Liam’s POV
Still chaos lingered in the air, thick and choking. I turned to Ivan, my frustration barely contained. The battlefield was quiet now, but not because that was the silence of peace; rather, it was the silence of devastation. The ground was soaked with blood, heavy with the stench of death. Our enemies were nowhere to be seen, vanished in thin air like ghosts.
“What the hell just happened, Ivan?!” I screamed hoarsely, my head racing to try and understand what had just happened. “How could they all just disappear like that?!”
Ivan didn’t say a word but stood still, his gaze fastened on the place where they had been standing. There was something dangerous in his expression, something calculating.
“She’s powerful,” he muttered, as if mostly to himself and not really in answer to my question. His lips curled into a bitter smirk. “Too powerful. More powerful than even I am.” Finally, he turned to me, and his eyes were cold. “And if she won’t stand by my side, then she has to die.”
The weight of his words fell heavy between us, and I drew one sharp breath.
“So, Luna…” I stalled, as though to say it aloud would make it real. “She’s a witch.”
Ivan’s jaw went tight, his face unreadable. “She’s not just a witch,” he corrected softly, his tone even. “She’s my daughter. And she’s a sorceress of unimaginable strength.”
His daughter.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to wrap my head around the implications of that revelation. Luna wasn’t just a problem-she was a threat, and not just to Ivan. If she was really stronger than him, then she was a threat to all of us.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my gaze over the scene before me. The aftermath of the battle was brutal: blood-soaked ground, bodies littered around us like discarded dolls, the echoes of their last screams still ringing in my ears.
Maya lay crumpled on the ground, the shivers running violently through her frame. She took ragged, uneven breaths; every intake of air was a struggle. There was thick, dark blood pooling under her, spilling from the gaping wound where her arm had once been. It was a brutal and grimy sight, but she made little noise. Only now and then did a whimper of pain leave her lips.
“Just heal her, already,” I snarled, hardly repressing the irritation in my tone. “She’s losing too much blood. Stop it before she bleeds out.”
I didn’t waste my time waiting for any response, merely turned away. There was no time to be had.
My gaze shifted to James.
He knelt, head bowed, shaking all over. Freja’s lifeless body was clutched in his arms, and the sight of him holding her like that-so fragile, so desperate-made something in my chest pulled tight. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even move. He just clung to her, as if letting go would mean accepting that she was gone.
I approached him cautiously, my footsteps slow and deliberate. “James,” I called, but he didn’t stir. I took another step closer. “James, look at me.”
Nothing.
I let out a sigh, crouching beside him, my voice softer this time. “I don’t know what she meant to you,” I admitted, watching as his fingers curled tighter around Freja’s lifeless hand. “I don’t know what kind of bond you two had, but you need to pull yourself together.” My tone hardened slightly. “This isn’t over. Steven will come back. And when he does, he won’t be the same man we fought today. He’ll be stronger. He’ll be angry. And he’ll be coming straight for us.”
James’s shoulders shook, his breathing quivered.
“Be ready,” I warned.
Still, he said nothing.
I exhaled hard, then leaned forward, my arms sliding under Freja’s dead body. She felt too light, too fragile in my arms, her vital presence reduced to nothing but silence and stillness.
James stiffened, his grip tightening for a second before he finally-actually-loosened it.
I straightened, adjusting her weight in my arms. “He will return,” I said, my voice even. “To his pack. To his sister. And when he does, we will be ready. This-” I glanced down at Freja’s lifeless face, her expression hauntingly peaceful. “This will be the bait that draws him to us.”
With that, I turned and began to walk away, her body held tightly in my arms.
———
Steven’s POV
The world around me was a blur, my mind fogged with rage, grief, and the unbearable weight of loss. My body screamed at me to stop, to rest, but I couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.
“Steven…”
I barely heard my name.
“Freja is dead!!!” I roared, the words ripped from my throat like a wounded animal’s cry. It wasn’t a statement, but rather, a declaration of war. I shook with all my might as my entire body trembled beneath the flame that was so ravaging it engulfed me into its hot inferno. “They took everything from me! They captured my whole pack! And they killed my sister!!” I shouted, heaving my chest heavily. “They will pay for this! Freja must be avenged!”
“Steven…,” Roy said calmly, as though he spoke to a feral animal tensed to spring. “I hear you. I do. But listen to me-you need to think. You’re still wounded. Your body isn’t healing like it should. You’re not at full strength yet, and if you rush into this without a plan-”
“I am NOT weak!” I snarled, cutting him off before he could get the words out. My voice broke, hoarse with hurt. The mere intimation that I was weak infuriated me beyond measure. I wasn’t weak-I couldn’t be. There was no choice for me but to be strong.
I forced myself to stand, even when my legs trembled beneath me, even when all the muscles of my body seemed to protest it. My fingers wrapped around my stick more firmly, with my nails digging into the worn wood.
“I’m not weak,” I whispered low, before I repeated, and this time it was just a whisper; low and inaudible to Roy. It was meant for my ears only.
I turned away, limping forward, each step heavier than the last. I didn’t care about the pain, or the exhaustion clawing at my bones. The only thing that mattered now was revenge.
And I would have it.
No matter what it took.