Damian’s POV
The war room was quiet, with only the sound of heavy rain beating against the stone walls.
I stood over the large wooden table, looking down at the territory maps. For three days straight, my men had barely slept. Valtor and his Black Fang pack were moving closer to our river border every single hour, waiting for a chance to strike.
Marcus stood across from me, dark circles under his eyes, his finger tracing the border line.
“Valtor moved thirty more fighters near the lower bridge an hour ago,” Marcus said, his voice raspy. “They are testing our reaction time, Damian. If we leave the northern ridge open tonight, they will cross before sunrise and hit our lower villages.”
“Let them try,” I replied, my voice completely flat. “Tell the second patrol unit to hold their ground
