do better?”

  Riven’s eyes flicked from me to the wolf, then back again, a slow, assessing drag that felt entirely too deliberate. “I think I’d rather not lose a hand.”

  “Coward,” I said, grinning. “Maybe I’ll dress you up next.”

  That earned me a raised brow. “Dress me up?”

  “Sure. I’ve got a spare hat somewhere. Maybe even a scarf, ”

  He pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer until the air between us felt charged. “Is that your excuse to touch me?”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but my brain apparently short-circuited somewhere between touch and me.

  My mouth opened, but no words came out, which only made his smirk deepen.

  “Didn’t think so,” he murmured.

  By the time Thorne wandered in, I’d recovered from my momentary lack of speech and had moved on to “roll over.” Bagel ignored me completely, pausing mid-groom to give me a single, unimpressed glance before going back to licking her paw. Fluffy, on the other hand, sat in the middle of the room like a sulking mountain, pirate hat askew, radiating betrayal.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Thorne rumbled, stepping past me to grab a mug.

  “He’ll learn,” I insisted, crossing my arms.

  “Or,” Thorne said, sipping his coffee with infuriating calm, “he answers to no one.”

  “Excuse you,” I said. “He’s Fluffy. And he’s perfectly capable of -”

  The hat slid down over his eyes. He sneezed, shook his head violently, and launched the entire ensemble across the room.

  “…of doing exactly what he wants,” I finished weakly.

  Riven choked on a laugh, and Thorne didn’t even bother hiding his smirk.

  The air shifted that afternoon.

  I didn’t notice it at first, just a faint prickling at the back of my neck, the way Bagel’s tail flicked sharper, more agitated, as we walked the path near the edge of the pack. Fluffy padded beside me, silent as a shadow, his massive head brushing my shoulder now and then, a quiet reassurance I didn’t know I needed.

  It was warmer than usual for late afternoon, the air thick with the smell of pine and the faint metallic tang of the river. Birds chattered high in the canopy, until, abruptly, they didn’t. The forest went quiet. Too quiet.

  “Strange,” I murmured, slowing my steps. Bagel hissed once, sharp and warning, her claws digging into my shoulder. Fluffy’s ears twitched forward, his glowing eyes sweeping the undergrowth like he’d caught a sound I couldn’t hear.

  By the time we made it back to the main clearing, I felt it, a hum under my skin, a sharp, electric tension that didn’t belong.

  Wolves were moving faster, sharper. Not panicked, never that, but with a controlled urgency that made my chest tighten. Runners darted along the packed-dirt paths, some with weapons strapped to their backs, others with eyes locked on the tree line as if expecting it to explode.

  Riven stood near the training yard, speaking low to a patrol team, his gaze constantly sweeping the horizon like he could burn holes through the forest. Thorne leaned against the pack hall steps, posture deceptively casual, but I saw the way his hand flexed near the hilt of the blade at his hip, knuckles white.

  And Rowan, almost always happy Rowan, wasn’t smiling. His expression was tight as he murmured something to Brennar, who stood tall and grim in the dying light, issuing quiet orders to a group of wolves heading toward the perimeter.

  The uneasy hum spiked in my chest.

  “Something’s wrong,” I whispered, and Bagel, still perched like a sentinel on my shoulder, growled low in her throat.

  Grabber appeared at my side without me realizing, all heat and presence, the scar on his face sharp in the dimming sun. His hand pressed briefly to the small of my back, steadying, grounding.

  “Stay close,” he muttered, his voice a rough rumble that left no room for argument. “Don’t argue. Just stay close.”

  I didn’t argue, lucky for him.

  The air tasted different now, thick with ozone and the sharp, earthy tang of coming rain. Somewhere above, clouds gathered, the gray creeping fast across the sky like ink spreading in water.

  “Is it the council?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

  Grabber’s jaw flexed. “Don’t know yet. But everyone’s instinct has them on edge for a reason.”

  Bagel flicked her tail sharply, her small body tense, and Fluffy pressed closer, his massive form brushing against my thigh as we walked. His claws clicked against the packed dirt, too quiet for a creature his size, but every subtle movement screamed alertness.

  By the time we reached the pack hall, the settlement had shifted. The easy noise of daily life, the chatter, the laughter, the rhythmic thud of hammers from the far workshop, was gone. In its place was silence, taut and waiting.

  “Inside,” Grabber said, his hand still at my back as he guided me up the steps.

  I hesitated, glancing over my shoulder. Riven had moved closer to the tree line, his stance sharp and coiled, while Thorne spoke in low, clipped tones to two younger wolves near the supply shed. Rowan caught my eye, his usually warm expression unreadable, then tipped his chin toward the pack hall. A silent order.

