In the ash-gray dawn, wind whispered through the trees like spirits speaking in lost tongues. “We need to split,” Franco whispered. “I disagree,” Rose said, eyes sharp. “Same here,” Ara nodded, her voice low like thunder before the storm. But their words shattered, for steel clashed ahead—two groups, charging, roaring, blades singing. The fight was wild. Not one soul gave ground. They fought like beasts. But one side had to break. One did. When the blood mist cleared, only three walked from the wreck—silent, breathless. Franco, Rose, and Ara watched, horror in their eyes. Franco once held a sword like a king held a crown. But those days were behind. He had crawled to Brago’s side, left battle for politics, and now his blade arm was slow, soft. He would not survive hand-to-hand. “They failed, like the others,” a voice rang. Freda. She stepped through smoke and bone, flanked by wolves—Alphas and Betas, fierce, fanged, loyal. Ara raised her hand, gesturing to Rose a
Last Updated : 2025-04-20 Read more