South Territory
If the North was forged for raw survival, the South was crafted to lure and ensnare.
Vast woodland valleys stretched out like a whispered promise, cloaked in a soft, ethereal mist that softened the edges of the world. Towering trees reached skyward, their branches interlocking in intricate patterns reminiscent of ancient cathedral arches. Even in the depths of winter, the earth pulsed with a subtle vitality—leaves rustling faintly, as if sharing secrets with the wind.
It was Beautiful.
And beauty, Kael had often thought, was the deadliest mask a predator could wear.
Nestled at the territory's core rose a grand estate of sleek black stone fused with shimmering glass—elegant yet unyielding, a testament to refined power. Warm light poured from its expansive windows, casting inviting glows into the night.
Inside, Alpha Cane Thorne dropped a cube of ice into a crystal tumbler.
It cracked with a delicate snap, like a secret breaking free.
He poured a stream of golden liquor over it, watching the liquid swirl and settle, but he didn't sip. Instead, he tilted the glass gently, savoring the soft, melodic chime of ice kissing crystal.
A refined echo of violence.
"You look pleased." The words drifted from the chaise lounge by the crackling fire. Cane glanced up.
Valeria Thorne—his mother—lounged with impeccable grace, a cashmere shawl draped artfully over her shoulders. Silver threads wove through her dark hair, a mark of time's gentle passage, yet her aura remained as commanding as ever, sharp and unmoving.
Cane permitted a subtle smile to curve his lips. It was a rare thing, edged like a knife.
"I sent him a message."
"So I've heard." She eyed him over the rim of her own glass, her gaze steady and knowing. "You crossed the river."
"I improved the border."
Her mouth quirked in amusement, despite her efforts to hide it.
"You killed three wolves."
"They were soldiers."
"I heard you spared one."
Cane's eyes flickered with a quiet gleam.
"Fear spreads quickest on living legs."
Valeria observed him intently—this son of hers, born under the ominous glow of a blood moon. The midwives still spoke of it in hushed tones: a silent babe, eyes wide and watchful, no wail to announce his arrival.
Even as an infant, he'd stirred unease in those around him.
"What has Kael ever done," she murmured, her voice soft as silk over steel, "to inspire such deep-seated hatred in you?"
Cane's face hardened instantly, the warmth vanishing like smoke.
"What he stands for is reason enough."
The North Pack.
Brutal. Direct. Proud of it.
A lineage that claimed dominion through sheer force, where the crown went to the one with the heaviest hand to smash rivals.
While Cane governed with cunning precision and calculated moves...
Kael dominated with overwhelming force.
Two visions of power that could never coexist in the same realm.
Cane eased back into his chair, his tone even and assured. "I will crush him." There was no heat in the statement, no grand performance—just the quiet weight of certainty.
"He's predictable," Cane went on. "Driven by emotion. So easily riled."
Valeria's eyes narrowed, a spark of caution in them.
"Don't underestimate him as merely straightforward."
"I don't," Cane assured her. "I simply know how he will react. He's way too predictable."
He paused, letting the silence thicken for a moment before adding,
"He'll strike back. Tonight, perhaps."
Valeria set her glass down slowly. "You want him angry."
"I want him reckless." Because reckless kings always make fatal mistakes.
Outside, a restless wind wove through the towering trees, their branches murmuring secrets in the gathering dusk.
Cane's wolf stirred deep within him, a lazy rumble of contentment.
Satisfied.
For now.