Heather's POV
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The moment the sealed envelope landed in my hands, my fingers trembled.
I hadn't seen that seal in weeks—Darrian's sigil burned into black wax, the symbol of a ruthless Alpha whose face haunted the edges of my dreams. There was no warmth in the mark. No flicker of recognition. Just finality.
My heart knew before my eyes confirmed.
He was coming for me.
I tore it open with shaking hands, scanning the words as nausea twisted in my gut.
> To the Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack,
I offer you a choice: surrender your title, dissolve your claim, and submit your territory to mine. Step down and live—or stand your ground and fall.
—Alpha Darrian Blackthorn
My breath caught. Step down and live. As if my life was his to give.
The paper fluttered from my fingers. Ronan's name echoed in my memory—the beta who once stood beside him. The war strategist. This wasn't an idle threat. Darrian was preparing to crush me, not just politically, but physically.
I closed my eyes. I didn't remember his arms anymore. Didn't recall his warmth, only the threat he now posed.
But my wolf stirred—not with fear, but fury.
"I gave everything," I whispered, "and now you'll take nothing."
I rose from my seat in the council chamber. My pack elders were already watching me, sensing the shift in the air.
"We prepare for war," I said.
"Against who?" one elder asked, his voice tight.
I looked up, voice as sharp as the silver that once silenced me.
"Darrian Blackthorn."
The council chamber fell into a hush as I read the message again, fingers tightening on the parchment until the edges crumpled.
"Black Fang," I muttered under my breath. "So that's who dares threaten Bloodmoon."
Kira, my second-in-command, stood at my side, arms crossed. "Alpha Darrian. He's not just any brute looking for land. He's built Black Fang into one of the largest, most disciplined packs in the northern territories."
"And now he thinks he can take us," I said, voice cold. "Typical male Alpha logic. Strength by conquest."
One of the younger council members leaned forward hesitantly. "Do we know why he's targeting us?"
"Power," I said flatly. "He thinks absorbing Bloodmoon will make him untouchable. He wants control."
The parchment was short and blunt. A challenge cloaked in false diplomacy.
My jaw clenched.
"He's welcome to try," I said. "But he'll find Bloodmoon isn't ruled by fear. And I don't kneel for anyone."
The room responded with a wave of nods and murmured approval. They had seen me bleed and rise. They had watched me build Bloodmoon from ashes into something formidable. I wasn't just an Alpha by name—I was the spine of this pack.
Still, behind my calm mask, something about the name Darrian stirred something deeper. Not fear. Not anger.
Recognition?
A twinge of something long buried fluttered in my chest, and I pressed my palm there, frowning.
I'd never met this Alpha. I would remember a man powerful enough to command a threat like this.
Wouldn't I?
I shook the thought off and focused on what mattered.
"Double the patrols," I said. "Send a message back. If he wants war, we'll meet him at our border. But if he thinks for a second we'll roll over, he's made his first mistake."
Kira smiled, sharp and proud. "Yes, Alpha."
And as I watched the moon rise above Bloodmoon's lands, I promised myself this—Alpha Darrian of Black Fang would know exactly what kind of she-wolf he threatened.
And he would regret it.
The room emptied slowly, each member leaving with determined steps, the echo of their loyalty lingering in the stone chamber. I remained seated, my thoughts knotted with tension. The weight of leadership pressed heavily on my shoulders, but it was nothing I hadn't carried before.
Not after surviving Marcus.
Not after clawing my way from ruin and rebuilding this pack from splinters.
Still, this wasn't just another challenge. This was Black Fang.
The name alone carried power. Stories of Alpha Darrian's brutal efficiency echoed across territories. He ruled his pack with a mix of fear and fierce loyalty, a man said to be made of stone and steel. A man who had never lost a war. Some called him the Shadow King.
But he didn't know me.
He didn't know what it meant to face someone who had nothing left to lose—and everything to protect.
"Do you think he'll attack without warning?" Kira asked as she returned with a tray of tea. Her silver eyes were sharp, always calculating.
"No," I said after a moment. "He'll give me the choice. Submit or die. That's what the letter said, in kinder words."
"And your answer?"
I took the tea, inhaled its floral scent, and set it aside untouched.
"I didn't survive Marcus, build this pack, and rise as Alpha to bend to another man's will," I said. "We prepare for war."
The silence that followed was thick with anticipation.
Still, something itched at the edge of my thoughts—his name. That strange flicker of familiarity I couldn't place. I rose from my chair, walking to the tall window that overlooked the Bloodmoon lands. Forests stretched wide, moonlight pooling over the tree canopies like liquid silver.
Somewhere out there, he was preparing too. And yet the idea didn't fill me with dread. It filled me with… something else.
Something I didn't want to name.
A memory not quite remembered. A shadow of a feeling long buried.
I rubbed my chest again, right over my heart.
It was nothing.
It had to be.