Page 83 of To Carve A Wolf

I gripped the sword tighter, heart pounding, rage climbing. And in the chaos, the one small flame of relief that Dain was not there. I had taken him to the village. He was still on the road, guarded by my men. Still safe.

He didn’t see this.

With one last look at Garrick—still breathing, barely, under the witch’s trembling hands—I turned toward the citadel’s gates and ran.

The citadel was a battlefield.

Smoke choked the air, heavy and dark, weaving between the walls like a living thing. Men clashed wildly—wolves loyal to me locked against Roran’s traitors, blades ringing and claws tearing through flesh, fur matted with blood and dirt.

Chaos everywhere. Screams echoed off stone, the scent of death and iron choking my senses. Shattered furniture and overturned tables littered the halls, torches ripped from sconces, flames climbing curtains and tapestries. My home, my sanctuary, torn apart by betrayal.

Some wolves fought in human form, swords in hand, armour glistening with blood and soot. Others had shifted, fur bristling, teeth bared in primal fury, claws ripping mercilessly into enemies once called brothers.

My grip tightened on the sword I'd taken from the fallen wolf outside. Without hesitation, I charged into the madness, cutting down the first traitor who lunged toward me—a clean strike through the ribs. He collapsed instantly, eyes wide inshock.

I didn't slow down.

A loyal wolf, cornered by two traitors, fought fiercely but was losing ground, wounds already staining his fur. I surged forward, blade slicing clean through one attacker’s spine before he could finish the strike. The other turned, snarling, lunging—my blade caught him squarely through the chest, puncturing armour and bone. He fell, gasping, blood filling his throat.

“Alpha,” the wolf gasped, staggering to his feet, eyes wide with gratitude.

“Fight,” I growled fiercely. “Push them back.”

He nodded grimly, picking up his fallen sword and rushing back into the fray.

Another clash up ahead—two of Roran’s men cornering an injured female from my personal guard. I didn’t hesitate. I moved like fire. One blade cleaved a neck. The other pierced a heart.

The halls were worse, tight quarters, blood smeared on the walls, boots slipping in gore. The bodies of wolves littered the corridors, some still twitching, others long gone. I recognized faces. Men and women I’d trained with. Trusted. All of it torn apart by Roran’s greed.

More traitors closed in. My sword moved swiftly, an extension of my rage, fuelled by the bond and the raw terror still echoing from Lexa’s vision. Bodies fell at my feet as I carved a path forward, my muscles burning, heartbeat roaring wildly.

My vision sharpened, pinpointing the room at the end of the corridor. Lexa’s room.

Three wolves blocked my path, eyes glittering with madness, weapons ready. With a furious roar, I lunged forward. Blades clashed violently, sparks flying as I cut them down one by one, their bodies falling heavy and lifeless onto the blood-soaked stone.

The door was in sight. My heart pounded violently, driven by desperate fear and love.

I surged forward, blade dripping crimson, and kicked open the door, bracing for whatever awaited me inside.

The room was empty.

My heart sank, panic flaring violently in my chest. Lexa’s scent still lingered fresh in the air, heavy and sweet and faintly tinged with fear. They couldn’t have gotten far.

But before I could move, a snarl sounded behind me. I spun sharply, only just managing to dodge as a traitor lunged, knocking my blade from my hand and sending it clattering across the stone floor. We collided violently, rolling together in a fury of fists and claws. His strength matched mine, rage lending him a ferocity almost equal to my own.

I shifted partially, letting the wolf rise in me just enough to meet him with sharpened teeth and lengthened claws. Blow after blow fell between us, savage, relentless. He was strong, but desperation fuelled me—I had too much to lose. With a feral snarl, I pinned him beneath me, claws sinking deep into his chest. My fists landed again and again, bone shattering beneath my knuckles, blood spraying across my skin, until his body finally went limp beneath me.

I rose slowly, breathing heavily, blood dripping from my fingers, my eyes wild. My muscles shook with exhaustion and fury, but I didn’t pause. Lexa was still missing.

Then a voice echoed from outside—the courtyard—piercing through the sounds of chaos and death.

“Andros!”

The voice was mocking, arrogant. Familiar.

Roran.

I stormed to the window, looking down into the smoke-filled courtyard. My blood froze, heart hammering violently in my chest.

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