  Inside, the tension only thickened. The common room was dim, lit only by the banked glow of the hearth and the last weak light spilling through the windows. Wolves I didn’t know well stood near the walls, their postures rigid, their eyes restless as they tracked the exits, the windows, each other.

  I perched on the edge of a bench, Bagel curling in my lap with her ears flat, her small body vibrating with the same unease that had lodged under my skin. Fluffy stayed at my feet, head low, muscles taut as if he could sense something none of us could see.

  The quiet didn’t last.

  The door slammed open, and Brennar strode inside, Rowan a step behind him. Both carried the sharp tang of the forest with them, their clothes damp from mist, their expressions carved from stone.

  “Scouts spotted movement in the north quadrant,” Brennar said without preamble, his deep voice carrying easily in the room. “Too fast for deer, and too quiet for rogues.” His gaze flicked to Riven, then Thorne, then Grabber. “They’re here.”

  The room went still.

  Every breath, every heartbeat seemed to pause, the weight of his words sinking deep, heavy as lead.

  Rowan spoke next, his tone steady but tight. “Perimeter guards are doubling up. No one moves alone. Not tonight.” His gaze cut to me then, softer but sharp with warning. “Especially not you.”

  I swallowed hard, my fingers tangling in Bagel’s fur. She made a soft sound, half hiss, half whimper, then buried her small face against my wrist like she could feel the tension thrumming through me.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “What do they want?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, too thin, too quiet.

  Riven answered from where he stood by the window, his profile sharp in the fading light. “Doesn’t matter what they want.” He turned, amber eyes glowing faintly in the dim. “What matters is that they came for you.”

  The words landed like a stone in my chest.

  Fluffy lifted his head then, a low, almost imperceptible growl rumbling in his throat. His glowing eyes fixed on the dark beyond the doorway, unblinking.

  The room held its breath.

  Outside, somewhere in the distance, a single howl split the night, long and sharp, carrying across the trees like a blade cutting through silk.

  The first strike came fast.

  One moment, the pack hummed with tense but quiet movement. The next, chaos.

  A roar tore through the air, followed by the sharp crack of something breaking. Shadows surged between the trees, black uniforms flashing between the branches, and the acrid bite of smoke clawed down my throat.

  “Council,” Thorne snarled, shifting mid-stride, bones snapping as his wolf exploded from his skin.

  I froze, until Bagel launched off my shoulder, claws catching my sleeve like an anchor, and Fluffy moved.

  The costume was gone in an instant, shredded as his entire demeanor changed from my lazy oversized dog to something that looked much more monstrous. His growl shook the ground, a rumble that turned into a roar as he barreled toward the nearest shadow.

  And then the world was fire and teeth and screaming.

  Smoke burned my lungs as I stumbled through the chaos. Wolves collided with black-clad soldiers, claws and steel clashing in vicious, violent arcs. The air was thick with the sharp metallic tang of blood, the acrid bite of fire, the raw electric hum of magic tearing through the clearing.

  Someone screamed, high and sharp, and I spun toward the sound, heart hammering against my ribs.

  Rowan was down.

  He was half-buried in the dirt near the edge of the training yard, blood streaking bright against the pale line of his temple. For a single, suspended second, I froze. The world tilted around me, sound warping into something muffled, distant.

  And then I was moving.

  I didn’t think, I just ran. Bagel darted down from my shoulder with a hiss, a streak of fur and fury as she launched herself at the soldier standing over Rowan. The man cursed, swinging his blade toward her, but she was too fast, claws raking across his arm in a sharp, bloody swipe.

  “Get away from him!” My voice tore from my throat, raw and terrified.

  The soldier snarled, his visor catching the glow of the flames, but before he could recover, Fluffy hit him.

  Fluffy slammed into the man like a landslide, a snarling wall of muscle and teeth. The force of the impact sent the soldier flying back into the dirt, his weapon spinning out of his hand. Fluffy’s growl rumbled so deep it shook the ground under my feet, his massive jaws clamping down on the man’s armored shoulder with a sickening crunch.

  I dropped to my knees beside Rowan, shaking hands pressing against his chest, his ribs, his throat, checking, desperate.

  “Rowan, Rowan, please -” My voice cracked as his lashes fluttered, the faintest sign of movement. Blood trickled from a shallow cut along his hairline, but when I pressed my fingers against his pulse, it beat steady and strong.

  Relief almost knocked me flat.

  “You’re okay,” I whispered, though my voice trembled. “You’re okay, you stubborn idiot.”

