Chapter 87

For Zion, even if he couldn’t immediately identify who was trying to infiltrate his territory, it didn’t really matter. The repeated rogue attacks—where wave after wave of warriors were sent only to be slaughtered—meant that the enemy had already sacrificed too much to walk away now.

They were fully committed, and that left them with only two possible outcomes: be annihilated by Zion once he uncovered their identity, or crumble from within as their forces were gradually depleted, leaving them as nothing more than a fragile house of cards.

And if, in a desperate attempt to escape destruction, they chose to go down in flames and leak the secret to every faction across the land, that too would be a foolish move. Not only would they incur Zion’s wrath, but they’d also risk enraging the monarch of this domain. Doing so would guarantee their total eradication.

With a wicked grin, Zion locked eyes with the brown wolf. The change in Zion’s aura was immediate—charged, lethal, and brimming with aggression. He was in full offensive mode now, no longer holding back, and the brown wolf felt it. Its fur bristled instinctively, lips curling to bare its fangs as it shifted into a defensive stance.

Zion gave one last smirk before shifting into his wolf form. Then, without hesitation, he lunged forward. He no longer cared about capturing any of the attackers—there was no point if they were all going to die anyway. Besides, he suspected the rogues had no real idea what they were involved in, likely used as pawns in a larger scheme.

So he would end it.

Unleashing his full power, Zion’s speed and strength became a blur of savage precision. Before the others could even react, he crashed into one of the werewolves with his massive frame, sending it flying through the air until it slammed into a tree with a sickening thud.

A sharp whine escaped the wolf Zion had sent flying, followed by a sickening crack—its spine likely shattered. The others could only watch as the fallen wolf’s breaths grew weaker, shallower… until they finally ceased altogether.

Without waiting another moment, the remaining werewolves lunged at Zion all at once. But killing him wasn’t going to be easy.

Zion twisted mid-movement, sinking his fangs into the throat of one attacker. With a vicious jerk, he hurled the wolf into another charging at him, the collision sending both sprawling. Without hesitation, Zion clamped down harder on the wolf in his jaws and snapped its neck with a brutal crunch.

Blood still dripping from his maw, he lunged after the second wolf he had thrown. But before he could finish it off, the brown wolf—realizing his underlings were falling like flies—finally stopped watching from the sidelines and launched himself into the fight with a feral, enraged snarl.

Because of this, Zion barely managed to step back in time, earning a deep scratch along his side just beneath the ribs. But he didn’t flinch. He pressed on, relentless, tearing through his enemies as though pain didn’t exist. The brown wolf continued his assault with cold precision, using his subordinates as pawns—throwing them at Zion like fodder to wear him down. While Zion dealt with the swarm, the brown wolf circled, striking strategically, each blow meant to chip away at Zion’s strength.

It worked.

Soon, Zion’s body was riddled with wounds, his once clean fur soaked in blood. Still, he fought like a beast possessed. But no matter how strong he was, even he had limits. His hind leg faltered, unable to keep up with the damage his healing ability couldn’t heal in time. He staggered—just for a second.

But it was all the opening the brown wolf needed.

With a triumphant snarl, the brown wolf lunged, this time not for distraction, but for the kill—his fangs aimed straight at Zion’s throat.

Snap!

But Zion had been waiting for this moment all along. After feigning weakness just long enough to lure the brown wolf in, he sprang into action. Swift and precise, Zion targeted the wolf’s neck. The brown wolf scrambled to claw at Zion, trying to rise on its hind legs, but Zion’s massive frame was unstoppable. With a powerful shove, he slammed the brown wolf to the ground and pinned it firmly beneath him.

Zion had fought on the frontlines of the brutal war between werewolves and vampires—how could he be taken down by mere superficial wounds? He had endured far worse injuries over those grueling three years.

No, unless he was deliberately feigning weakness and exposing small vulnerabilities to lure his enemies into a false sense of security, they wouldn’t dare let their guard down, thinking he was an easy prey.

But Zion was no ordinary fighter. In the war, he often faced multiple vampires at once, sharpening his situational awareness and observation skills to a razor’s edge. Someone like him wasn’t going to fall so easily.

Unfortunately, the brown wolf was inexperienced and blinded by arrogance. It hadn’t noticed any of this—and that was its fatal mistake.

Zion paused, watching closely. Would the brown wolf try to shift back into human form to plead for mercy? After all, in wolf form, communication was nearly impossible—unless they were connected by mindlink within their pack.

But unfortunately for the brown wolf, beyond pushing itself up and clawing at Zion, it did nothing else. Zion quickly grew bored of the futile struggle and snapped the wolf’s neck. The brown wolf immediately went limp.

Seeing their leader fall, the remaining werewolves panicked and tried to flee, but Zion gave them no chance. With swift, agile precision, he hunted them down one by one, ending them all.

When the last was dealt with, Zion turned to help his warriors mop up the remaining rogues, killing them before sending a mindlink to all his warriors.

“Any reports? Warriors near the packhouse and safe bunker—are you secure? Any issues?!” Zion demanded, his keen eyes scanning the forest. Satisfied, he nodded his massive wolf head, signaling his warriors to drag the fallen into the clearing.

“Alpha Zion, we captured three werewolves attempting to sneak into the packhouse and four near the safehouse,” one of the warriors reported as they hauled the bodies. “They were using scent-masking spray. If we hadn’t tightened the security, they might’ve slipped through unnoticed.”

He paused, his tone growing grim. “As soon as we captured them, they began foaming at the mouth and convulsed before going still. The pack doctor confirmed they had poison pouches hidden in their molars, which allowed them to commit suicide.”

Zion’s eyes narrowed. “Were they in human form?”

“Yes, Alpha. They likely didn’t expect our surveillance to be this tight, so they tried to infiltrate quietly.”

“Good,” Zion said with a nod. “Drag their bodies to the morgue. Have the old pack doctor examine them—check for tattoos, brandings, or any identifying marks.”

“Understood, Alpha,” the warrior replied with a respectful nod.

After finishing his part of the battle, Zion shifted back to his human form. His body was drenched in blood—so much so that it was impossible to tell whether it was his or his enemies’. Even his mouth was smeared with it. He licked his lips, the metallic tang of blood lingering on his tongue, then spat to the side before running his tongue along the inside of his cheek.

Compared to the chaos earlier, when he’d lost control and torn apart his office in frustration, this—this brutal, visceral hunt—left him feeling far more at ease.