Chapter 69

Far beyond the safety of the Shadow Pack, in the dark and lawless territories of the rogues, the rumors had reached the ears of their king. He sat in a dimly lit chamber, his massive frame casting a shadow over the trembling wolf who delivered the news.

“The Rising Moon Bloodline,” he murmured, his voice low and menacing.

“I never thought I’d hear of it again.”

The wolf before him bowed deeply, his voice shaking. “The Shadow Pack claims to have manifested it, my king. They flaunt it as if daring us to act.”

The Rogue King leaned back in his chair, a cruel smile spreading across his scarred face. “Then let’s give them the war they’re asking for. Assemble the packs. We move at dawn.”

The room erupted with howls of agreement, the rogues‘ bloodlust ignited by the promise of battle.

As the moon rose high above the Shadow Pack territory, Amelia stood on the balcony of the packhouse, gazing out at the forest. The cool breeze carried the faint scents of her packmates, a reminder of the lives she had vowed to protect.

Logan joined her, his presence steadying her restless thoughts. He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “There’s too much on my mind. The Rising Moon Bloodline, the rogues, Aunt Camille… it’s all happening so fast.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder, his voice a soothing rumble. “We’ll face it together. Whatever comes, we’ll be ready.”

Amelia leaned into him, her resolve hardening. “Let them come. This time, I won’t hide like a weak child in the past.”

The air was thick with anticipation, the full moon high above casting a silver glow over the Shadow Pack territory. It was a night celebration–one that was meant to mark the culmination of the Rising Moon Bloodline finally coming into its power, a victory that would silence all doubts about their strength. The warriors, their muscles rippling under the light of the moon, gathered around the fire as songs of old were sung, and the pack shared the warmth of their unity.

But Amelia, standing on the balcony with Logan, knew that this celebration wasn’t simply a night of revelry. It was a carefully laid trap.

“We’re ready.” Logan murmured, his voice low, his eyes scanning the faces of their packmates below. He turned to Amelia, his expression as stoic as ever, yet there was a fire in his eyes. “When they come, they won’t know what hit them.”

Amelia nodded, her fingers tightening around the edge of the railing as she watched the festivities unfold. She could hear the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the crackling of the fire–everything that spoke of peace and camaraderie. But beneath that surface, a tension simmered. They had worked too hard to let the rogues destroy what they had built.

“They think they’re going to take what belongs to them,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing as her wolf stirred restlessly inside her. “But they’ll regret ever coming here.”

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in his eyes. “We won’t give them the satisfaction.”

The sounds of celebration continued, but in the shadows of the trees, just beyond the clearing where the pack had gathered, the rogues were silently advancing. They had infiltrated the territory, moving like ghosts. in the night, unaware that they were walking directly into a trap.

Amelia’s sharp senses caught the faintest rustle in the woods–a whisper of movement, the softest shift in the wind. She turned to Logan, her gaze locking with his. He knew. The rogues were close. Suddenly, a cry echoed through the night, a high–pitched scream that pierced the revelry.

“Attack!”