I didn't sleep that night.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the evening in my mind. Damon's kiss. His whispered apology. The way he'd looked at me in the clearing like I was something precious. And then the attack, the blood on his clothes, the way he'd walked away without another word.
We held them off. For now.
Those words echoed in my head long after the last sounds of battle had faded. For now. It meant there would be more. It meant the threat wasn't over. It meant that whatever was coming, we weren't prepared for it.
When dawn finally broke, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, I gave up on sleep. I dressed quickly and stepped outside, needing to see for myself what had happened.
The pack territory was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that comes after violence—hushed, tense, waiting. Warriors moved between huts, their faces grim. Some carried bandages, others sharpened weapons. The smell of blood still hung in the air, coppery and faint.
I found Finn near the healing hut, his arm wrapped in fresh bandages. He looked up when I approached and tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Luna." He nodded respectfully. "You shouldn't be out here. It's not safe."
"I need to know what happened." I sat down beside him on the bench outside the hut. "Please. I'm tired of being kept in the dark."
Finn hesitated, then sighed. "Red Claw scouts. A dozen of them, maybe more. They hit the northern border just after midnight. We drove them back, but..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
"But what?"
"We lost two warriors. Tanner and Birch. They were on patrol when the attack came. Didn't stand a chance."
My heart clenched. I hadn't known them well—I'd barely had time to learn everyone's names—but they were pack. They were mine to protect, and I hadn't even been there.
"Alpha's taking it hard," Finn continued quietly. "Tanner was one of his oldest friends. They grew up together."
I looked toward the Alpha's hut, which stood apart from the others, larger and more imposing. The door was closed, the windows dark. Was Damon in there, grieving alone? Or was he already planning, strategizing, pushing his pain aside for the sake of the pack?
"I should go to him," I murmured, half to myself.
Finn shook his head. "He gave orders not to be disturbed. Said he needed time to think." He paused, then added, "Beta Caleb's with him. They've been in there all night."
Something twisted in my chest at those words—jealousy, maybe, or just the familiar ache of being excluded. Caleb could be with him. Caleb could share his burden. But I, his own mate, was left outside.
I pushed the thought away. This wasn't about me. This was about the pack, about mourning, about preparing for whatever came next.
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked Finn. "For the families? For the wounded?"
Finn's expression softened. "Actually, yes. The healer's overwhelmed. If you could help with the injured..."
I was on my feet before he finished the sentence. "Of course. Show me where."
The healing hut was chaos.
Wounded warriors lay on makeshift beds, their injuries ranging from deep claw marks to broken bones. The pack healer, an older woman named Marta, moved between them with practiced efficiency, but I could see the exhaustion in her eyes.
"Luna." She looked up as I entered, surprise flickering across her face. "You shouldn't be here. This is no place for—"
"I'm here to help." I cut her off before she could finish whatever dismissive comment was coming. "Tell me what to do."
For a moment, she looked like she might argue. Then she nodded, gesturing toward a young warrior with a deep gash in his side. "Clean that wound and bandage it. I'll be with the critical cases."
I set to work, grateful for something to do with my hands. The warrior—his name was Kael, I remembered suddenly—winced as I pressed a cloth to his wound, but he didn't cry out.
"Sorry," I murmured. "I know it hurts."
"S'all right." His voice was strained. "Better than being dead, like Tanner and Birch."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I focused on my work. Cleaning, stitching, bandaging. The movements were familiar—my mother had been a healer in my old pack, and she'd taught me everything she knew before she passed.
As I worked, I listened to the conversations around me. Warriors talking about the attack, about the Red Claw's numbers, about how close they'd come to breaching the border. The mood was grim, but there was something else underneath it—a fierce determination, a refusal to be broken.
"They won't stop," one of the wounded said, his voice low. "You know that, right? Red Claw's been wanting our territory for years. This is just the beginning."
"Then we'll be ready," another replied. "Alpha Damon won't let them take what's ours."
"Damon's strong, but he can't fight a war alone. We need allies. We need—"
The conversation stopped abruptly as the hut's door opened. I looked up, my hands still pressed to Kael's bandages, and felt my heart skip.
Caleb stood in the doorway.
He looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his clothes rumpled and stained with blood. But his gaze found me immediately, and something in his expression shifted. Relief, maybe. Or surprise.
"Luna." His voice was rough. "I didn't expect to find you here."
"Someone needs to help." I finished tying off Kael's bandage and stood, wiping my hands on a cloth. "How is Damon?"
Caleb's jaw tightened. "Grieving. Planning. Refusing to sleep." He paused. "He asked about you."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "He did?"
"Wanted to know if you were safe. I told him you were in your hut, resting." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Guess I was wrong about that."
"I couldn't just sit there doing nothing." I moved toward him, lowering my voice so the others wouldn't hear. "Tell me the truth, Caleb. How bad is it?"
He glanced around, then nodded toward the door. "Walk with me."
Outside, the morning sun had fully risen, but it did nothing to dispel the chill in the air. We walked in silence for a moment, away from the huts, toward the edge of the territory where the trees grew thick and old.
"The Red Claw is better organized than we thought," Caleb finally said. "They hit us in three places at once—distractions, mostly, but it divided our forces. If Damon hadn't been so quick to respond, they might have broken through."
