Chapter 37
Callum
Iwatch Marcus’s faction attack with movements that aren’t theirs—jerky, wrong, like puppets on strings. Derek lunges at Wyatt, and I see the horror in Derek’s eyes even as his jaws snap.
“Fight it!” Wyatt roars.
But the compulsion holds. Packmate fights packmate. Not a battle. Butchery.
We’re losing.
Ben staggers back from Derek’s attack, bleeding from his shoulder. Wyatt goes down hard when Torres catches him from behind. Reyna barely dodges Elena’s claws—the wolf she trained, now trying to kill her.
I shift to intercept Derek as he circles back toward Ben. He’s exhausted, movements slowing. We can’t keep this up. Faelan’s magic drives Marcus’s faction with inhuman endurance while we tire with every exchange.
The clearing reeks of blood. Pack blood. Wolves fighting wolves while Faelan watches from the breach, feeding off the violence he orchestrated.
Then—a howl splits the air.
Not ours. Deeper. Carrying Alpha command that vibrates through the ground itself.
The air tears open twenty feet from the treeline. Not a rip: a doorway, edged in silver light. Elysia stands at its threshold, hands raised, holding the portal open.
Shadow Peak pours through in perfect formation—Caleb leading, Daya at his flank, Mason and Sasha spreading to cover the perimeter. At least fifteen wolves, maybe twenty, are emerging from the doorway before Elysia drops her hands, and it snaps shut behind them.
“Hold position!” Caleb’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Ash Hollow—fall back! We’ve got them!”
Shadow Peak wolves hit Marcus’s faction like a tidal wave. Not attacking them directly—intercepting. Creating barriers between compelled wolves and their targets. Caleb himself blocks Derek’s path to Ben, absorbing the attack meant for Dane’s Beta.
Daya moves with tactical precision, redirecting Torres away from Wyatt. Mason and Sasha coordinate to contain Elena without harming her—recognizing compulsion, not choosing violence.
They’re not here to kill Marcus’s faction. They’re here to stop the bloodshed.
Ben catches my eye across the clearing, relief and exhaustion warring on his face. Wyatt drags himself upright, blood streaming from his temple but alive.
We were about to tear ourselves apart.
Shadow Peak just saved us all.
Then Marcus screams.
Not a howl. A human sound—pure rage and agony cutting through everything.
I watch him mid-attack on Ben, claws reaching for his Beta’s throat. Something inside Marcus shatters. His whole body seizes. The purple light around him flickers.
“NO!” Half-human, half-wolf. “NOT. MY. PACK.”
His claws rake empty air instead of Ben’s neck. The compulsion tries to force him forward. Marcus’s legs lock. Muscles bulge with resistance.
I see it in his face—the moment understanding hits. Every conversation with Phil. Every doubt planted. Every fracture widened.
All of it engineered. All of it lies.
“You used me,” Marcus snarls at Faelan’s shimmering projection—still visible at the edge of the clearing, still pulling strings even as Dane and Nova hunt his real body in the Fade. Blood drips from his nose. “Made me betray them.”
The purple tendrils around him pulse. His faction jerks forward as one.
Marcus plants his feet. Roars.
Not Alpha command. Something deeper. Pure will. A wolf choosing death over being a weapon.
The magic cracks. Actually cracks—visible fractures through the purple light.
“I wanted to protect them.” Every word a battle. His body shakes. “You made me DESTROY them.”
One more surge. The compulsion shatters.
Purple light explodes outward. Marcus drops to his knees. His faction stumbles back—Derek, Torres, Elena, Mateo—suddenly free. The compulsion gone. Their own minds returned.
The horror on their faces hits like a physical blow.
Derek stares at his hands—claws still extended, slick with blood that isn’t his. “Reyna ... I went for Wyatt. My own—“
“What did we do?” Elena’s voice breaks.
Torres backs away, shaking. Mateo collapses.
Marcus rises. Blood streaming from his nose, his ears. The price of breaking Faelan’s hold through sheer force of will.
He turns toward the treeline. I sense it too—something moving with purpose.
Faelan. Still here. A projection. His consciousness split between this clearing and the Fade.
Targeting Kyle.
Kyle. One of our youngest. Loyal to Dane. Never wavered.
Faelan moves toward him—punishment. “You failed me, Marcus. So I take one of HIS.”
Marcus sees it. Understands.
Can’t undo the damage. Can’t erase his claws drawing packmate blood. But he can do this.
Marcus launches between Faelan and Kyle.
The attack meant for Kyle punches through Marcus’s chest. Not purple light. Something black, spreading like poison.
Marcus hits the ground. Blood pours from his mouth, nose, ears—the price for breaking compulsion plus this killing blow.
Kyle stumbles back, untouched.
I drop beside Marcus. His eyes find mine. Blood at his lips.
“Tell Dane ...” Barely a whisper. “Sorry. For all of it.”
“Marcus—“
“Not for this.” His hand clutches my shirt. “For doubting. Dividing. Making us weak.”
He looks at his faction—Derek, Torres, Elena, Mateo—frozen in horror.
“Protect them.” Blood trails from his mouth. “ALL of them. Not sides. Pack.”
Derek’s face crumples. Torres drops.
Marcus finds Kyle. “You stayed loyal.” The words cost him. “Good. Stay pack.”
His chest rises. Falls. Stops.
Elena sobs. Derek reaches for Reyna. Torres meets Wyatt’s eyes—both knowing they almost killed each other.
Marcus broke free. Chose right. Couldn’t undo the damage, but he ended it.
His death erased the lines he helped create.