Kieran Thorne POV

The air inside the cave was thick and cold as hell.

Cold stone pressed beneath his boots, slick with melted snow and dried blood. A low wind groaned through the narrow entrance behind him, carrying the copper tang of violence and the fading scent of fur caught in panic. Outside, his wolves were still fighting, their howls bleeding into the trees—rage and pain blending with the crack of splintering bones and the shouts of orders barked through smoke.

Mordekai’s pack line was buckling.

His wolves fought like dogs—wild, frenzied, desperate to please a master who never bled for them. This war between the Eclipse Pack and the Obsidian Ridge had been inevitable—two Alphas bound by history and blood feud. Mordekai’s wolves thrived on terror and slaughter, carving territory with fire and bone, while Kieran’s Eclipse Pack stood for order and balance, defending borders with discipline and sacrifice. Where Mordekai believed fear was strength, Kieran knew loyalty had sharper teeth.

But Kieran hadn’t come into this cave to kill.

He had come because the scent trail shifted. Because something felt wrong.

Now he saw why.

You were already between him and the pups.

Crouched low in your wolf form, body stretched taut, your breath fogged the air in shallow bursts. You were injured—blood caked into your hind leg and matted down one side of your flank.

But still, you held the line, not for yourself, but for them.

Three pups clung to the shadows behind you, small bodies trembling in the dark. They made no sound, but their fear saturated the air. And the space smelled of you—your exhaustion, your blood, your determination—layered so thick it told its own story. You had been here for days, probably since the fighting began, holding guard alone, without food, without rest. Abandoned. Forgotten. And yet you had not moved.

Behind him, Rowen stepped into the cave. His Beta. His closest blade. His breath fogged around him as he surveyed the scene.

“Definitely a pack member of Mordekai’s,” Rowen muttered, voice edged with disgust aimed at Mordekai and his leadership. “But it’s clear they care little for the weak or the young. Not enough wolves here—not nearly what you’d expect. Even this deep in Mordekai’s territory, any true Alpha would have stationed at least the Beta to guard the pups. Instead, just one pack member. Not even a high-ranking one.”

Kieran’s eyes narrowed. Rowen was right. This was no true defense.

The neglect reeked of Mordekai’s philosophy: strength mattered, the weak did not. And your wound… the way it was placed, deep and jagged, didn’t look like the work of his pack members.

It looked deliberate. Vicious. It looked like something your own Alpha had carved into you before leaving you here. A punishment. A reminder that you were expendable.

And still, you protected your Alpha’s pack’s young.

Kieran took a slow step forward, cautious and unthreatening.

His boots ground softly against grit and stone. You didn’t budge an inch, even faced with the Alpha of the enemy. Your fur even rose threateningly.

Your eyes met his and held. There was no defiance, but you weren’t submissive either. Just… steady. As if you had already accepted what was coming but intended to meet it standing, prepared to defend those young with all the fight you had left.

Rowen shifted behind him.

“Orders?” he asked, quieter now.

Kieran lifted a hand without looking back, and Rowen fell silent.

You stood firm, blocking any line of vision on the young, keeping three fragile lives tucked behind your own—even when the wolves who made them wouldn’t have done the same for you.

He stepped closer, but remained prepared in case you decided to attack.

“You protect them,” he said, each word slow and clear, meant to connect with your human consciousness and not just the wolf before him.

“Even after all your pack has done to you, you’ll still protect their young?” he asked. Even if you couldn’t answer him in this canine form, perhaps you would shift back to respond.