North Territory
War didn't begin with armies. It began with hatred. And tonight — hatred had crossed the river.
*****
"I hate him! I hate him so much!"
Kael didn't bother opening the doors.
He drove straight through them.
The war room doors slammed against the stone so hard the iron hinges screamed in protest, the sound echoing through the corridor like a struck bell. A map table rattled. A goblet tipped over and rolled off the edge, clattering across the floor.
"I want him dead."
Every head snapped toward the entrance.
Kael Draven, Storm King of the North Pack, stood there breathing hard, snow melting into his dark hair, blood dripping from his fingertips onto the stone. His shirt was torn across the ribs, soaked through with a deep, ugly red that had already begun to dry in patches. A gash split the skin above his brow, and another cut pulled at the corner of his mouth.
He looked less like a man and more like something dragged straight out of a battlefield.
"I swear to the Moon," he growled, voice shaking with fury, "if I see Cane standing in front of me right now, I will rip his heart out with my bare hands."
No one moved.
No one spoke.
The North Pack had learned long ago that when their Alpha walked in carrying this kind of storm, silence was the only safe answer.
Behind him, Ethan Vale entered at a slower pace, shutting the ruined door with effort. He glanced at the startled wolves around the table and gave a small shake of his head — leave.
They did.
Chairs scraped quietly as the lesser commanders slipped out one by one, careful not to draw attention to themselves. Only when the room emptied did Ethan step forward.
"You should sit," he said calmly.
Kael laughed — a harsh, humorless sound.
"You think I came here to sit?"
"You're bleeding through the floor."
"I've bled worse."
"That wasn't a compliment."
Kael ignored him, stalking toward the center of the war room.
The North Pack did not sleep.
It endured.
Their stronghold clung to the spine of an ancient mountain range, a fortress carved from black stone and reinforced with timber thick enough to withstand avalanche winds. Outside, winter howled without mercy. Snow swallowed entire paths overnight. The forest below was so dense that even moonlight struggled to find the ground.
Everything about this land demanded strength. Weakness did not last long here. And at the center of it all stood a king forged by that very brutality.
Alpha Kael Draven.
He tore off his gloves and hurled them across the room. They struck the wall with a dull smack before dropping to the floor.
Ethan didn't have to pick them up to know what he'd smell.
Another Alpha.
Faint.
But deliberate.
"This wasn't a random border clash," Ethan said.
Kael's jaw flexed. "No."
"He wanted you to know it was him."
"Yes."
For a moment, the only sound in the war room was the wind battering the high windows.
Ethan folded his arms. "Start talking."
Kael dragged a hand down his face, smearing blood across his cheek without seeming to notice.
"He crossed the river."
Ethan went still.
The river wasn't just water — it was law. A sacred boundary untouched for nearly a century, drawn after the last territorial war had nearly wiped out the North and South packs.
Alphas before them had bled to establish that line.
No one crossed it. Until tonight.
"He slaughtered my patrol," Kael continued.
His voice had gone quiet now, which Ethan knew was far more dangerous than shouting.
"How many?"
"Three."
Ethan shut his eyes briefly.
"God… were they—?"
"Young," Kael snapped, the word landing like a sword on stone. "Two of them barely had blood on their claws. No battle scars. No mates waiting for them back home."
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking.
"I was late," he admitted, voice low with restrained fury. "By the time I arrived, it was already a slaughter. I got close enough to trade blows — felt his bones give under my strike — but the bastard fled before I could finish it."
Kael's eyes darkened, something feral flickering beneath the surface.
"He didn't retreat because he was smart," he growled. "He ran because he knew if he stayed… I would have torn him apart."
He paused.
"Cowards always run when death finally looks them in the eye."
For a flicker of a second, something raw passed through his expression — not quite grief, but close enough that Ethan noticed. Kael rarely let anyone see that.
"Did he leave anyone alive?" Ethan asked carefully.
Kael's mouth twisted.
"Yes. Thoughtful of him, wasn't it?"
The survivor had crawled nearly two miles through the snow before collapsing at the outer gate, half-shifted and delirious. One of the guards had vomited when they rolled the boy over.
Carved into the young patrol leader's chest, deep enough that bone gleamed pale beneath the blood, were four words:
STAY ON YOUR SIDE.
Ethan studied his Alpha.
Stillness.
That was the tell. Kael was never more lethal than when he stopped moving.
"How far are you willing to take this?" Ethan asked quietly.
Kael turned toward the massive window overlooking the forest. Snow drifted lazily from a sky so dark it almost looked bottomless.
"I hate him," he said. Not loud. Not theatrical. Just… truth.
"With everything inside me, Ethan. I hate him."
There was no need to ask which him. Only one man in this world could drag that tone out of Kael.
Alpha Cane Thorne. Shadow King of the South Pack.
Their enemy since before Kael could walk. Before either of them had drawn their first breath.
Kael stood by the towering war room window, his palm pressed flat against the cold glass. Frost had begun to creep along the edges, delicate as spiderwebs.
"He wants war," Kael said quietly. The words didn't sound dramatic. They sounded like a conclusion.
Ethan folded his arms across his chest. "I've seen men want war," he replied. "Most of them regret it when it arrives."
Kael didn't turn immediately. His reflection stared back at him — silver eyes, cut brow, dried blood dark against his skin.
"I won't regret this."
A small silence settled between them.
"I will give him annihilation."
Ethan exhaled slowly through his nose, the way a man does when trying not to argue with a storm.
"If you retaliate, people will die."
Kael finally looked back at him.
"People are already dying."
That ended that.
For a moment, neither spoke. The torches along the stone walls flickered as a draft slipped through the ancient fortress.
Beneath Kael's skin, his wolf shifted. Restless. Awake. "Blood answers blood," it rumbled.
Normally, Kael would shove the instinct down, lock it behind discipline.
Tonight…
He let it breathe.
"Prepare the scouts," he ordered.
Ethan's jaw tightened. He had expected the command — but expectation never made it easier.
"You're certain."
Kael's gaze gleamed, silver catching firelight.
"I will retaliate with blood."
Ethan studied him for a long second, then gave a single nod. He didn't waste time arguing further. That was why Kael trusted him — Ethan knew the difference between questioning and defiance.
As Ethan turned toward the door, he muttered under his breath, "Let the Moon have mercy on the South."
Kael almost smiled. Almost.