Chapter 7 - The Drums of War
By midday, the silence of the mountains was shattered by a sound that every northern wolf feared: the deep, vibrating boom of enemy war drums.
Boom... boom... boom...
The rhythmic pounding echoed off the canyon walls, rattling the stained-glass windows of the castle and sending tremors through the frozen ground. Inside the inner sanctum, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Servants and lower-ranking pack members had been evacuated to the secure underground vaults, but Genevieve refused to hide below.
She stood near the high arched windows of the war room, watching the distant ridges through a spyglass.
On the white snowfields miles below, two massive forces had converged. The black banners of the Frostfang Pack stood firm like an unyielding wall against an overwhelming sea of crimson and iron standards belonging to the coalition forces led by Alpha Malakor.
Through the lens, Genevieve could see the distant flash of steel as the two armies collided. It was a chaotic storm of fur, fang, and blade—a brutal clash of raw, unbridled wolf strength.
"They’ve breached the eastern flank!" a scout shouted, bursting into the war room. "Malakor’s elite guard is pushing hard toward the inner gatehouse!"
General Vance slammed his fist down on the map table. "Send the reserve cavalry! Reinforce the eastern wall immediately!"
Genevieve lowered the spyglass, her heart racing. Her crimson eyes searched desperately across the battlefield, trying to find the towering figure of the Alpha King amidst the swirling melee of combatants.
Suddenly, a massive explosion of snow and ice erupted near the center of the battlefield.
Through the spyglass, Genevieve saw him. Darian was fighting with terrifying efficiency, his broadsword gleaming with deadly precision as he cut through the enemy vanguard like a scythe through wheat. But even as powerful as he was, three rival Alphas had surrounded him, coordinating their attacks to wear him down.
A cold wave of dread washed over Genevieve. They weren't just trying to win the battle—they were trying to assassinate the king.
"My Lady! You must step away from the window!" Martha urged, rushing over and grabbing Genevieve’s arm. "It’s not safe here!"
"I can't just stand here and watch him die," Genevieve whispered, her voice shaking with sudden, fierce resolve. She pulled her arm gently from the housekeeper's grip, her eyes fixed on the heavy oak doors of the war room.
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She wasn't the weak, cowering Omega she used to be. Nineteen years of abuse had taught her how to survive pain, but Darian had taught her something far more dangerous: how to fight for someone you love.
Before Martha could stop her, Genevieve turned and ran down the corridor toward the grand armory, her mind racing with a desperate, crazy plan.
