Dusk settled over the Vael Ranch like a slow exhale, the kind that carried the weight of the day and the promise of a long night ahead. The sun dipped behind the rolling Texas hills, staining the sky with warm streaks of orange and red. Wolves moved across the ranch with purpose, preparing for the gathering Ronan had called. They knew something was happening—could smell the shift in the air, the tension simmering beneath their alpha's calm exterior.
Training had ended early. Patrols were doubled. Scouts were sent out in three directions instead of two. Even the livestock sensed the change, keeping unusually close to their pens as if instinct warned them to stay near shelter.
Inside the ranch house, Ronan Vael stood in front of the bathroom sink, gripping the porcelain edges so tightly the veins in his forearms stood out. The faucet dripped steadily. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each drop echoed louder than the last. He stared at his reflection, storm-blue eyes shadowed, jaw clenched. The dim bulb overhead cast long lines across his face, highlighting the exhaustion he refused to acknowledge.
He splashed cold water on his face, watching the droplets slide down the rough angles of his features. It didn't help. The pressure behind his eyes remained, a dull throb that pulsed in rhythm with the memories clawing at the edges of his mind.
Heat. Sand. Chains rattling. Metal biting skin. His own breathing, ragged and desperate, trapped under the glare of mirrored plates forcing the moonlight at him until his bones twisted and cracked—
Ronan shut off the water and gripped the sink again, closing his eyes tightly.
Four seconds.
In for two, out for two.
He forced his heartbeat back under control.
He couldn't walk into the Moon Circle looking like a man haunted. He had to walk in like the alpha Texas needed him to be. He straightened, rolled his neck until it cracked, and stepped out into the hallway.
The ranch house hummed with energy. Wolves whispered in the kitchen, murmuring about the injured boy, about Mercer, about the summons to gather. Their voices silenced instantly when Ronan passed by. They bowed their heads, instinctively yielding to his presence. The intensity of their respect—their fear, their trust—settled over him like a cloak.
Ronan grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. The leather was worn and scuffed, familiar against his fingers. It had been with him since before he'd become alpha, back when he was barely more than a kid trying to survive the world. He shrugged it on and stepped out into the fading light.
The ranch sprawled before him, vast and alive. Wolves moved with urgency toward the Moon Circle near the tree line, where torches were already being lit. The air vibrated with the low, harmonic hum of the druids preparing the space. Their rituals didn't conjure magic—they didn't summon power—but their presence steadied the supernatural energy that ran through the pack like blood through veins.
Ronan walked across the dirt yard, boots crunching softly. His lieutenant, a broad-shouldered Beta named Colton Reyes, intercepted him before he reached the circle.
"Alpha," Colton said with a nod. "Scouts returned. No movement from the east. But there's chatter. Some rogues were seen traveling near the highway."
"Kade's?" Ronan asked.
"Seems likely."
Ronan's jaw tightened. "Any sign they followed the boy?"
"No. Dax made it here clean."
Good. At least Mercer hadn't dared to push that far west yet.
Colton hesitated. "Sir… Dax is still unconscious. But before he passed out, he mentioned something else. I didn't want to bring it up until I confirmed."
Ronan turned to him fully, eyes narrowing. "What did he say?"
"He said Mercer's gathering numbers because he thinks you're slipping. That… that the Trials broke you more than anyone knows."
Ronan went still.
The wind stirred, carrying the faint scent of fresh-lit torches and grass. Wolves voices drifted from the circle, growing louder as more arrived. But everything around Ronan seemed to fall away beneath the weight of those words.
He inhaled once through his nose and exhaled slowly. "Did he sound convinced of that?"
Colton shook his head quickly. "No, Alpha. He didn't believe it. He said it like he hated repeating it. Like Mercer had been drilling it into them."
Ronan said nothing.
He didn't flinch. Didn't shift his stance. Didn't let the flicker of pain or fury reach his features. But inside, something dark moved. Something that remembered the desert, the chains, the moonlight forcing his body into shapes not meant to be taken. Something that remembered screaming without sound.
Colton cleared his throat. "He's wrong, you know. Mercer talks big, but he doesn't understand strength. He doesn't understand you."
Ronan gave him a curt nod, though he didn't truly need the reassurance. He wasn't the one Mercer convinced. But his pack hearing whispers like that? That was dangerous. Fear spread easily. Doubt even easier. If wolves started to believe he was weakening, they could panic. And a panicked pack was a vulnerable one.
"Thank you," Ronan said. "Make sure the leadership hears this, but no one else."
"Yes, Alpha."
Ronan stepped past him and headed for the Moon Circle.
The Circle lay between the ranch fields and the edge of the woods, marked by tall wooden posts carved with druid symbols. Torches lined the perimeter, their flames flickering in the gathering dark. Wolves in human form crowded inside the boundary, creating a ring around the central space.
The druids stood at the northern arc, their robes simple but their presence commanding. The eldest among them, a silver-haired woman named Mara, stepped forward when she saw Ronan approaching.
"Alpha Vael," she greeted. "Your pack awaits."
