Ronan barely felt the heat of the Texas sun as it dipped toward the horizon. The sky burned orange, shadows lengthened across the ranch, and a restless hush drifted over the Dominion lands like the moment before a gunshot. Even the wind felt wrong—too still, too heavy, too expectant.
Mercer's vest lay on Ronan's desk inside the main house, the scorched symbol staring back at him like a challenge carved in fabric.
Tonight.
Tonight was the night.
Ronan stood on the porch, watching the last beams of light fade. His eyes glowed faintly—not shifting, just sharpened. His jaw set as Colton approached at a brisk pace.
"Alpha," Colton said. "The northwest watch reports movement. Multiple signatures."
"How many?"
"Six at first. Now more. Could be a dozen."
Ronan didn't look away from the horizon. "Mercer doesn't have a dozen fighters."
"No," Colton said. "But he's convinced that many to follow him."
Ronan's lip twitched. "Desperation attracts desperation."
Colton exhaled. "Elise's warning was real, then."
"Yes." Ronan stepped off the porch. "Call every lieutenant. Full pack mobilization."
Colton's eyes widened. "The whole pack? Even—"
"Yes."
That was enough.
Colton sprinted off.
Ronan didn't shout. Didn't force the pack to move. He simply walked toward the training yard—and the Dominion responded like a living organism, wolves snapping to attention, runners relaying orders faster than radio waves.
Within minutes, the yard filled with bodies—shifting eyes, tense muscles, fangs barely visible as emotions pushed against control.
Ronan stood before them, calm amid the storm.
"Listen."
Silence fell instantly.
"Mercer is coming."
Growls rippled through the crowd—not fury, but readiness.
"He brings rogues and outcasts. The desperate. The angry. The ones who think chaos gives them strength."
Ronan scanned the crowd slowly, meeting eyes, grounding them.
"But this land belongs to us. We bleed for it. We protect it. We do not give ground to anyone."
A unified pulse of energy traveled through the pack bond.
Ronan continued. "Tonight, Mercer tests the Dominion. Tonight, we answer."
One wolf asked, "Alpha—do we capture? Or—"
"No more warnings."
It wasn't a shout.
It didn't need to be.
The entire pack stiffened.
Ronan's voice sharpened. "We end this."
The decision settled over them like a physical weight. No hesitation. No retreat. This was war.
Dax stood near the back, heart pounding, but his stance—improved since training that morning—was solid. Ronan glanced toward him briefly, and Dax straightened even more.
"West patrol," Ronan called. "Form two lines. North, with me."
Colton stepped forward. "Alpha, if Mercer hits from multiple sides—"
"He will," Ronan said. "He thinks we'll split too thin. But he forgets one thing."
"What's that?"
Ronan's eyes glowed red at the edges.
"I don't divide. I cut through."
The pack surged with anticipation.
Ronan turned toward the darkening horizon. "Move!"
The Dominion split into organized units, sweeping outward with practiced precision. Ronan's own strike team followed him north.
Dax jogged close. "Alpha! Should I—should I stay back?"
Ronan didn't slow. "If you can't fight, stay behind someone who can. But you're not running."
Dax nodded, fear trembling with adrenaline.
The northern perimeter loomed ahead—the dry creek bed Elise mentioned. Dust hung in the air. The temperature dipped unnaturally.
Ronan felt the shift before he saw anything.
Rogues.
Aggression spiked across the bond—feral, uncontrolled, loud.
They were close.
Ronan stopped his team with one raised hand. "Wait."
His eyes scanned the dark edges of the creek bed.
Footsteps.
Too many.
Too eager.
Ronan exhaled slowly. "They're trying to flank us."
Colton's hand tightened around his belt. "Your call."
"Let them."
Colton blinked. "Sir?"
Ronan stepped forward alone. "They want me. So I'll give them what they came for."
The pack didn't argue. Didn't try to stop him. Ronan had never asked them to hide behind him—but tonight, he was taking the field.
Personally.
He walked into the dry creek bed, boots crunching against cracked earth.
The shadows shifted.
One rogue emerged first—yellow eyes glowing in the dark, claws extended, breathing ragged like he'd been waiting hours for this moment.
Then another.
And another.
Six…seven…eight… They circled Ronan slowly, forming a tightening ring.
And then Mercer stepped out from behind a dead tree stump.
He grinned wide. "Evening, Alpha."
Ronan's heartbeat didn't change. "You brought children."
Mercer shrugged. "They volunteered."
"No," Ronan said softly. "They followed fear."
Mercer's smirk flickered. "You talk big. But tonight? Tonight I show them you bleed."
Ronan stepped forward.
Just one step.
Every rogue flinched.
