Duskmoon Village was in a festive mood.
Angus had ordered that there be a celebration to commorate their victory, and the village answered with excess. Fires burned bright in the open squares, their flas licking high into the night, casting dancing shadows across the ground.
Laughter rang out in bursts, loud and unrestrained, with so witches performing complicated party tricks to the delight of the crowd.
Long tables groaned under the weight of food, barrels were cracked open without care, and the scent of roasted at mixed with spilled alcohol saturated the air. It wasn’t every day they got to celebrate like this, and they made sure to indulge in every part of it.
With the music pulsing through the air and carried across several hectares with the help of the witches’ magic, wolves moved in packs, their bodies loose, instincts unrestrained, feeding off the high of victory. So of them made their pick, disappearing into darker corners where the celebration took on a more private form, evidenced by loud groans and moans.
Tonight, no one held back.
But the celebration had an edge to it. Victory had co at a cost, and not everyone who had left for that battle had returned. So they drank until they forgot the pain, choosing to hold on to the good mories instead.
However, while the majority were in high spirits, the sa couldn’t be said for Angus’s inner circle. Away from the fires and the frenzy, within Angus’s palace, the mood was heavy with tension as they remained locked in a eting.
Angus sat at the headtable.
"Report."
The word fell from his lips without force, yet it struck harder than any raised voice.
Jas rose at once, though not without clearing his throat first, a small betrayal of the tension threading through him.
He said outloud, "On Elijah’s side, we estimate forty-two confird kills. That number remains uncertain as several bodies were retrieved during their retreat, and others may yet die from sustained injuries."
He continued, "We have sixteen captives with us, Roman Draven and Aeron Hale among them. Two additional sub-alphas from the South and North packs, alongside several lower-ranked wolves."
The information settled across the table, each figure finding its place like pieces in a grim equation.
Angus leaned forward then, placing both hands against the table. The movent was unhurried, almost languid, yet it drew every eye back to him. "And ours?"
Jas did not answer imdiately. His gaze flickered toward Jericho in a brief exchange that carried the weight of shared understanding. They knew where this was headed.
Even Ziva, who had positioned herself at the edge of the table with her usual careless poise, remained still, her silence more telling than any interruption she might have made.
When Jas spoke again, his voice wasn’t as confident. "We lost one hundred and twenty-eight, the majority being witches."
He said it as though it was so relief that it wasn’t their wolves instead. Ziva felt a tick in her jaw, her fists clenching at her sides.
Jas continued, "The highest number of casualties were inflicted by Griffin Hale and Micah Richmond."
At the ntion of his son, Angus’s expression darkened. To think the son who was supposed to stand by his side had dealt the most damage.
"We also lost General Samus," Jas added.
Their gazes drifted toward the empty chair among them. Though none lingered for long, the weight of his absence pressed heavily on the room.
The silence that followed was even more suffocating than before, especially as Angus’s gaze swept across each of them.
"Tell then, is that a win," he asked, each word asured with care, "or a loss?"
The answer was obvious. They had suffered the greater losses. In fact, were it not for their numbers, Elijah’s side would likely have won. But no one wanted to be the one to say it. They were not stupid.
But the silence only irked Angus. His hand ca down against the table with sudden force, the crack reverberating through the chamber like thunder striking stone.
"Answer !"
They slightly flinched, even though they tried not to show it.
Ziva spoke imdiately, seizing the mont. "They’re hiding in Lunaris Academy. If you give permission, I’ll take a small team this ti. Not only will I bring Elijah back, I’ll deliver the destruction you seek."
Angus turned to her.
"Are you stupid?"
The words struck harder than any blow.
Ziva went still, rendered speechless. She swallowed, heat rising to her face at being called stupid in front of everyone. Though the generals kept their expressions carefully neutral, she could feel the quiet satisfaction, and disdain they barely bothered to hide. They had never liked her.
Angus’s lip curled. "If I wipe out all the wolves, who exactly is left to serve ?"
Realization dawned on Ziva, but she pushed forward anyway. "You don’t need them, Father. You already have enough forces here. In fact, it would benefit you to get rid of those old wolves and build with a new generation, one that would be far more loyal to you."
Except that did not impress him at all.
"I’m surrounded by idiots," Angus muttered under his breath.
What aning was there in ruling over wolves who had not seen him at the peak of his glory?
The older wolves rembered him. They had seen him rise, seen him fall, seen what he was capable of. Their obedience ant sothing to him. He wanted to see the look on their faces when they bowed their heads to him once again.
But these new ones? They were little more than children pretending at war—unproven, soft, and easily molded. Useless.
"Your Majesty is right on that matter. We cannot afford more deaths, not with the zombie virus on the rise." Jericho spoke up.
One look at Ziva’s face said it all—pure rage, raw and unhidden. The marks etched across her skin only made it worse. She might have accepted her father’s punishnt, but that didn’t an she had forgiven the one who inflicted it.
"There’s still the zombie virus spreading," Jericho continued. "We need as many forces as possible."
"So what’s your point?" Ziva sneered, her patience thinning. She failed to see what his rambling was about.
Jericho didn’t hesitate.
"We need Violet Purple."
Ziva lost it.
"Do you even hear yourself?" she snapped, her voice rising. "What can Violet Purple possibly do? And more importantly, she’s not even on Father’s side. Or is this your ploy to sabotage him?"
"Shut up right now, before I have your mouth sewed," Angus cut in, his voice sharp, and eyes blazing. "Don’t tempt ."
Ziva fell silent instantly. She knew better.
Angus never made empty threats.
But her glare shifted to Jericho, burning with open hostility, a hundred violent thoughts flashing through her mind all at once.
Angus focused his attention on his beta. "What is your point?"
Jericho t his gaze. "Your daughter is powerful, and if we have her on our side, that would solve all our problems."
"Except you forget the part where she won’t join ," Angus reminded him.
"The attack today already reminded them of what we’re capable of, and what will happen if we continue this fight. We already have Roman Draven, Violet’s mate. That should be enough to convince her to make Elijah choose the right path."
"Unfortunately, we still don’t know Violet’s whereabouts," Jas added.
While they spoke, an idea struck Ziva.
"I can do it."
Angus’s eyes flashed. "Do what?" His patience with her was already wearing thin.
Ziva caught the irritation in her father’s gaze and felt it cut deep, but she pushed past it. "I can draw Violet out of wherever she’s hiding."
Angus lifted a brow. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
Ziva’s lips curved into a fiendish smile. "I’ll send her a ssage she can’t ignore through her mate. If Roman is as important to her as we think, she’ll co running back to the human realm."
"I don’t know about this," Jas said, uncertainty threading through his voice. "Isn’t provoking Violet a little extre? We all know how powerful she is, and we want her on our side, not trying to kill us."
Ziva waved him off, her confidence unwavering. "That’s why we’ll make the appropriate arrangents. No matter how powerful Violet is, she’s still one person against a hundred witches. And we have her mate. She’ll be careful around us if she doesn’t want him to die."
Ziva sounded almost pleased with herself. If her father approved of this, she would finally have the chance to settle her score with Violet—though it would be Roman who bore the brunt of her frustration.
Angus rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before speaking. "Do what you must, but don’t overdo it."
"I won’t, Father," Ziva replied, the lie slipping easily past her lips.
Angus continued, his voice turning colder. "And consult with the witches. Find a way for to control Violet. If she won’t help willingly, then she will have no choice but to serve ."
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