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Rain hammered against the canvas walls of the war tent, a steady downpour that turned the camp’s walkways to sludge and drowned out most other noise. Inside, torches flickered against the damp air, creating shadows across the maps strewn across the main table.
Alpha Collin stood at the center, jaw clenched, eyes scanning a blood–marked sketch of their recent skirmishes. His cloak was still damp from carlier rounds through the outposts, but he barely felt the cold anymore. The smell of wet leather and iron clung to everything.
A scout knelt in front of him, mud smeared up his arms and across the side of his face.
“Two more were found near the southern ridge,” the scout reported. “Same wounds. Neck punctured. Blackened veins. We’ve confirmed it, it’s poison.”
Collin’s fist slammed into the edge of the table, rattling the ink pot and toppling a small wooden marker off the map.
“Then use poison against poison,” he growled. “If those bastards want to fight dirty, we’ll match it. Dip every blade in venom. I want them to feel it with every cut.”
The scout nodded quickly and began to rise.
“Wait,” Collin snapped. “What about Cassian’s men? Status?”
“All accounted for, sir,” the scout replied, hesitation flickering in his voice. “No deaths. Not even serious injuries, according to the medics.”
Collin’s brows drew down hard.
“Not one?”
“No, Alpha. They’re saying Lord Cassian’s people managed to hold the eastern line without losses.”
A muscle ticked in Collin’s jaw. He leaned over the table and stared at the map like it had wronged him personally. Something didn’t add up.
“Where’s William?”
The scout swallowed. “Patrol, sir. Near the west wing of the mansion. He took it himself last night.”
“Send someone to get him. Now.”
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Chapter 25
The scout bolted out of the tent.
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Collin straightened and turned toward the man sitting at the edge of the room–Renan, one of his oldest and most trusted warriors. A heavy scar ran from his temple to his collarbone, a souvenir from a battle years ago. Though he no longer fought on the front lines, his eyes missed nothing.
Renan shifted slightly in his seat. “We may have underestimated Physician Mendez,” he said calmly, hands resting over his knee. “The wound treatment last night, his methods were beyond standard protocol. I’ve only ever seen that kind of recovery speed from poisons.”
Collin didn’t answer right away.
“There were rumors,” Renan continued. “Back when he still served the royal court. Some said he worked closely with the fae and witches. Some say he tortured witches to gain their secret prescriptions, others say he was one of the few humans who could survive their rituals. Most dismissed it as legend. I thought so too… until now.”
Collin sneered. “Legend or not, it’s just luck. His people travel constantly. Of course, they’ve come across rare poisons. Familiarity isn’t power, it’s just timing. Timing and luck.”
Still, he didn’t sound as sure as he wanted to be. He looked down at the map again, fingers drumming the edge.
“So why now?” he muttered. “Why would the Demon Fangs attack again so soon? They already struck once, caused a stir, then vanished. Are they testing Cassian’s strength? Do they truly want us… dead?”
Renan’s eyes narrowed. “Could be. Or they’re looking for something.”
Collin shook his head, but the unease remained. If Cassian hadn’t taken a single casualty, and Mendez was treating wounds with near–miraculous results, then someone was lying or worse, someone was ahead of him.
And Alpha Collin Rosenthal didn’t like being behind.
“Either way, we need a way to know how they healed the poisoned ones. It is not just a matter of physical strength. We are all werewolves. We have trained and bled. And yet, somehow, his people were able to live after the first night while ours…” Alpha Collin didn’t want to think about the number of casualties that the Nightfall pack had the other night.
“Then perhaps a letter to the King will suffice,” Renan smiled. “I believe it is time that we use what we have to our advantage and ask the King for more soldiers. A third of Cassian’s men is simply not enough to help us out during the war.”
Collin frowned. Originally, he had planned to use Atasha’s death to ask for more soldiers, but
11:07 Wed, Sep 10
Chapter 25
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it seems that Cassian somehow predicted this move and saved his bride. This time, he nodded and, together with Renan, left the tents. It didn’t take too long for him to arrive at the mansion, where he quickly went to his study.
Collin shrugged off his soaked coat and hung it on the iron hook by the door, steam rising faintly from the damp fabric. The room was dim, lit only by a single lantern on the desk and the dying embers in the fireplace.
He strode toward his chair, already rehearsing the phrasing for the letter he would send to the King, one that would demand reinforcements under the guise of concern for the kingdom’s security, while subtly painting Cassian as a rising threat. But the moment he reached for the drawer to retrieve parchment, his gaze shifted, then froze.
The paperweight.
That pyramid–shaped hunk of silver and stone that had sat untouched for years, its edges polished from time but never moved from its spot… it was crooked.
Collin narrowed his eyes.
He reached for it, fingers closing around the base, and slowly lifted it to his nose.
No scent.
None.
It was impossible. Even the most careful servant left behind a trace. A brush of fabric, the faintest imprint of skin oil, a single disrupted particle, something. Especially in this room, where only a few were ever allowed to enter.
But there was no scent.
Nothing… except-
He inhaled again, slower this time.
Ink.
A sharp, iron–tinged tang that didn’t belong to the fresh stack of sealed letters on the side or to his personal inkpot, which hadn’t been opened since the morning.
His lips curled back, not quite in a snarl but close.
Renan, who had been standing quietly by the door, shifted forward. “Alpha?”
Collin turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing. “Someone was in this room.”
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Chapter 25
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11:07 Wed, Sep 10
