The first howl tore through the woods like a blade.
Natasha had heard hundreds of howls in her life—mating calls, grief songs, formal chants—but this one struck something deep in her chest. It wasn't a call. It was a warning.
She dropped the training knife from her hand just as Gareth emerged on the hill, his black coat gleaming under the moon. His wolf eyes glowed.
"They're here," he growled.
She didn't ask who.
Because her body already knew. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The trees stilled. Even the lake seemed to shrink.
Then came the second howl—higher, sharper, edged in rage.
"Rogues," she whispered.
Mooncrest's bells rang out, booming across the valley. Warriors raced from huts and training pits. Children were led into safehouses. The smell of adrenaline filled the air.
Natasha turned to Gareth, her voice hard. "Where do you need me?"
His eyes flicked down to her stomach, protective reflex flashing—but she was already shifting before he could answer.
Her golden fur shimmered under the blood moon as her body twisted, bones snapping, fur bursting along her spine. The transformation felt right. Her wolf rose, ready to kill.
Gareth shifted beside her, a sleek ghost of death.
The two wolves jumped down the slope, heading toward the confusion below.
By the time they reached the edge of the town, the fight had exploded like flames. Rogues—at least twenty of them—snarled and lunged through the border barriers, tearing at anything that moved. They were wild, starved, their fur matted with dried blood and eyes crazed by the moon's pull.
Natasha didn't pause.
She connected with the first rogue head-on, jaws locking around his throat. The impact sent them falling through the grass, a blur of gold and gray. She bit down harder until his body went limp.
Another rogue lunged.
Gareth halted, slamming his body into the attacker's shoulder with such force that the bones cracked. They fought in perfect tandem—claws, fangs, instinct.
Natasha jumped atop a log and scanned the area.
There, near the east tower, two young fighters were trapped, their backs against the wall.
Without thinking, she ran, her paws thudding against packed dirt. She connected with one rogue midair, spun, and clawed another's face until he screamed and fled. The boys ran past her, one limping, the other bleeding but alive.
She turned.
A rogue barreled toward her blind side.
Before she could respond, Gareth took the hit.
He slammed into her, pushing her out of the way, but the rogue's claws raked his side. Blood sprayed the ground.
Gareth growled, spun, and ripped the rogue's throat open.
Natasha shifted back, gasping, blood dripping down her neck.
"Are you okay?" she breathed.
Gareth, still crouched, grimaced. "It's a scratch."
She reached for his arm. "You saved—"
He caught her gaze. "Don't thank me until we survive."
Another howl pierced the air, closer.
Natasha's head snapped toward the northern hill.
Her heart skipped.
It wasn't a rogue.
It was him.
Jude.
The earth shook.
Wolves split as Jude tore through the tree line like a force of nature. His black fur glistened in the moonlight, his eyes sparkling with wild rage. He changed mid-leap, landing in his human form with blood already dripping from his claws.
He didn't stop moving.
The moment his eyes locked on Natasha—her golden hair soaked, her chest heaving, a rogue stalking behind her—he moved faster than thought.
"Get down!" he yelled.
She ducked.
Jude flung himself at the rogue, his body a black blur. The rogue didn't even have time to snarl before Jude's claws tore through his chest. Blood burst into the air as the body slumped.
Jude turned, chest rising and falling, his entire being locked on Natasha.
She shifted back, bare and panting. "What are you doing here?"
His eyes were wild. "I smelled your fear from miles away. I—I couldn't stay away."
Another rogue appeared—Jude didn't even look. He backhanded the beast mid-lunge, claws raking, and the rogue flew into a tree.
"I'm not here to argue," Jude growled. "I'm here to protect what's mine."
Gareth stumbled into view, still bleeding, eyes narrowing. "You're late."
"I'm not leaving," Jude said.
"Then fight," Natasha snapped.
No more questions.
No more past.
Only war.
And the mate bond burned between them like lightning in their bones.
The battle shifted when they moved together.
Natasha shifted mid-stride, her golden wolf lunging into a rogue that had pinned a Mooncrest fighter. Jude followed without direction, his black fur slamming into another attacker. They didn't talk. Didn't signal. Their dogs were synced—mated. And that magic rushed through every slash and snap.
One rogue circled them, careful, knowing now that these were not regular wolves.
Jude and Natasha marked as one. Eyes locked. Then—attack.
She went high. He went low.
She tore at her face. He shredded the stomach. The rogue didn't even hit the ground before he was dead.
Mooncrest wolves began to gather around them, confidence rising.
With every howl, every growl, Natasha's pulse synced with Jude's. Her wolf didn't just fight beside his—it danced.
A bright flash to the left. A black line to the right. Two alphas, teeth bared, blood-soaked, beautiful in their rage.
A scream—one of the young nurses.
Natasha broke order.
Jude followed.
Together, they reached the girl just as two rogues converged. Jude slammed into one, and Natasha bowled over the other. Blood sprayed. The doctor fled.
They didn't talk.
But in that moment, anger and purpose and defense united—they were one beast, one will, one tie.
And for the first time since the branding…
She felt him again.
Truly felt him.
Silence settled like ash.
The rogues were dead. The injured were being treated. Mooncrest dogs walked through the remains of the fight, bodies and blood spread across the town.
Natasha stood barefoot on the battlefield, her skin covered with blood and sweat, her eyes wild.
Jude stood a few feet away, chest panting, scratches across his arms, one fang chipped.
Neither of them moved.
Then Jude dropped to his knees.
The Alpha of Ever Green.
On his knees.
Before her.
Her heart stilled.
"I'll die," he said, voice rough and raw, "before I fail you again."
The words fell heavily between them.
"I let them brand you," he said. "I let you walk into exile. I didn't fight when I should have torn the world apart. I broke my bond. My soul. You."
Natasha didn't speak.
Because tears were already falling.
Jude's voice cracked. "But I came back. I bled for you. I fought for you. And now I kneel for you."
His eyes found hers—blue, burning, broken.
"I'm yours," he whispered. "If you want me. If you'll have me. If not, then let me serve until I've earned even that."
Her wolf howled in her chest.
The bond pulsed, alive.
And her belly fluttered.
Their pup.
Their fate.
Her choice.
And under the blood moon, she stepped forward—slow, sure—and reached for him.