Ronan's claws slid out with a soft metallic sound, eyes burning with a steady red ring. Not rage. Not frenzy.
Purpose.
"This is your final night," Ronan said.
Mercer grinned wider. "Good. I wanted an audience."
He snapped his fingers.
The rogues lunged.
Ronan moved first.
He grabbed the nearest rogue by the throat mid-leap, slammed him into the cracked earth, and pivoted hard—raking claws across another's ribs as he passed.
Behind him, the Dominion roared into motion.
The war began. Dust exploded under Ronan's boots as he tore through the first rogue, his claws slicing through the man's throat with a single, decisive strike. Blood sprayed across the cracked earth. The rogue collapsed without a sound.
"No more warnings," Ronan growled.
The words weren't loud—yet every rogue froze for a heartbeat, instincts screaming at them.
Then chaos erupted.
Three attacked at once. Ronan stepped into their charge, caught the nearest by the jaw, and snapped his neck with a violent twist. The body dropped. Ronan spun, raking claws across the second rogue's face, splitting skin and bone. The man shrieked before Ronan slammed him down, driving a boot through his ribcage.
The third rogue had almost reached Ronan's flank—
—but Colton hit him from the side, teeth bared, claws cutting deep. The rogue gurgled and went limp.
Ronan didn't slow.
He carved through another pair, cutting tendons, crushing throats, ending lives with the same ruthless efficiency he used to protect them.
Behind him, the Dominion fought with grim precision—violent, controlled, loyal.
The rogues died fast.
As Ronan had promised.
⸻
A scream cut sharp through the night.
Ronan's head snapped toward it instantly.
Dax.
A rogue had broken away—charging straight for the untrained boy with murder in his eyes.
Ronan moved.
He didn't run.
He launched, crossing the distance in a blur. He grabbed the rogue by the spine mid-lunge and tore him backward, claws ripping across the man's chest. The rogue fell in two directions—dead before he hit the ground.
Dax collapsed onto his knees, shaking.
Ronan's voice was low, cold. "Stand. Or you die next."
Dax forced himself up, trembling but obeying.
Ronan turned back to the battlefield.
Only a handful of rogues remained. Blood soaked the dirt. Bodies lay twisted in unnatural shapes. The Dominion pressed forward, forcing the rogues into a shrinking semicircle around the creek bed.
Mercer stood at the center, chest heaving, fury twisting every muscle.
"You butchered them…" Mercer rasped.
Ronan stepped toward him, eyes glowing with a controlled red ring. "No. You did."
Mercer snarled. "You don't get to decide—"
"I already decided."
Ronan lunged.
Their bodies collided, claws and fists colliding in a blur of violence. Mercer slashed Ronan's shoulder. Ronan retaliated with a crushing elbow to Mercer's jaw, sending him reeling. Mercer spat blood, roared, and charged again.
Ronan stepped aside, caught Mercer's arm, and drove his knee into it. Bone cracked. Mercer screamed, stumbling back.
Ronan advanced.
Mercer swung wildly. Ronan caught the blow, shoved it aside, then punched Mercer square in the sternum hard enough to knock him onto his back.
Mercer scrambled in the dirt. "WAIT—Ronan—don't—"
"You attacked my land. You threatened my pack."
Ronan stepped over him, claws dripping with blood. "There is no forgiveness for that."
Mercer's eyes blew wide with terror.
Ronan's claws came down—
—but stopped one inch from Mercer's throat.
Not hesitation.
Not mercy.
Purpose.
Ronan leaned close, voice quiet and lethal. "You don't die tonight. Not here."
Mercer's breath shuddered. "Wh—why?"
"If I kill you now, your remaining rogues scatter." Ronan's claws pressed lightly against Mercer's skin. "I want them to watch their alpha fall alone."
Mercer trembled.
Ronan stood tall, scanning the survivors.
Three rogues—only three—remained. Wounded, shaking, drenched in fear.
Ronan pointed at them. "Run."
They didn't question. They didn't look back. They fled into the desert like animals with fire on their heels.
Ronan looked down at Mercer one last time, expression carved from stone.
"Your pack is gone. Your legacy is dust."
He turned away. "Tomorrow, so are you."
Mercer gasped, crawling backward in the dirt. "No—Ronan—you can't just—"
But the Dominion had already begun to retreat, stepping over broken bodies and blood-soaked soil, following their alpha back to safer ground.
Colton approached Ronan. "It's done?"
"No."
Ronan didn't slow.
"This ends tomorrow."
He didn't need to raise his voice.
Every wolf in the Dominion felt the truth:
Tonight, Ronan Vael killed a pack.
Tomorrow, he would kill its leader.
The Mercer War was almost over.
And Ronan walked into the darkness with blood on his hands, purpose in his spine, and not a shred of regret.