Meera arrived just in time, a bundle of clothes in her arms and a grave look on her face. Her presence, though brief, was a relief.
"Everyone's safe for now," she assured, handing Eila a long tunic and leggings before tossing similar garments toward Zois and Lukas. "We're gathering the injured outside the Johnsons' yard. They need help."
Eila nodded her throat tight with unspoken worry. She watched the twins pull on their clothes with practised ease before she turned toward the crowd forming beyond the gate.
The yard was thick with pain—some of it physical, most of it emotional. The injured lay in haphazard rows: children curled against their mothers, elders clutching their sides, blood soaking through worn cotton. Wolves could heal quickly, yes—but only if they could shift, and many of the wounded were too weak or too young.
Her heart clenched when she saw the still forms of the dead. Children. Elders. Ones who never even had a chance. Rage, bitter and cold, coiled in her stomach.
She dropped to her knees beside her brother Micheal, who looked up at her with hazy, pain-drenched eyes. "It's alright," she whispered, brushing her fingers over his bruised cheek. "I've got you."
Sera surged within her, the warmth of their gift blooming in her palms. Her power rippled outward like waves of golden mist. Micheal gasped as his wounds stitched closed before her eyes. Next came the triplets—Drew, Daria, and Drake—each groaning with relief as the pain ebbed away. One by one, she moved through the wounded. Her energy drained with each healing, her breath coming in shorter gasps, but she didn't stop.
By the time the sun began rising, casting an orange-gold hue across the sky, silence had fallen over the yard. Every living soul was healed.
Zois and Lukas hadn't said a word through it all. They simply watched, quiet and reverent. Eila caught them sharing a glance, something unreadable in their eyes—maybe awe, maybe something deeper.
She staggered to her feet and splashed water over her face from a nearby basin. "Clean yourselves up if you want. We're leaving for the pack house."
She didn't wait for their answer—she knew they would follow.
Their paws thudded against the forest floor as they ran through the woods in their wolf forms. Leaves rustled in the wind, but there was no birdsong. No breeze. The forest held its breath.
The packed house loomed in the distance—and the moment they reached its gates, Eila skidded to a halt, horror twisting in her chest.
It was chaos.
Bodies lay across the courtyard and steps, rogues and warriors alike. Blood painted the walls in long, angry streaks. But it was the fight in the centre of it all that froze her in place.
Leonard. His black wolf, Zade, was locked in a brutal clash with a creature she recognized from her dream—the one that haunted her sleep and whispered of death.
The entity moved like smoke and shadow, its claws slicing through the air. But Zade met it, blow for blow, his snarls feral and wild. It was primal, animalistic—but it was also beautiful. He was protecting them all.
Zois and Lukas, without hesitation, launched themselves into the fray, joining Leonard in battle. She saw the flicker of surprise in Leonard's eyes, quickly replaced by something that looked an awful lot like relief.
Eila bolted into the manor. The air inside was thick with blood and smoke, her senses reeling. She helped revive warriors who still clung to life, dragging them behind fallen tables and half-shattered walls for cover. There was no time to grieve, only time to act.
She pushed deeper, toward the Alpha's audience chamber.
The door had been blown from its hinges. Inside, chaos reigned.
Alpha Magnus, dark hair soaked in blood, fought with a savage intensity, matching the blur that danced in front of him strike for strike. His golden eyes blazed like twin suns, his every movement precise, lethal.
And then Eila saw Luna Priscilla—graceful even in blood and ruin. With a flick of her wrist, shards of ice formed from the air itself, sharp and glimmering, and she hurled them at the enemy. Her power—elegant, cold, devastating—was poetry in motion.
Eila's breath caught. She let Sera take over.
Her bones cracked, her body reshaped, and the white wolf that burst from her skin howled into the room with raw fury.
The creature turned.
It had no face, no form, just darkness in the shape of a nightmare. It had left Leonard, Lukas, and Zois behind—and now, it came for her.
Just as she had seen in her dreams.
And this time, she was ready.