The Blackmoon Pack had barely recovered from the last battle when another attack came.
The enemy was relentless. They were no longer probing for weaknesses—they had found them.
Albert barely had time to process the last battle before a fresh wave of chaos tore through the eastern borders. The scent of blood was still thick in the air when the war cries rang out again.
Darius wasn't giving them time to breathe.
The attack was brutal, but the Blackmoon warriors fought with everything they had. The battlefield was a storm of snarls and claws, bodies crashing into one another under the eerie glow of the moon. The enemy had numbers, but Blackmoon had something stronger—desperation.
They couldn't afford to lose.
Albert had led them into battle again, his wolf tearing through opponents with lethal precision. His muscles burned, his body ached, but he couldn't stop. The fight lasted until the first rays of dawn broke over the treetops.
