The North and South packs didn't just dislike each other. That would've been too simple. They inherited hatred the way other clans inherited land or names—passed down, polished, and guarded like a sacred relic. Borders shifted. Leaders died. The rage stayed put.
Pups learned the enemy's name before they learned what forgiveness even was. Long before mercy had a definition, it already had an expiration date.
At night, elders gathered the young around firepits that crackled and spat like they knew the stories too. Voices dropped low, not because the tales were secret, but because they deserved respect. Flames threw dancing shadows over wide eyes as legends were retold: villages burned until nothing remained but blackened stone and regret; alliances snapping like brittle bones; an Alpha slaughtered beneath the polite smiles of a so-called peace meeting. (Turns out "truce" is a very flexible word when daggers are involved.)
No one remembered who struck first. Ask enough times and you'd get enough answers to start a whole new war. What mattered wasn't the beginning—it was the wound that never closed. A scar so old it felt permanent, so raw it still bled when pressed.
As years dragged on, the feud grew… refined. Less roaring battles. More whispers. More creativity.
Supply routes mysteriously spoiled overnight. Patrols vanished into the dark, leaving behind only footprints and unanswered questions. Tunnels collapsed at exactly the wrong moment. Deaths labeled tragic accidents by those who had taken the time to plan them. Every move was calculated—too small to ignite open war, too cruel to ever forgive.
Graves filled quietly on both sides. Names were etched. Vows were renewed.
And the hatred—patient, clever, and very much alive—sank deeper into the land itself, twisting through the soil like ancient roots, impossible to dig out without tearing everything else apart.
********
The Retaliation
Kael moved before dawn had the decency to wake up.
No banners snapping in the wind. No speeches meant to stir hearts or scare enemies. No army pounding the earth in a show of strength. Just twelve of his deadliest wolves—muscle, instinct, and violence wrapped in fur and bone.
These were not men who wasted words. Silence was their native tongue, and they spoke it fluently. Every step they took sank softly into the frost-bitten ground, the fresh snow crunching just enough to remind the world they were real… and coming.
They were nearly at the outer gates when Ethan stepped in front of Kael, planting himself like a stubborn wall that refused to be ignored. Urgency carved deep lines into his expression.
"If this goes wrong—"
"It already has."
The words cut clean and final.
Ethan's grip closed around Kael's forearm, iron-tight, desperate. "You're walking straight into his trap."
Kael's smile came fast and sharp, all teeth and promise. The kind of smile that made wiser men take a step back and reconsider their life choices.
"Good."
His wolf surged beneath his skin, electric and eager, a wild thrill roaring through his veins. "Then he gets a front-row seat to what happens next."
For a long heartbeat, Ethan held his Alpha's gaze, searching for doubt and finding none. Finally, he let go.
"Come back alive, Alpha," he said quietly, the weight of a thousand unsaid fears hanging in his voice.
Kael didn't answer.
He shifted.
Bone and muscle snapped and reformed in a blur of raw power, fur tearing through flesh as the wolf took over. Then he launched forward, speed and fury made real.
By the time dusk bled into full night, the southern borders were already behind them.
They didn't bother hiding their approach. This wasn't a whisper in the dark or a coward's knife in the back. This was a message—loud, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
The first howl ripped through the forest, sharp and commanding, slicing the air like a drawn blade.
But of course, Cane was already waiting.