Ronan stood at the center of the circle, facing his wolves. Their eyes—all shades of gold, blue, and brown—locked onto him with a mix of anticipation and concern. The weight of hundreds of gazes pressed on him, but Ronan held steady.
Mara lifted her hands slightly. "The Circle is open."
The flames calmed. Conversations died. The night seemed to inhale.
Ronan spoke.
"Today, a young wolf stumbled onto our land," he began, his voice steady but resonant. "His name is Dax. He came from the Ironwood region. And he came running from Kade Mercer."
Murmurs erupted instantly. Some angry. Some fearful. Ronan raised one hand, and silence fell again.
"Mercer has gathered rogues. He has taken in wolves too wild to control, too violent to reason with. He calls them a pack, but they are not a pack. They are a weapon he aims at us."
Wolves growled low in the circle, anger rippling through the bond.
Ronan continued, "Mercer believes he's strong enough to challenge me. He claims Texas deserves a new leader. He believes he can take the Dominion and reshape it under his rule."
A Beta scoffed loudly. "Rule? He can barely keep his rogues from tearing each other apart."
"He won't get that far," another snarled.
Ronan waited until their voices died down.
"There is more," he said, and the tone of his voice made every wolf listen.
"He's telling others that I am growing weak. That I carry scars from the Trials. That I am not the alpha I once was."
A dark wave went through the crowd, sharp and immediate. Growls rose—not of doubt, but insulted loyalty. Wolves stepped forward without meaning to, protective rage igniting in their eyes.
Ronan let it build. Let them feel the insult. Let them remember why they followed him.
Then he spoke again, quieter.
"He is right about one thing."
Silence fell like a stone.
Ronan met their eyes, one by one, scanning the circle with a gaze sharp as broken glass.
"The Trials did scar me."
Several wolves visibly stiffened.
"But scars are not weakness."
His voice grew stronger, rising like the first growl of a storm. "Scars are the proof that I survived what was meant to kill me. Scars are what taught me how to fight harder. Smarter. With purpose. The Trials didn't break me."
He paused.
"They evolved me."
The Circle swelled with energy, the pack bond humming with fierce pride.
Mara's eyes burned with approval. Colton straightened, his chest swelling. Even the younger wolves nodded fiercely, jaws clenched.
Ronan's aura rose—not flaring, not overpowering, but humming with the same quiet intensity the land recognized. The earth beneath his boots felt solid. Responsive. Familiar.
He took one step forward.
"Mercer wants a war," Ronan said. "He wants to test the Dominion. Test me. He thinks he knows what strength looks like."
Ronan's gaze darkened.
"He hasn't seen mine."
The wind stirred again, sweeping across the circle. Torches flared as if feeding on his presence. Wolves leaned in instinctively, drawn to the gravity of their alpha.
"We will not strike first," Ronan said. "But we will not be caught unprepared. Patrols double tonight. Scouts extend to the eastern boundary. Anyone seen near our land—rogue or otherwise—will be questioned."
He scanned the crowd.
"And if Mercer sets foot on this ranch… if he threatens even one of you…"
Ronan's eyes glowed faintly red around the edges, the black ring flickering into sight.
"He will learn why Texas fears the Vael name."
The pack erupted in a collective howl, one so loud and unified it shook the Circle. Wolves shifted into half-forms, claws scraping dirt, fangs flashing. The sound echoed across the fields, rolling through the trees like a wave.
Ronan let it ring.
Let them release their fury.
This wasn't just a rally.
It was a promise.
When the howls faded, Ronan gave one final command.
"Tonight, the Dominion stands ready."
The Circle dissolved as wolves moved to their duties. Torches dimmed under the watch of the druids. Mara approached Ronan quietly.
"You spoke truthfully," she said. "And that is good. A leader who lies about strength invites ruin."
Ronan nodded. "I won't hide from what I've endured."
"Nor should you," she replied. "But scars unhealed can still bleed."
He knew what she meant. The nightmares. The flashes. The moments when the sun hit him just right and his body remembered heat that wasn't there.
"I'll manage," he said.
Her gaze softened, though she didn't argue. "The land listens to you, Ronan. It knows its alpha. Just be sure you're listening to yourself."
She left him with that, returning to her fellow druids.
Ronan remained in the circle after everyone else had gone. The torches hissed softly behind him, their flames shrinking as the night grew colder. Crickets sang from the tall grass. An owl hooted from deeper in the woods.
He exhaled slowly.
Mercer was coming. The Ironwood region was restless. Rogues were moving. And the whispers about Ronan's scars… those might spread if he didn't crush Mercer's ambitions fast.
But something else nagged at him.
A feeling. A subtle shift in the energy of the land. Like something stirring far beyond Mercer's reach. Something old. Something watching.
Ronan turned his gaze toward the eastern horizon, where the sky had gone fully dark.
For now, Mercer was the threat.
But deep down, Ronan sensed the coming conflict would grow far larger than a rogue with delusions of grandeur.
And whatever waited beyond Texas…
…it had begun to pay attention to him.