The moon hung low and red, casting a warlike omen over the frost-laced forest. Beta Troy stood at the head of his legion, every sinew of his body coiled and ready, his breath misting like the fire within him. Behind him, hundreds of wolves shifted uneasily, some armored, some shirtless and marked with the runes of vengeance. They weren’t just warriors—they were survivors of a lineage shattered by treachery.

He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, the weight of the past pressing on his ...