The first scream came just after midnight.
Aria jolted upright, heart hammering, one hand instantly over her belly. Across the room, Zara was already on her feet, blade in hand, eyes blazing with that deadly calm.
Another scream followed—closer this time. Then a howl. Sharp. Frenzied.
Not a pack wolf.
Aria’s blood went cold.
“Rogues,” Zara hissed. “They’ve broken the perimeter.”
Aria grabbed her coat and boots, tugging them on as Zara threw open the cabin door. Outside, chaos bled into the forest clearing. Fires flickered in the distance. Warriors shouted orders. Smoke drifted through the trees like warning.
Zara turned to her, voice clipped. “Stay inside. Lock the door. I’ll—”
“No.”
Zara blinked. “Aria—”
“I’m not hiding,” Aria said, storm-gray eyes hard. “Not anymore.”
A low growl rippled from the trees beyond.
Then, a shape emerged.
Larger than a man. Feral. All twisted muscle and rage, eyes glowing with madness.
The rogue didn’t wait.
He lunged.
Zara moved faster—stepping in front of Aria and launching a dagger midair. It embedded cleanly in the beast’s throat, dropping him in a heap of fur and blood at the steps of the cabin.
Aria didn’t flinch.
More howls echoed through the trees—closer now. Dozens.
Zara turned to her. “Get to the healer’s hut. It’s reinforced. Windowless. Go. Now.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“You won’t be,” Zara said. “You’ll be protecting something far more important.”
Aria hesitated for only a second.
Then she ran.
The healer’s hut sat at the base of the ridge, half-buried in the hillside, its door sealed with old wards and a thick iron latch. Maela stood at the entrance, ushering in mothers, pups, and elders.
When she saw Aria, her brows shot up. “You should be in the council chamber—”
“No,” Aria said. “This is where I need to be.”
She entered the hut, heart still racing. The space was small, but solid. Reinforced with stone and spell. It wasn’t comfortable—but it was safe.
Inside, the children whimpered.
Aria knelt, her voice calm. “Shh. It’s okay. We’re together.”
A small boy—no older than four—crawled into her lap. She held him tight, her other hand curled protectively around her unborn child.
Outside, the night screamed.
Zara was fire in motion.
She moved through the trees like smoke, twin daggers flashing. She took down three rogues before they even saw her coming—then melted into the dark before the next wave arrived.
SilverCrest warriors fought in a defensive arc, holding the northern line. But the rogues kept coming.
They weren’t just wild.
They were organized.
Zara ducked behind a fallen log, heart pounding, blood on her sleeve. Something was wrong.
This wasn’t a random attack.
It was a message.
Back in the healer’s hut, Aria paced like a caged wolf.
Children whimpered in corners. One of the younger mothers had a deep slash across her leg, and Maela worked furiously to stop the bleeding.
Aria couldn’t sit still.
Not when the tether inside her burned with warning.
Kael.
Not near, but aware.
Somewhere, he was feeling it. The danger. The pull. The fear.
Maybe even the guilt.
She didn’t care.
He wasn’t here.
She was.
And SilverCrest was hers to protect now.
The pounding on the door came fast—hard knuckles, frantic voices.
“Rogues breached the east wall!”
Maela froze.
Aria moved.
She threw the latch and opened the door to two warriors—barely standing, both bloodied.
“They’re coming for the inner den,” one gasped. “This hut’s not safe anymore.”
Aria turned to Maela. “Move the injured to the cellar. Now.”
“And the others?”
“I’ll stall them.”
The healer’s eyes widened. “You’re pregnant—”
“I’m also angry.”
Outside, flames had reached the edge of the eastern grove. Smoke thickened the air, and howls rang louder with each heartbeat.
Aria stood in the clearing, hair whipping in the wind, sword in hand.
She heard them coming before she saw them—two rogues, slick with blood and madness, charging from opposite ends of the glade.
She didn’t hesitate.
She ducked the first and rolled, driving her blade up into the beast’s ribs. It howled and twisted, but she wrenched the blade free and turned in time to catch the second with a wild slash that tore across its flank.
It staggered, then lunged again.
But Aria didn’t retreat.
She roared back.
And behind her, warriors who had been falling back stopped in their tracks.
They watched her fight.
Watched her rise.
Not just a woman. Not just a mother.
But a Luna.
Their Luna.
Zara arrived just in time to see the final rogue fall.
Aria stood in the clearing, blood on her blade, breath heaving, moonlight turning her silver.
Zara’s voice was hoarse. “Well, damn.”
Aria turned. “That all of them?”
“For now.”
Warriors began to emerge from the trees. Not rushing. Not panicked.
Calm. Controlled.
Because she had turned the tide.
And they knew it.
Later, after the fires had been doused and the dead counted, Thorn approached her in the center of the clearing.
He said nothing.
Just looked at her for a long moment.
Then: “You’re not provisional anymore.”
Aria met his gaze.
“I never was.”
