The hum of engines broke the dawn.
Mist clung to the forest floor, swirling in ghostly tendrils around the dark tires of the black SUVs lined up before the Blood Moon pack house. Their polished frames gleamed under the first pale kiss of morning light, windows tinted against prying eyes.
King Alaric stood by the lead vehicle, a silent figure of command as the final preparations were made. He wore a black robe with golden seams over a simple black fitted jacket over dark jeans and boots meant for travel. Ornaments adorning fingers, signifying his authority, no insignia. All those not enough sign of his rank, but his bearing, his kingly aura, the way the world seemed to curve around him, and the deference in the air itself all spoke volumes of his power, his rank and authority.
Elias tossed a duffel bag into the backseat and clapped his hands together with mock enthusiasm."Eight hours in a metal box with you lot. What a privilege."
Alaric didn't react, only opened the passenger door and slid inside with the effortless grace of a predator. Elias grinned and took the driver's seat, whistling low under his breath.
One by one, the convoy rumbled to life.
Behind them, the pack stood watching — warriors, elders, children. A few brave souls called out blessings for safe travels, their voices carried thin on the wind. The rest simply stood in silence, their gazes following their King until he was swallowed by the mist.
The journey began without fanfare.
The SUVs glided down the winding dirt roads, headlights cutting narrow tunnels through the shifting fog. Tall trees loomed on either side, their gnarled branches arching overhead like the ribs of some ancient beast.
And just beyond the reach of the headlights, shadows moved.
Silent. Swift.
Wolves — the King's scouts and protectors — ran alongside the convoy, their sleek forms little more than streaks of silver and black against the forest's dim palette. They kept their distance but never strayed far, ghosting through the trees, eyes sharp and alert.
No words were needed.
This was an old dance, one Blood Moon had perfected over generations.
Travel. Guard. Endure.
Inside the vehicles, the atmosphere was steady, almost somber. The warriors in the cars behind Alaric's kept quiet, checking weapons, reviewing maps, exchanging the occasional low murmur. Only Elias dared break the silence within the lead SUV.
He tapped a finger on the steering wheel, shooting Alaric a sideways glance.
"Still not excited about your grand tour of fawning Alphas and desperate she-wolves?" he teased lightly.
Alaric didn't bother looking at him. "No."
"You're breaking my heart," Elias said, clutching his chest theatrically before laughing to himself. "Come on, you might meet your mate. One glance across a crowded banquet hall, and bam — love at first sight."
Alaric gave him a flat look. "I'll leave the romance novels to you."
They drove on.
Time stretched thin, the endless green of the forest blurring into sameness. Occasionally, they passed through tiny villages — clusters of houses clinging to the road's edges — but Alaric kept his gaze forward, detached.
At a small station hours later, the convoy pulled in briefly to refuel and stretch their legs.
The warriors fanned out instinctively, forming an invisible perimeter. A few civilians at the station looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of so many hard-eyed men and women, but said nothing.
Elias leaned against the hood of the car, sipping from a battered thermos."Still early. If we're lucky, we hit Shadowfang by midafternoon."
"If luck favors us," Alaric said quietly, scanning the tree line.
The air was still. Tense
Not from any immediate danger — but from the knowledge of where they were heading.
Shadowfang Pack was not Blood Moon.
Their lands were harsher, their traditions prouder, their tempers quicker. And while they would host the King with every courtesy due to him... Alaric knew respect could be a brittle thing when built on fear.
He stretched his senses, brushing lightly against the scouts running parallel through the trees.
All clear.
The wolves reported back with flashes of images — empty roads, still woods, the faint scent of deer.
Satisfied, Alaric nodded once. "We move."
Without wasted motion, the convoy loaded back into their vehicles and continued on.
The hours wore on, and the terrain began to change.
The trees grew sparser, the soil rougher, the roads more cracked and narrow. Here, nearer to Shadowfang's territory, the world seemed a little harder, a little leaner, shaped by generations who had clawed a living from an unforgiving land.
The wolves running alongside shifted closer now, more cautious.
And though Alaric's expression didn't change, Elias noticed the slight tension in his frame, the way he sat just a little more forward in his seat.
"We're close," Elias murmured, adjusting his grip on the wheel.
Alaric said nothing, but his gaze sharpened.
Up ahead, the faint silhouette of mountains rose against the sky, jagged and dark. And somewhere nestled within those ridges — beyond fields of thorns and cold rivers — was Shadowfang's stronghold.
They would be received with honor.
With caution.
With thinly veiled fear.
Alaric felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders as easily as breathing.
He had long accepted what he was to the outside world — a blade, a warning, a shadow in the dark. It mattered little if they whispered of monsters in the night. So long as they obeyed, so long as they stayed loyal to the old ways, he would bear it.
He was not there to be loved.
He was there to remind them of what it meant to kneel.
The convoy curved around a bend, and through the thinning trees, Alaric caught the first glimpse of Shadowfang's border outpost — a simple stone structure with watchtowers rising above the forest canopy.
A flare shot into the sky — a sign of acknowledgment.
They were expected.
The wolves running alongside melted back into the woods, their task nearly done. Only two remained, flanking the convoy closely, their eyes gleaming amber in the growing twilight.
Elias grunted, easing off the gas slightly.
"Showtime."
Alaric let out a slow breath, one hand resting loosely on his thigh — a deceptively casual pose that belied the readiness coiled in his body.
The Blood Moon Pack had left home behind.
Now, the King entered the realm of other wolves — and whatever awaited him there.
A figure awaited them at the gates.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with the unmistakable bearing of one used to command, the Shadowfang Beta stood flanked by warriors in dark leathers. His eyes, a striking shade of gold, locked onto the lead SUV with cool calculation.
Elias slowed the vehicle to a crawl, glancing at Alaric. "Want me to announce us with trumpets?"
Alaric's lips twitched — not quite a smile. "Silence will suffice."
They pulled to a stop.
For a long moment, neither side moved. The only sounds were the ticking of engines and the soft rustle of wind through dry leaves.
Then, with measured precision, Alaric stepped out.
The change was immediate.
Tension rippled through the Shadowfang ranks, an invisible current that tugged spines straighter and dropped knees and gazes instinctively to the ground.
The Beta approached, stopping a few paces away. Kneeling on one foot, he offered a shallow bow — just deep enough to acknowledge Alaric's supremacy without entirely discarding his pride.
"Welcome to Shadowfang lands, Your Majesty," he said, voice low and formal. "I am Beta Lucan. Alpha Rowan awaits you at the stronghold."
Alaric inclined his head. "Rise, and Lead the way."
Without further ceremony, Lucan got up from his kneeling position, turned and motioned for the convoy to follow.
The Blood Moon warriors reboarded their vehicles, engines growling to life once more.
The road beyond the outpost was rougher, climbing steadily toward the distant ridges where stone walls and iron gates would soon come into view.
Elias muttered under his breath, too low for human ears, "Hope their beds aren't made of rocks."
Alaric, overhearing, said nothing.
His eyes were fixed ahead — on the stronghold rising slowly from the mist, on the weight of alliances yet to be tested, on the storm he sensed brewing beneath all the polished welcomes and practiced smiles.
Shadowfang was only the first stop.
And this journey was far from over.
Elias grunted, easing off the gas slightly."Showtime."
Alaric let out a slow breath, one hand resting loosely on his thigh — a deceptively casual pose that belied the readiness coiled in his body.
The Blood Moon Pack had left home behind.
Now, the King entered the realm of other wolves — and whatever awaited him there.