  He blinked up at me, dazed but breathing, and tried to push himself up. “Get, inside -”

  “No,” I snapped, pressing him back down with a hand to his shoulder. “You’re bleeding, Rowan. Just, stay down, okay? Just stay down.”

  Bagel darted back to us, hissing, her tail puffed to twice its size. She planted herself like a guard at Rowan’s side, tiny body vibrating with a low, furious growl that sounded far too big for her size.

  Another scream split the air, this one closer, sharper. The ground shook as something massive slammed into the outer wall of the pack hall, wood splintering like matchsticks.

  I turned just in time to see a wall of black-clad soldiers surging through the smoke and fire, their movements sharp, coordinated, merciless. Wolves met them in a blur of claws and teeth, bodies colliding with bone-jarring force. The air was a maelstrom of snarls and steel, every sound sharp enough to flay.

  A flash of movement caught my eye, Fluffy was barreling through the line of soldiers, a living shadow, his eyes burning molten red. Every swipe of his claws sent men sprawling, their armor useless against the raw, savage strength in him.

  And still, they kept coming.

  Smoke stung my eyes, blurring the edges of the battlefield. My lungs ached with every breath, the acrid burn of fire and magic filling every inch of me.

  I couldn’t just sit there.

  Rowan groaned as he tried to rise again, and I moved to help, bracing my shoulder under his arm to steady him. “You’re not staying out here,” I said, my voice shaking but firm.

  His weight leaned into me, heavy but solid, and together we staggered toward the nearest cover. The ground was slick with dirt and blood, and more than once I nearly slipped, Bagel darting ahead like a tiny, furious guide, her sharp yowls cutting through the chaos.

  We reached the shadow of a cabin just as another explosion ripped through the clearing, the sound so loud it rattled my bones. The blast sent dirt and debris raining down, and Rowan shoved me back against the wall, shielding me with his body as the ground trembled beneath our feet.

  When the ringing in my ears faded, the world had narrowed into survival.

  The pack fought like wildfire, Riven a streak of lethal grace as he cut through the enemy line, Thorne a storm of raw power, Grabber carving a brutal path toward me with blood slicking his blade. I caught glimpses of Fluffy between the smoke and fire, tearing through attackers, teeth flashing, a force of nature that made the battlefield bend around him. Wolves fought harder with him at their side, as though his fury gave them strength. Every time I blinked, there was more chaos, more fire, more screams swallowed by the relentless roar of battle.

  But there were too many enemies.

  The fire spread faster than I could comprehend, and the ground was slick with blood and mud. Riven appeared at my side in a blur, eyes wild, his chest heaving as he scanned me for injuries before he turned and tore someone away from my blind side, continuing to fight.

  Grabber was a wall of fury, carving through the chaos to clear a path, his blade flashing with each vicious strike. Thorne moved like a storm, every motion precise, deadly.

  But the council wasn’t retreating.

  This wasn’t a raid.

  This was war.

  I crouched low behind an overturned bench with Rowan, my arms still slick with his blood, my fingers numb where they pressed to his wound.

  “Stay with me,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Please, Rowan, stay with me. I need at least one friend here.”

  His lashes fluttered, and he made a low sound, half groan, half growl, but he was alive. Barely.

  Bagel darted along the length of the overturned bench like a phantom, her fur bristled and her tail puffed three times its size, hissing at every shifting shadow. The sharp sting of adrenaline burned through my body, but under it was fear, cold and heavy, lodged beneath my ribs.

  And then the ground shook.

  A low, guttural snarl rolled through the smoke, one I’d felt vibrate through my bones before.

  Fluffy tore through the courtyard like a storm loosened from its chains, his eyes slicing through the dark. Blood streaked his muzzle, but none of it was his. He hit the next wave of soldiers with a feral, devastating force, the sound of ripping armor and snapping bone mingling with the roar of fire. He was unlike any dog I had ever heard of before.

  He wasn’t just protecting me. He was protecting all of us.

  “Liora!”

  Riven’s voice cut through the chaos. I turned and saw him barreling back toward me.

  “We have to move,” he snapped, already assessing Rowan’s limp form at my side. His expression twisted, but he didn’t hesitate. “Grab his arm. On three.”

  “I, okay,” I stammered, my muscles stiff with fear but obeying anyway. Together we hauled Rowan upright, his weight heavy against us.

  A shadow lunged from the smoke, one of the council soldiers, blade gleaming in the firelight.

  I froze, but Riven didn’t.

  Power crackled through the air, sharp and electric, as he moved. His hand swept up, a whisper of ancient words spilling from his lips, and the blade never found me. It froze mid-arc, suspended inches from my face as if the air itself had turned solid.

