The first night of the undead….
...
The first undead wolf crossed the border at sunset.
It moved with a silent certainty, paws brushing the soil like whispers, and yet every step dripped with unnatural wrongness.
It did not howl.
It did not hesitate.
It did not care.
The ward stones, ancient protections placed by Lorenzo's pack generations ago, cracked and fizzled as it passed, as if the magic itself recoiled in fear.
The pack felt it immediately. A ripple, cold and oily, slithered through the bond. Every wolf lifted its head, ears flattening, teeth bared, instincts screaming in unison.
"Elena," Lorenzo's voice cut through the growing dread. Sharp. Controlled. Protective. He yanked her behind him, his body a living shield.
But Elena had already felt it. Silver light flickered beneath her skin, curling over her bones like molten moonlight. This was not fear. Not exactly. Recognition.
"They're bound," she whispered, voice trembling but steady. "Forced. They feel nothing. No pain. No mercy. Only command."
Her words were barely out when the alarm howl tore through the territory, echoing from ridge to ridge.
Then the forest erupted.
Shadows twisted and stretched, and the first wave of undead wolves poured forth from the darkness. Bodies torn, decayed, yet moving with terrifying speed. Their eyes glowed a chilling, icy blue , fire that was not warmth, but rage, and something far older.
Claws tore earth, jaws snapped, and the metallic scent of blood mixed with decay.
"Hold the line!" Lorenzo bellowed, voice thick with authority and raw anger.
Steel met bone. Claws met rotting flesh. Men and women of the pack fought like walls of iron, but the undead did not fall. Marcus swung his blade through one's neck, expecting it to crumple, and it kept moving, jerking forward like a puppet.
"What in hell!" Kieran cursed, spinning to block another strike.
Elena stepped forward.
"No," Lorenzo snapped, yanking her back by the wrist. "You stay here. Now."
Her gaze met his. Silver eyes glowing softly beneath the moonlight. There was defiance, yes, but also understanding. Power. The White Wolf had awakened.
"I can stop them," she said, voice soft but unwavering.
Before he could protest further, she lifted her hands.
Moonlight poured from her fingertips, spilling across the battlefield like a rising tide. The air shimmered, and the wind stilled. Shadows twisted, twisting unnaturally as if the forest itself held its breath.
The undead froze.
For a single heartbeat, their glowing blue eyes wavered.
And then, impossibly, they howled ,not in rage, not in hunger, not in the terrible cadence of a mindless predator.
In relief.
Their bodies crumbled into ash.
The battlefield went silent. Only the pack's ragged breaths and the soft hiss of cooling blood remained.
Lorenzo stared at Elena as if he had never truly seen her before. She was luminous, terrifying, and infinitely alive. The White Wolf, fully realized. The Alpha's mate.
"By the Goddess…" he whispered, voice hoarse, reaching out as though afraid she would vanish.
Elena turned to him, body trembling but aura steady, silver light still pooling along her skin. "They don't belong to the living anymore," she murmured. "I only freed them."
He closed the distance between them, wrapping her in his arms, grounding them both. "You're incredible," he rasped. "You're dangerous… and perfect."
She leaned into him, still trembling from exertion, from power, from the weight of what she had just done.
But far away, through the hills and the cursed lands, the witch screamed.
Her voice shattered the night, raw with fury, ancient as the bones she had raised.
"You dare?" she shrieked, the wind carrying the echo like a curse. "You dare touch what I command!"
Elena's hands trembled, but her gaze did not waver. The first night of the undead had ended. But the war, the true war, was only beginning.