The new moon gifted us perfect darkness—no silver light to betray us.
Kira gathered the strike team at the camp edge two hours before midnight. Six of us: me leading point, Ronan on rear guard, Lira and Mara (swift beta females with unmatched speed), plus two burly males for heavy lifting—Tor and Gage. Kira would oversee from a ridge, ready to signal retreat if it went south.
Target: Blackwood's southern supply caravan. Food stores, weapons, medical herbs—all bound for the pack house. Rumors said Serena was planning a lavish mating feast to cement her position. The thought of her wearing white silk while carrying Darius's mark made my wolf snarl.
We moved through the forest like ghosts. My senses had sharpened to razor edges: every rustle of leaves, every distant owl hoot, the faint metallic tang of wagon axles ahead.
"Positions," I whispered.
We fanned out. Ronan took the rear wagon. Lira and Mara flanked left and right. Tor and Gage waited for the signal to grab crates.
The caravan rumbled into view: six wagons, twelve guards on foot and horseback, torches flickering orange against the black.
I crouched beside a fallen log, heart steady. This wasn't fear. This was justice wearing claws.
The lead wagon passed. I lifted my head and released a low, commanding howl—our signal.
We struck.
Ronan hit first—silent takedown on the rear guard, a quick chokehold that left the man slumped unconscious. Lira and Mara darted in, slashing reins with small blades, spooking the horses into chaos. Shouts erupted. Tor and Gage charged the middle wagons, ripping canvas and loading our hidden mules with priority crates.
I targeted the third wagon—the one flying a small red banner. Serena's personal supplies, according to our scout. I leaped onto the driver's bench. The man yelped, fumbling for his dagger. I slammed my elbow into his temple; he crumpled.
Inside: crates stamped with moonflower petals—fertility herbs for the mating rite. Bolts of white silk. Bottles of scented oil. A small chest of jewelry—silver chains, ruby pendants. Gifts for the new Luna.
My vision tunneled red.
I shifted partially—claws extended, eyes glowing—and tore into the crates. Silk shredded. Herbs scattered like snow. Jewelry box upended, chains clinking to the floorboards.
A guard spotted me. "Rogue! On the wagon!"
He raised a crossbow. I lunged—faster than human thought. Claws raked his arm; the bolt flew wide. He shifted mid-scream—brown wolf, beta-strong. We collided on the ground, rolling in dirt and blood.
He was bigger, trained. His jaws snapped at my shoulder; pain flared hot. But rage made me unstoppable. I twisted under him, got my hind legs against his belly, kicked hard. He flew back. I pounced—pinned him, teeth at his throat.
"Yield," I growled through the mind-link instinct I'd somehow unlocked.
He whimpered, went limp. Submission.
I released him, shifted human, grabbed a cloak from the wagon wreckage. The caravan was in disarray—horses bolting, guards fighting losing battles against my team.
"Load up!" I shouted. "We're out!"
We retreated with three mules heavy with stolen goods—enough food and medicine to sustain the camp for weeks, plus weapons to arm more rogues.
Back at Forgotten Camp before dawn, cheers erupted as we unloaded. Kira met me with a rare, full smile.
"You led like you were born for it," she said. "Clean hit. No deaths. Blackwood will feel the sting for months."
I allowed myself a cold smile. First blood drawn.
But victory tasted bittersweet.
That night, alone in my tent, the mate bond struck like lightning. Pain lanced through my chest. Visions flashed unbidden: Darius in his alpha study, maps spread before him, fist slamming the table so hard wood cracked.
"Find them," he snarled at his beta. "The rogues who hit the caravan. And Elara... if she's with them... bring her to me. Alive."
His eyes—haunted, shadowed with something that looked dangerously like regret.
My wolf howled inside: He feels us. He knows we're rising.
I curled around my belly. The pup kicked hard—almost in answer.
Revenge tasted like ash and fire.
And the pull toward him... it tasted like poison I couldn't stop craving.
End Of Chapter 5