  With a flick of his wrist, the weapon twisted violently out of the soldier’s grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground. Riven stepped forward, graceful and terrifying, and drove his palm into the man’s chest. Light, cold, bright, and edged with something that felt like winter, flared from the point of impact, and the soldier was hurled backward into the dirt.

  What the hell was that?

  The smell of scorched earth lingered in the space between us as Riven turned his head slightly, the eerie glow of his eyes cutting through the smoke.

  “Go!” he yelled at me, shoving me forward.

  My legs carried me before my brain caught up, dragging Rowan with me as the world shrank to smoke and flame and the sharp burn of desperation.

  We made it halfway to the pack hall before the second wave hit.

  I didn’t see them coming, just the shimmer of steel, the sudden, terrible quiet before something slammed into my side, sending me sprawling across the mud. My hands tore against the ground, skin peeling, as Rowan crumpled beside me with a low groan.

  Pain lanced up my arm, sharp and blinding, but I forced myself to crawl toward him. “Rowan -”

  A shadow loomed over us.

  Too fast. Too close.

  I barely had time to scream before a blur of black fur and glowing eyes slammed into the soldier with enough force to crack the earth. Fluffy ripped him away from me, his roar deafening, primal, and final.

  Then he was there, planted between me and the world, teeth bared in a vicious snarl, every inch of him radiating fury and ownership.

  Mine, the growl seemed to say without words.

  My hands shook as I scrambled upright, pressing my shoulder against Rowan’s. My pulse throbbed in my ears, the copper tang of fear sharp on my tongue, but there was no space for panic, not now.

  “Liora!”

  Thorne’s voice this time, cutting through the haze. He appeared like a phantom, face streaked with soot and blood, a sword gleaming in his grip. His gaze swept over me, assessing, calculating, before locking onto Fluffy at my side and giving him a nod.

  “Stay with him,” Thorne ordered, his voice steady even as the chaos roared around us. “Don’t leave his side. Understand?”

  I nodded, though my throat was too tight to speak.

  And then the ground trembled again, heavier, closer, wrong.

  The sky had turned red.

  Not from the setting sun, there was no sun, only smoke and the shimmer of firelight, but from the glow of flames crawling over the rooftops, painting the world in hellish hues.

  I lost track of time, of everything except Rowan’s shallow breathing, Bagel darting in sharp, quick movements across the wreckage, and Fluffy, always near, a dark and devastating presence that never let me out of his line of sight.

  I wanted to believe it would stop, that the fighting would ease, that someone, somewhere, would call for retreat.

  But then a voice carried over the battlefield, sharp and cutting and full of cruel satisfaction:

  “Burn it all.”

  And the world tilted.

  I don’t remember how long the fire lasted.

  One moment, I was crouched against the wall of the pack hall, shielding Rowan’s body with my own, Bagel pressed tight to my side and shaking. The next, I was dragged upright, Grabber’s rough hands steady on my arms, his scarred face grim but fierce as he shoved me toward safety.

  “Run,” he ordered, his voice raw. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

  I ran.

  The ground was uneven beneath my feet, slick with blood and mud, the air thick with heat and ash. I stumbled once, caught myself, and kept going, the roar of Fluffy and the guttural cries of wolves ringing behind me like war drums.

  By the time I collapsed behind the stone barrier near the outer ridge, my chest burned, my legs trembling so hard they barely held me.

  Riven was there, his arm streaked with blood, his or someone else’s, I couldn’t tell, but his hands were steady as they cupped my face, tilting my head up so I’d meet his eyes.

  “You’re alive,” he said, voice flat but threaded with something fierce, something unspoken. “Stay that way.”

  I swallowed hard, throat raw. “Rowan -”

  “Brennar has him,” Riven said. “They’re getting him to the medics now. You -” His gaze flicked over me, taking in the soot and blood and tremor in my hands. “You stay here. Don’t move unless I tell you.”

  I wanted to argue. To tell him I could help, that I wasn’t weak, that I wasn’t,

  The ground shook again.

  Fluffy prowled into view, his massive form streaked with soot and blood, glowing eyes locking on me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. His growl rolled low and steady, and Bagel hissed softly from her perch on the stone beside me, tail lashing.

  The hair on my arms stood on end.

  Somewhere in the distance, a horn blew, a long, sharp note that split the night in two.

  The council was retreating.

  For now.

  When the silence finally came, it wasn’t relief.

  It was a hollow, aching quiet, heavy with smoke and grief and the realization settling like ice in my veins.

  This wasn’t a raid and it wasn’t a warning.

  This was war.

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