Echoes Of War

CHAPTER XIX| THE STRANGER'S CLAIM

Lunis feels her chest tighten with every step.

The forest is quiet—too quiet—its usual symphony reduced to little more than the whisper of wind through the needles. Even the birds seem to be holding their breath. At her side, Blaze walks close enough that his pelt brushes hers in soft, fleeting touches. Each one is gentle, steady… a silent I’m here, anchoring her fraying nerves.

But the comfort can't quite chase away the tension threading the air like frost.

Ahead of them, Rodwen moves with a rigid purpose. His stride is firm, but his body betrays him—muscles coiled, fur spiked along his spine, shoulders tight. Every few heartbeats, a low growl vibrates from his chest, deep and restless, as if he’s barely containing something sharp beneath the surface.

Lunis swallows hard, her paws thrumming unevenly against the earth. She can feel it too. The shift in the air. The heaviness pooling around them like a gathering storm.

The path narrows, the trees crowding them with their looming shadows. Lunis’ heartbeat quickens, her breaths growing shallow. She meets Blaze’s eyes briefly, the silent understanding passing between them like a spark.

Rodwen pauses at the top of a slope, head lifting, nostrils flaring.

And then—

His fur bristles to its fullest, hackles rising like a wolf twice his size.

“Stay close,” he growls, his voice a dark rumble that makes Lunis’ pulse stutter.

Because beneath the scent of pine, cold stone, and damp earth…

Another scent hits the air. Craning her head, Lunis freezes.

Shapes—familiar silhouettes she would know anywhere—loom around the clearing. Her pack mates stand rigid, ears speared forward, pelts bristling with unease. Their eyes flick across the river with a frantic sharpness that sets her pulse blazing.

A few tails ahead, the river glints under the starlight, deceptively calm. Its surface ripples in soft, silver strokes—so unlike the savage, roaring maelstrom that nearly claimed her life just beyond the bend.

But it isn’t the water that snags her breath in her throat.

No.

It’s what waits on the opposite bank.

Wolves.

Dozens of them.

Their shapes shift in and out of the shadows—dark forms draped in night, their gazes cutting across the river like blades. Broad shoulders. Lean frames. Eyes that glint with a hunger she doesn’t recognize, cold and assessing, as though they aren’t looking at a pack of equals…

…but at prey.

A chill slithers down Lunis’ spine, cold as the river that swallowed her. These wolves do not inch closer, nor do they howl or speak; they simply stand, watching, a silent wall of muscle and intent. Their stillness is worse than any growl—predatory, deliberate, waiting.

Lunis’ breath stutters.

This is them.

The wolves from Kailani’s warning.

The threat she felt creeping at the edges of every vision.

And now, under the stars’ faint glow, they’ve finally stepped out of the shadows.

Joining her pack mates, Lunis feels the air shift—thick, heavy, pulsing with unease. Whispers ripple through the gathered wolves like wind through brittle leaves. Some murmur in sharp, angry breaths. Others hush in trembling concern. Ears flick, tails lash, paws fidget against the ground.