Page 89 of Fated
The air crackled with tension as they ran. His heart pounded with Fenrir’s strides, urgency thrumming through his veins. They didn’t know what awaited them at Bloodstone, but one thing was certain—Crescent Fang would stand with their neighbors, no matter the cost. For the first time in generations, they were part of something bigger than themselves, and they wouldn’t let the Bloodstone pack down.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CALEB
The air grew heavier as Crescent Fang moved in coordinated silence through the woods. Even as the wolves crossed the forest expanse between the two territories, the acrid stench of smoke and blood reached Fenrir’s nose, carried on the wind like a warning. Fenrir’s powerful form navigated the uneven terrain with predatory grace, Caleb’s consciousness riding the current of his wolf’s heightened senses. Their shared awareness sharpened as they breached the tree line, their combined gaze sweeping over the Bloodstone courtyard.
The scene below was chaos.
Fires licked hungrily at homes and buildings, crackling flames sending up columns of bitter smoke that stung Caleb’s nostrils.The air vibrated with a cacophony of sounds—snarls, yelps of pain, the wet tearing of flesh, and the hollow thud of bodies hitting the ground. The metallic tang of blood overwhelmed his senses, layered with the acrid scent of fear and the charred smell of burning fur.
Blood pooled in the dirt, soaking into the earth beneath the lifeless bodies of wolves—both defenders and rogues. Others writhed, their pained whimpers carrying clearly through the night as they fought to rise.
The flickering orange glow cast grotesque, dancing shadows across the battlefield, turning familiar packlands into an alien landscape. Crescent Fang came to a halt at the ridge, eyes fixed on the carnage below, the heat from the fires palpable even from this distance.
It’s happening again.
Caleb’s lungs seized, each breath catching on invisible thorns. The world tilted sideways as buried memories clawed their way up from the grave he’d dug at sixteen. The mangled bodies of packmates, the wails of mourning wolves, the heavy silence of their loss—came rushing back with brutal clarity. He stood frozen, vision narrowing to pinpoints.
I’ve brought them here to die.
The thought lashed through him, sharp and unrelenting. His warriors trusted him, and he’d led them into this chaos, into this slaughter.
Fenrir’s growl surged through his mind, a commanding force that cut through the spiral.“This is not then. You arenothelpless now. Trust them. Trust me.”
Caleb blinked, forcing the memories back. Asher’s wolf, Leif, and the Crescent Fang warriors stood behind him, golden eyes glowing with readiness, awaiting his command. Caleb drew strength from their steady presence, mind sharpening withpurpose. He gave a sharp bark, his telepathic bond humming to life as he issued orders.
“Defend the Bloodstone pack. Protect their wolves. Do not attack unnecessarily—focus on driving the rogues back.”
With coordinated precision, Crescent Fang surged forward, their formation spreading like a wave of purpose as they descended into the melee.
The battle was unlike anything Caleb had faced before. Bloodstone wolves fought valiantly yet faltered against the rogues’ relentless ferocity. Crescent Fang wolves surged into the fray—intercepting attacks, shielding the vulnerable, trying to turn the tide one skirmish at a time.
The enemy was a twisted mix of madness and precision. Some rogues fought in wolf form, feral and wild, their attacks reckless but brutal. Others were partially shifted, using their claws with eerie precision as they engaged Bloodstone defenders in hand-to-hand combat. Then there were those in tactical gear—rogues Caleb almost mistook for human if not for the sour, pungent scent that clung to them. They wielded weapons: knives and crossbows glinting in the firelight.
“This is no ordinary attack.”Fenrir’s growl rippled through the pack mind.“There’s a mind behind this chaos.”
Fenrir and Leif surged toward the center of the packhouse courtyard, where the fighting was thickest. The massive wolves carved a path through the chaos, Fenrir’s muscular form a whirlwind of power as he tore through rogue ranks with devastating efficiency. Leif moved in perfect sync, covering his alpha’s flank and dispatching any rogues who attempted to circle behind.
Twenty yards ahead, near the entrance to the main packhouse, Fenrir’s golden eyes caught a flash of silver fur. Darius’s wolf, Ronan, broad and commanding, fought with ferocious precision as he shielded a trio of pups scrambling toward the stone stepsof the building. His teeth sank into the neck of a feral rogue, shaking the lifeless body free before whirling to meet another rogue charging from the direction of the burning stables.
Caleb spotted another rogue circling wide, its eyes locked on Ronan’s flank. Fenrir pounced, intercepting the rogue mid-leap. His jaws closed around its throat, snapping it with a sickening crunch. The lifeless body dropped to the ground, and Fenrir turned toward Ronan, meeting the Bloodstone alpha’s wolf gaze.
Ronan bowed his head in brief acknowledgment before turning to engage another rogue. Fenrir growled low, focus already shifting back to the chaos around him.
A rogue leapt from behind an overturned cart, matted fur hanging in clumps as its claws raked across Fenrir’s flank with a sound like fabric tearing.
Caleb hissed as liquid fire bloomed along his side, the pain sharp and immediate, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The rogue’s fetid breath—a mixture of sour and rot—washed over him in hot waves.
Fenrir twisted in a fluid counterattack, muscles bunching beneath midnight fur slick with sweat and blood. His massive jaws locked onto the rogue’s shoulder with a bone-jarring impact that Caleb felt through his entire body. Fangs punctured through muscle and sinew with a sickening tear, the resistance giving way with a sensation like biting through tough meat.
Warm blood sprayed in an arc across the dirt, spattering against Fenrir’s muzzle with a coppery taste that flooded Caleb’s mouth.
The rogue collapsed, its frantic snarls snuffed out, replaced by the hollow rattle of its final breath.
Fenrir’s ears pricked at movement near the eastern fence—two wolves cornered against wooden posts as five rogues advanced in a coordinated half-circle. The tawny-colored male snarled viciously, placing himself between the attackers and theiridescent white she-wolf. Caleb’s blood ran cold as the rogues tightened their circle.
The male lunged at the nearest attacker, teeth bared, but as he committed to the attack, a second rogue sprang from behind a burning storage shed. The ambusher caught the male mid-leap, jaws clamping around his exposed throat and ripping through flesh with a savage efficiency that sent arterial spray across the fence posts.
