He passes me a folded piece of parchment. I recognize the handwriting immediately—Elena’s precise, scientific script. The message is brief but chilling: Ritual blade holds twenty-seven souls. Viktor plans personal absorption at the temple apex. The Northern approach is the weakest. E.
“She’s still finding ways to help us,” I say, pride mixing with fear for her safety.
“At tremendous risk,” Marcus replies, his jaw tightening. “My intelligence officer says Viktor executes anyone suspected of disloyalty. For her to smuggle this out…”
I fold the message carefully, tucking it inside my leather vest where it rests against my heart. “Then we won’t waste her sacrifice.”
Sable steps forward, her red hair seeming to spark with the same intensity as her amber eyes. The wolf alpha’s presence commands attention despite her compact frame. “My scouts report the Dire Wolf contingent is larger than we anticipated,” she says. “Alpha Fenris has committed his entire pack to Viktor’s cause.”
“Because he believes Viktor’s promise of southern territory expansion,” I reply, my mind already calculating the tactical implications. “A promise Viktor won’t keep even if he succeeds. The ritual would grant him dominion over all shifters—wolves included.”
“Fenris is a fool,” Sable growls, her eyes flashing with the predatory intensity of her wolf nature. “But a dangerous one. His wolves number over a hundred.”
Commander Tavis unfurls a detailed map of Black Ridge, his weathered fingers tracing tactical positions. “Based on Elena’s intelligence and our reconnaissance, I propose a three-pronged attack.” His finger traces routes along the parchment. “Aerial assault from Storm Eagles to draw attention from the temple. Ground forces from the north where defenses are weakest. Special units to infiltrate and free prisoners before the ritual can begin.”
“My wolves can handle the infiltration,” Sable offers. “We’re built for stealth.”
“And my bears will lead the assault,” Bran adds, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. The massive bear shifter has said little during our planning sessions, but when he speaks, all listen. “We can break through their defensive lines.”
“What about Viktor himself?” Marcus asks, his tactical mind already seeing the flaw in our plan. “He’s the most powerfulStorm Eagle alive, enhanced by whatever dark magic he’s been channeling.”
“Viktor is mine,” I state simply.
No one challenges this. They understand this is personal—beyond politics, beyond territory. Viktor took Elena. Viktor corrupted the ancient prophecies. Viktor betrayed everything the Storm Eagles stand for in his quest for power.
“We attack in one hour,” I announce. “Commanders, prepare your forces.”
As they disperse, Marcus lingers. His military bearing softens momentarily. “Stormwright… Kael. My sister?—”
“I will find her,” I promise. “Whatever it takes.”
He studies me, measuring my resolve with the same analytical gaze I’ve seen in Elena’s eyes. “She told me once that you two share some kind of bond. That you can… sense each other.”
“The mate bond,” I confirm. “It’s incomplete, but yes. I can feel her presence. Her pain. Her determination.”
His expression shifts, processing this information with scientific skepticism warring against brotherly concern. “Then use it,” he says simply. “Find her. Bring her back.”
“I will,” I promise again, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
After he leaves, I step outside the command tent. The sun now stands fully above the horizon, illuminating our assembled forces—hundreds of fighters from territories that have been enemies for generations, united against a common threat. The sight should be impossible, yet here they stand, preparing to fight together.
I close my eyes, reaching through the bond Elena and I share. Since her capture, I’ve felt her at the edges of my consciousness—a steady presence despite the distance between us. Now I focus intently, pouring all my concentration into the connection,seeking any impression, any clue to her exact location within Viktor’s compound.
A flutter of awareness answers me—faint but unmistakable. Images filter through my mind like fragments of a dream: stone walls carved with ancient symbols, the acrid smell of fear and dark magic, Viktor standing before an altar with the ritual blade gleaming in his hands, and Elena—my brilliant, brave Elena—working frantically to save prisoners even as she faces her own execution.
She’s alive. She’s in the temple. She’s planning something. And she knows we’re coming.
I open my eyes to find Zara watching me with concern. “You reached her,” she says. Not a question—she knows me too well.
“She’s in the temple,” I confirm. “Viktor’s keeping her close.”
“Of course he is.” Zara’s expression hardens. “She’s the final sacrifice—the storm-touched healer whose power will complete his ritual.”
Lightning crackles involuntarily between my fingers at the thought. The incomplete mate bond has strengthened my storm magic beyond what I thought possible, but it’s also made me more volatile. Emotions translate instantly to power—especially when those emotions concern Elena.
“We need to move,” I say, mastering my control. “Signal the commanders.”
Within minutes, our forces begin their advance toward Black Ridge. I shift into eagle form, the transformation rippling through me with practiced ease. My massive wingspan casts a shadow as I launch skyward, feeling the familiar rush of wind beneath my feathers. Twenty Storm Eagles loyal to me follow, forming a wedge formation behind my lead.