"But they didn't."
"No. But we lost good warriors, and they lost almost no one. They were testing us, Elara. Probing our defenses. Next time, they won't send scouts. They'll send an army."
I stopped walking, turning to face him. "How long do we have?"
"A week. Maybe two. Long enough to prepare, but not long enough to call for help from the other packs." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration I was beginning to recognize. "Damon's talking to the elders now, trying to figure out our next move. He's... he's carrying a lot."
"I know." I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold. "I wish he'd let me help."
Caleb's expression softened. "He will. Eventually. He just... he's not good at letting people in. Never has been. Even when we were kids, he kept everything inside. It's how he survived."
"How did you two meet?" The question came out before I could stop it. "Finn mentioned you grew up together."
A distant look crossed Caleb's face. "Damon's family took me in when I was seven. My parents died in a rogue attack, and I was alone, wandering the forest. Damon's father found me, brought me to the pack. Gave me a home." He paused. "Damon was eight. He hated me at first—didn't want to share his parents, his life. But after a while, we became brothers. Closer than blood."
"And now?" I asked softly.
"Now I'd die for him." Caleb's voice was steady, certain. "And I'd die for you, Elara. You're his mate. That makes you family too."
The words settled over me like a warm blanket. Family. I hadn't felt like I belonged anywhere since I'd come to Shadowfang, but in that moment, standing in the forest with Caleb's steady gaze on me, I felt something shift.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For saying that."
He smiled—that warm, genuine smile that made my heart flutter in ways it shouldn't. "It's the truth."
We stood there for a long moment, the silence comfortable between us. Then a twig snapped somewhere in the distance, and Caleb's head whipped around, his body tensing.
"Did you hear that?"
I listened, holding my breath. At first, nothing. Then—a rustle of leaves, soft and deliberate. Footsteps. Someone was out there.
"Stay behind me," Caleb murmured, already shifting into a protective stance. His muscles coiled, ready to spring.
The footsteps came closer. A figure emerged from between the trees—a woman, small and slight, with dark hair and frightened eyes.
Mira.
She gasped when she saw us, pressing a hand to her chest. "Beta Caleb! Luna! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I was just... I was walking and I heard voices, and I..."
"Mira." I moved toward her, relief flooding through me. "What are you doing out here alone? I told you not to walk by yourself."
Her face paled. "I know, I know, but I couldn't sleep. After the attack, I was so scared, and I thought if I just walked a little, maybe I could calm down..." She trailed off, her eyes darting to the trees behind her. "But I keep feeling like someone's watching me. Even now. Like there are eyes in the shadows."
Caleb was immediately alert. "Did you see anyone?"
"No. Just... just a feeling. Like when you know someone's in the room even though you can't see them." She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry. I'm probably being paranoid."
"We'll get you back to the pack," Caleb said firmly. "And I'm posting guards near your hut from now on. No arguments."
Mira nodded gratefully, and we started walking back toward the territory. But I couldn't shake the unease that had settled over me. If Mira was right—if someone really was watching her—then the threat might be closer than we thought. And it might not just be the Red Claw.
Back at the pack, I watched as Caleb escorted Mira to her hut, speaking quietly with two warriors who would stand guard through the night. Then he turned to me.
"I need to report this to Damon. Will you be okay?"
"I'll be fine." I managed a smile. "Go. Do your duty."
He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes searching my face. Then he nodded and walked away, leaving me alone in the fading light.
I should have gone to my hut. Should have rested, prepared for whatever was coming. But instead, I found myself walking toward the Alpha's hut, my feet carrying me before my mind could catch up.
The door was closed, but I could hear voices inside—Damon's deep rumble, Caleb's quieter tones. I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated.
He said not to be disturbed, I reminded myself. He's planning, grieving. He doesn't need me right now.
But as I stood there, hand frozen in the air, the door suddenly swung open.
Damon stood before me, his eyes red-rimmed, his face haggard. For a moment, he just stared at me, surprise flickering across his features. Then something shifted in his expression—something raw and vulnerable that made my heart ache.
"Elara." His voice was rough. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you." The words came out before I could stop them. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."
He stared at me for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out, took my hand, and pulled me inside.
The door closed behind us, and I found myself in the dim interior of his hut—no, our hut, though I'd never thought of it that way. Maps and papers covered the table, marked with strategies and plans. A half-eaten meal sat untouched in the corner.
"I'm not okay," Damon said quietly, still holding my hand. "I'm tired. I'm angry. I'm grieving. And I don't know how to protect everyone."
I squeezed his fingers. "You don't have to do it alone."
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and for the first time since our wedding night, I saw the man beneath the Alpha. The man who was scared and lost and desperate.
"I know," he whispered. "I'm starting to realize that."
And in that moment, with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the shadows closing in around us, I made a silent promise to myself.
I would help him. I would stand by him. I would be the Luna he needed, the mate he deserved.
But as he pulled me into his arms and held me tight, I couldn't shake the feeling that there were other promises waiting to be made—promises that had nothing to do with duty, and everything to do with the way my heart raced whenever I thought of a certain pair of summer-blue eyes.
Outside, the moon began to rise, cold and distant, and somewhere in the darkness, a wolf howled.
It was a warning.
And none of us were ready for what was coming.