The rally point was chaos.
Warriors from all three assault teams had converged on the clearing Ryker had designated, a flat area a mile south of Morgana's collapsed stronghold. Medics moved among the injured, healing magic and traditional first aid working in tandem. The atmosphere was strange, celebration mixed with mourning, relief tangled with grief.
They'd won. But the cost was written on every exhausted face.
Kendrick did a quick mental count as they arrived. Eastern team had lost four warriors. Western team, three. Northern team under Ryker's command had been luckiest—only two dead, though many wounded. And the rescue team...
Daniel had died twenty minutes ago, his wounds too severe even for Eleanor's healing magic. Thomas sat beside his friend's covered body, silent tears streaming down his face.
Twelve dead total. Twelve wolves who'd followed their Alpha into battle and wouldn't be coming home.
