Chapter 82

“Prepare the wolves,” I commanded, my voice cold, unyielding.

“We’re moving soon. Talon Pack thinks they’re ready, but they have no idea what’s coming for them. They’re about to face the reality they’ve ignored for too long.”

Tyrell nodded, his expression fierce, and moved to relay my orders to the others. As he disappeared into the shadows, I turned my gaze back to the distant line of trees, to the territory that had once been mine.

This was more than just a battle. It was retribution, a reckoning for the years I’d spent in exile, for the loyalty that had been wasted on a pack too blind to see their own weakness. Talon Pack would fall, and I would be the one to bring them to their knees.

And when the dust settled, when the wolves who followed me stood victorious, I would be the one to reshape Talon Pack, to lead them into a future defined by strength, by power. No more illusions of loyalty, no more weakness disguised as unity.

Only strength. Only dominance. Only me.

A tense quiet had settled over the compound in the days since our intensified training began. Even the younger wolves, usually quick to laugh and chatter, had grown serious, their focus unbroken as they went through the relentless drills Dante and I had set for them. Every member of Talon Pack seemed to sense it—the ominous weight of something lurking just beyond the borders, waiting for the right moment to strike.