Finally, as dawn began to break, the Bloodfang pack retreated, their numbers decimated. The battlefield was littered with the injured and the fallen, the ground stained with blood. The surviving warriors collapsed in exhaustion, their breaths ragged.
The pack members emerged cautiously from the safe rooms. They gathered around the injured, their voices low as they assessed the damage. Lavender wasted no time, her hands glowing as she moved from one warrior to the next, closing wounds and easing pain.
The gratitude in their eyes was humbling. “Thank you, Luna,” one warrior murmured. “You saved us.”
Lavender shook her head. “I only did what I could. Rest now. You’ve earned it.”
As she finished healing the last of the injured, Cedar approached her. His wolf form had shifted back, and he was covered in scratches and bruises. But it wasn’t his injuries that caught her attention. It was the look in his eyes—a mix of admiration and regret.
“Lavender,” he began.
She held up a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t. This isn’t the time for apologies.”
Cedar’s gaze flicked to Flint, who stood nearby, his arms crossed. “How did you know?” Cedar asked him.