Sera panted, sweat and blood clinging to her skin. The rogues were relentless, their numbers overwhelming. Moonveil's warriors were strong, but even they were struggling to keep the creatures from breaking through.
A deafening snarl cut through the battle—one of the rogues, larger than the rest, lunged at Sera from behind. She spun too late.
Claws tore into her shoulder.
A gasp escaped her lips as pain flared through her body. The rogue's weight slammed her into the ground, its rancid breath filling her nose. She struggled, gripping her sword, but the beast's fangs were inches from her throat.
Just before it could tear into her—
A figure crashed into the rogue, sending it flying.
Sera gasped, her vision clearing just in time to see a warrior step between her and the beast. A familiar warrior.
"Liora?"
Liora stood there, her body trembling but her eyes burning with determination. She had no weapon—only her claws. Her wolf flickered beneath the surface, barely contained.
"You dare attack my pack?" Liora's voice was low, almost guttural, as she stepped forward. One thing liora cares about more than anything is her pack and these rogues threaten it.
It was something she and Zyra had in common.
The rogue hesitated for just a moment.
Then Liora lunged.
Her claws slashed across the rogue's throat, severing it in one clean strike. The beast crumpled, dead before it hit the ground.
Sera stared, stunned.
Liora's chest heaved, her eyes still glowing. But as more rogues rushed in, her expression darkened.
"Kill them all," she growled.
And Moonveil obeyed.
The rogues scattered, their horrifying wails echoing through the night as they fled into the darkness. The ground was littered with their fallen, and those who survived knew better than to stay. The warriors of Moonveil, bloodied but victorious, let out fierce howls of triumph.
But just as the last rogue disappeared into the trees, a sharp gasp cut through the victory.
Liora swayed where she stood, her breath shallow. A tremor ran through her limbs before her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the bloodstained ground with a heavy thud.
"Liora!" Sera's voice rang with panic as she rushed to her side, skidding to her knees.
The warriors turned, their celebratory howls dying as fear took hold.
Sera pressed a hand against Liora's shoulder, shaking her gently. "Liora! Stay with me!"
Her skin was ice-cold, and her breathing was unsteady. A thin sheen of sweat clung to her forehead, her dark lashes fluttering weakly. The exhaustion of the battle, the rejection, and the lingering pain from the broken bond had finally caught up to her.
"Get her inside!" Sera barked, snapping into action.
Two warriors immediately stepped forward, carefully lifting Liora's limp form. Her head lolled against one of them, her body unresponsive.
Sera clenched her jaw, following closely as they rushed her toward the healer's chambers. She had fought so hard, pushed herself beyond her limits—and now, she was paying the price.
Moonveil had won tonight. But at what cost?
‐‐‐
Sera paced back and forth in the healers chamber, her heart hammering with unease. The room smelled of medicinal herbs and burning incense, yet none of it eased the tension clawing at her chest.
Liora lay motionless on the bed, her skin pale, her breathing slow and shallow. She looked fragile—too fragile for someone who had just led them into battle, for someone who had burned so brightly only hours ago.
The healer , finished his examination and let out a heavy sigh. He shook his head, his fingers lingering over Liora's wrist as if hoping to find some change in her pulse.
Sera stopped pacing. "Well? What's wrong with her?"
The healer's expression darkened. "I am afraid there is nothing I can do."
Sera's stomach twisted. "What do you mean there's nothing you can do?"
"She is not responding to any of my treatments." The healer straightened, his eyes heavy with concern. "Her body is functioning, but she remains trapped within herself. It is not a simple ailment of the body. This is…something deeper."
Sera clenched her fists. "But she's alive?"
"Yes," the healer confirmed. "She is not dead…but she is not awake either. It's as if her spirit is caught between two worlds. A coma.
Sera swallowed hard. "coma?"
The healer nodded gravely. "Yes. And I do not know when—or if—she will wake."
‐‐‐
The rogues ran, their paws kicking up dirt as they weaved through the thick forest. The night was still, but their breaths were ragged, their bodies tense with the weight of their failed attack.
They finally stopped in a clearing, their feral eyes darting around as they shifted back into their humanoid forms. Scarred bodies, matted fur, and a lingering stench of blood and sweat marked them as creatures of exile—wolves who had been cast out, rejected, or abandoned.
One of them, a towering rogue with a jagged scar down his chest, snarled and slammed his fist against a nearby tree. "I thought you said the True Blood Omega was weak!" His voice was venomous, laced with fury.
Another rogue, smaller but wiry, swallowed hard and raised his hands in defense. "She is! I saw what happened!" He pointed a shaking finger back toward the direction of Moonveil. "Didn't you see her skin? She was pale—too weak to even stand. By now, she's probably back on her sickbed."
The scarred rogue let out a growl, his canines flashing under the moonlight. "Then explain how she fought like that! How did a dying Omega stand against us and force us to retreat?"
The rogue flinched but held his ground. "It—it wasn't her strength," he insisted. "It was the others! Sera and those warriors bought her time. She barely held on at the end—you saw it yourself! She collapsed right after."
A heavy silence fell over them, broken only by the distant howls of the night. The leader of the rogues, a broad-shouldered brute with piercing yellow eyes, stepped forward, arms crossed. His voice was cold, measured. "We cannot afford another failure."
The rogue nodded quickly. "We won't fail. We'll send spies to sneak in through the hole we made in their wall while they were distracted. Once we confirm that she's truly on the brink of death…" His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "We'll strike again. And this time, we finish the job."
The scarred rogue narrowed his eyes. "You better be right." He took a menacing step forward, towering over the smaller wolf. "If we don't return victorious next time…" His voice dropped into a deadly whisper.
"I will kill you myself."
The rogue's throat bobbed as he swallowed, nodding quickly.
The leader turned to the rest of the rogues, his voice like a growl of thunder. "Prepare for the next attack. We wait for the right moment."
With that, the rogues dispersed into the darkness, their hunger for blood far from satisfied.