Chapter 7 The Price of Victory
Layla's POV
The warning bells continued to toll as chaos erupted around us. People transformed into wolves mid-run, while others grabbed weapons and children. My father's face was grim as he gripped my arm.
"I'm taking you both home," he said, glancing between Ethan and me. "The Shadow Creek Pack has pushed past our border guards. This is no drill."
We ran through the panicked crowd, my father's protective presence clearing a path. When a young wolf darted in front of us, nearly colliding with me, Ethan caught my elbow to steady me.
"You've had combat training?" my father asked Ethan sharply.
"Some basics, sir."
Dad's eyes narrowed. "Stay with the women. Man dies first if it comes to that."
When we reached our house, Mom was already barricading windows. Her usually gentle face had hardened into determined lines.
"I have to go," Dad said, kissing Mom quickly. "Lock everything. Don't open for anyone but me."
"Rayden—" Mom's voice caught.
"I'll come back," he promised, then turned to me. "Layla, mind your mother."
I hugged him fiercely, suddenly afraid. "Be careful."
He smiled, ruffled my hair like I was still a pup, then disappeared into the night. Mom immediately bolted the door and finished securing the house. Ethan stood awkwardly in our living room until Mom directed him to help move furniture against the windows.
"Your father shouldn't be fighting," Ethan said quietly when Mom went to check the back door. "He's the Beta. Too valuable."
"That's exactly why he has to," I replied, surprised he understood pack hierarchy. "He leads by example."
Mom returned with blankets and supplies. "You should go home to your family, Ethan."
He shook his head. "Gray Estate's not close here. Besides, Beta Rayden asked me to stay."
The night stretched endlessly as we huddled together, listening to distant howls and occasional roars that made the windows rattle. Mom's face remained composed, but her white-knuckled grip on my hand betrayed her fear.
By the second day, the sounds of battle had moved further away. Several women from neighboring houses had joined us, sharing what little news they had.
"Alpha Donovan is leading the final push," Mrs. Reeves said. "They've driven the Shadow Creek back to the ridge."
I paced restlessly by the door. "We should help. The wounded need—"
"No." Mom's voice was steel. "Your father would never forgive me if I let you out there."
"But Dad's out there! He could be hurt or—"
"Your father is doing his duty," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "Ours is to wait."
I tried escaping twice more, only to be physically restrained by Mom. By the third night, an unnatural silence had fallen over our territory. We all tensed at the stillness, more frightening than the sounds of battle.
Near midnight, as Mom finally dozed in her chair, I heard it—not with my ears, but inside my mind.
I'm alright, little wolf. We won.
Dad's voice, filled with pain but also unmistakable pride and joy.
"Mom!" I shook her awake. "Dad's alive! They won! I heard him!"
Her eyes widened. "You heard...through the link?"
I nodded frantically. "He said they won!"
Before she could stop me, I bolted for the door, throwing off the locks. The cool night air hit my face as I raced outside, searching the dark forest edge. Mom called after me, but I couldn't wait anymore.
Dawn broke with agonizing slowness. Finally, shadows emerged from the trees—wolves limping in human form, supporting each other. Medical teams rushed forward, and families broke through the crowd, searching for loved ones.
Then I saw him. Dad was being supported between two pack members, his face pale but smiling. As they drew closer, my heart stopped—where his right leg should have been, there was nothing below mid-thigh.
"Dad!" I screamed, running toward him.
"There's my girl," he said as I reached him, his voice weaker than in my mind.
I hugged him carefully, tears streaming down my face as I stared at the bandaged stump where his leg had been. Massive bite marks showed where an enemy wolf had torn through flesh and bone.
"Beta duty," he said, following my gaze. "Wouldn't look good if the Beta hid while others fought."
My hand trembled near his wound, afraid to touch it. Mom appeared beside us, her face calm as she took Dad's weight from the other wolves.
"Let's get you home, hero," she said, her steadiness anchoring us both.
Three days later, we gathered to honor our fallen. One hundred and seventeen wolves had died defending our territory—the highest toll in living memory. We dressed in black, standing in perfect formation as Alpha Donovan led us to the burial site.
Dad attended in a wheeled chair I pushed across the uneven ground. Though he insisted the leg was "just a limb, not my life," I'd heard him crying at night when he thought we were asleep.
"Being Beta isn't about physical perfection," he told me that morning. "It's about wisdom and loyalty. Donovan still needs me, leg or no leg."
I spotted Ethan standing at the edge of the gathering. He looked much thinner, with sunken eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days and nights.
The burial ground stretched before us, one hundred and seventeen freshly dug graves in a perfect arc facing the rising moon. Surrounding them stood over a thousand wolves from our territory. The silence was deafening—no shuffling feet, no whispers, just the collective breath of a community united in grief.
As the moon rose, casting long silver shadows across the graves, Alpha Donovan stepped forward. His normally commanding voice was thick with emotion as he spoke: "We commit our brothers and sisters to the earth, honored in battle, remembered in peace."
Over a thousand wolves stood in absolute silence, heads bowed. The collective grief was almost tangible, hanging in the air like morning mist. Some warriors openly wept, others stood rigid with jaws clenched, fighting back tears. Children clutched their parents' hands, too young to understand but old enough to feel the weight of loss.
I noticed Maya and Selena standing slightly apart, despite witches traditionally remaining neutral in wolf conflicts. Maya's eyes were tightly closed, tears streaming down her cheeks, while Selena placed a comforting hand on her daughter's shoulder.
When the Alpha called each fallen warrior's name, their families stepped forward to place personal tokens on the graves—a favorite hunting knife, carved wooden figures, pressed flowers, and family medallions. Each item represented a life cut short, dreams unfulfilled, families forever changed.
When she opened them, our gazes met briefly. Whatever complications existed between us, tonight we shared the same grief. I wondered who she mourned so deeply. Was it a specific friend I didn't know she had, or was she simply overwhelmed by the sheer scale of our pack's loss?
The silence stretched, broken only by occasional sobs. Alpha Donovan recited each name, followed by their contributions to our pack. Each name was another piece of my heart breaking.
Then, just as the ceremony concluded and people began to disperse in respectful silence, a piercing alarm cut through the night.
