THE PACK'S WARNING

Chapter 4

The Pack's Warning

The forest beyond Paris was alive with an eerie hush, as if the ancient trees themselves held their breath, wary of what was to come. Moonlight seeped through the dense canopy, casting long, ghostly shadows on the ground. The crisp night air carried the scents of damp earth, wild creatures, and something sharper—blood. Vampire blood.

Damien moved with practiced ease through the undergrowth, though his body betrayed him with every step. His ribs ached, a souvenir from his encounter at the vampire gathering, and his arm throbbed where fangs had pierced his flesh. He had done his best to conceal the wound, but the moment he stepped into the clearing where his pack gathered, he knew his efforts were in vain.

They were waiting.

A dozen pairs of golden and amber eyes gleamed in the darkness, watching him with silent intensity. Wolves didn't miss a thing, especially not a scent as damning as the one clinging to his skin.

At the center of the clearing stood Ragnar, the pack's alpha, his presence as unshakable as the mountains. He was broad-shouldered and battle-worn, a warrior who had survived countless wars between their kind and the vampires. His gaze fixed on Damien like a predator sizing up prey.

"You've been gone too long." Ragnar's voice was deep and deliberate, rumbling like distant thunder. "And you reek of them."

Damien straightened his posture. "I had business in the city."

Ragnar's nostrils flared. "Business?" His voice dripped with skepticism. "Do you take us for fools? You were seen, Damien."

A murmur swept through the pack, low growls of discontent vibrating through the clearing. Damien felt the hostility rising like a tide, pressing in on him from all sides.

"You were with a vampire," Ragnar continued, stepping closer, his towering frame casting Damien in shadow. "Lucienne."

Damien barely concealed his flinch at the mention of her name. Lucienne. He could still taste the ghost of her lips against his own, feel the impossible softness of her touch.

"You don't understand," he said.

"Then enlighten me," Ragnar snapped, his patience fraying. "Tell me why one of my most trusted warriors is tangled up with our enemy."

Damien hesitated. The truth hung on the tip of his tongue, but the weight of it was too great. How could he explain something that even he didn't fully understand?

"She's not like the others," he finally said, his voice quieter but firm.

A growl of protest rippled through the gathered wolves, their distrust deepening.

Ragnar's expression darkened. "Do you hear yourself? Do you know how many have said those very words before meeting their deaths? 'She's different.' 'She's not like the others.' And yet, the story always ends the same."

"She's not manipulating me," Damien said, his voice sharp.

Ragnar's lips curled in a snarl. "Not yet. But she will. It's in their nature, Damien. They are leeches. They charm, they ensnare, and then they take everything from you. How many of our kind have we lost to their kind? How many brothers and sisters have died because some fool believed a vampire could be trusted?"

Damien clenched his fists. "I am not a fool."

Ragnar's voice was ice. "Then prove it. End this now. Before it's too late."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.

Damien didn't answer. He couldn't.

Ragnar's gaze hardened, his tone final. "If you don't, I will."

The Château de LuneAcross the city, within the grandeur of the Château de Lune, Lucienne sat beneath the flickering candlelight, her expression composed but her mind storming. The long dining table was filled with members of her coven, their pale faces unreadable, their eyes sharp and expectant.

At the head of the table sat Marcel, his presence like a coiled serpent waiting to strike. His fingers tapped against his goblet, the crimson liquid within shimmering under the dim glow.

"You've been distracted," he said, his voice smooth but laced with unspoken threats.

Lucienne lifted her chin. "I've had matters to attend to."

Marcel's gaze pinned her in place. "Matters? Or... a werewolf?"

The air in the room grew colder.

Lucienne forced a quiet, steady breath. "I don't know what you mean."

Marcel leaned forward, a slow, knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Oh, I think you do." His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you take me for a fool, ma chérie? You carry his scent. It clings to you like a lover's embrace."

A hush fell over the room, the gathered vampires exchanging glances—some amused, some intrigued, others downright furious.

Lucienne's fingers curled into fists beneath the table. "This conversation is a waste of time."

Marcel chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "On the contrary. Time is precisely what you don't have. A rogue vampire is causing chaos in the city, and you have been preoccupied. We are beginning to question where your loyalties lie."

Her spine stiffened. "I have not forgotten my place."

"Then prove it," Marcel murmured. "Find the rogue. Kill him. Remind us all that your heart still beats for the coven."

Lucienne's lips parted, but the words stuck in her throat.

"Or," Marcel added, eyes gleaming, "we will have to assume you have other allegiances. And that, dear Lucienne, would be most unfortunate."

A dangerous silence settled.

Lucienne held his gaze, masking the turmoil within her. Finally, she exhaled and gave a slow nod. "I'll handle it."

Marcel smiled, but it was a blade wrapped in silk. "See that you do."

The Rooftop ConfessionLater that night, Lucienne found herself on the rooftop of an abandoned chapel, overlooking the golden lights of Paris. It was the same place where she and Damien had last met, where their lips had brushed in an unspoken promise of something impossible.

And yet, when she sensed his presence behind her, she did not turn.

"You shouldn't be here," she murmured.

Damien's voice was quieter than usual. "Neither should you."

The wind carried the scent of him—wild, earthy, familiar.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Damien said, "My pack gave me a warning tonight."

Lucienne sighed. "So did my coven."

Damien exhaled slowly, stepping beside her. "They'll never accept this."

Lucienne's voice was barely above a whisper. "I know."

The city stretched before them, vast and endless, but somehow, it felt like there was no place in it for them.

Damien turned to her, his expression raw. "Do you ever wish things were different?"

Lucienne closed her eyes, feeling the weight of reality settle deep into her bones. "Every damn day."

His hand brushed against hers. A simple touch, but charged with something dangerous. Something undeniable.

"And what happens," she asked, finally meeting his gaze, "when the world fights back?"

Damien's golden eyes darkened with resolve. "Then we fight harder."

Lucienne's breath hitched, caught between longing and the inevitable.

But as the night stretched on and the first hints of dawn painted the sky, one thing became clear.

The war wasn't coming.

It had already begun.