chapter 8

Calla’s POV

The night air was charged with tension as I faced the assembled rogues, their expressions a blend of curiosity and doubt. They had witnessed my victory over Vexon, seen me establish order in a realm dominated by chaos, but that didn’t ensure their allegiance—not yet.

Authority in the Rogue Lands was acquired, not bestowed. Power commanded respect, but only if it was maintained.

I sensed the heaviness of their stares, the uncertainty reflected in their eyes. They weren’t pack wolves. They didn’t kneel to Alphas, didn’t adhere to rules. They were survivors, warriors, thieves, and murderers. They had spent their entire lives abiding by one principle—kill or be killed.

And yet, they stood here, watching, waiting.

Darius advanced, his voice breaking through the whispers. “You’ve all witnessed it firsthand. Calla has defeated Vexon. She didn’t merely win—she took him down without a moment’s hesitation. If that doesn’t demonstrate she’s stronger than him, then what does? ”

Some nodded in agreement. Others dismissed the idea. One rogue, a robust man with a scar tracing his neck, stepped forward, arms folded. “Strong, sure. But what implications does that hold for us? Leaders don’t survive here. What sets her apart? ”

I locked eyes with him directly. “Because I’m not merely here to lead. I’m here to transform everything. ”

Silence.

I made a deliberate step forward, allowing my voice to reach the crowd. “You battle one another for meager scraps. You take the lives of your own to endure another day. The packs perceive you as nothing more than wild dogs, unworthy of a place in their society. And you allow them to believe it. ” My voice grew firm. “But what if we cease fighting each other? What if we redirect our strength against those who have cast us aside? ”

More murmurs arose. Some expressed skepticism, others showed interest.

“You want us to behave like a pack? ” someone scoffed from the rear.

I shook my head. “No. I want us to be beyond that. Packs follow rules that they didn’t create. They follow Alphas who were given power at birth. But we? We determine our destiny. We fight for it. ”

The burly rogue narrowed his gaze. “And you believe you can bring that about? ”

“I know I can. ” My voice was calm, resolute. “We don’t require an Alpha. We need something innovative. A force powerful enough to instill fear in the packs, to gain their respect. A force they cannot overlook. ”

A tense silence ensued.

Then Darius spoke, his voice soft yet commanding. “We need a name. ”

The moment lingered, the promise of change palpable in the atmosphere. I allowed the answer to surface within me, inspired by the whispers of the Rogue Lands, the tales of a force stronger than fear itself.

“The Shadow Fangs. ”

The name washed over them like a tempest, spreading through murmurs, thoughtful nods, and the quiet acceptance of something grander than any of them had envisioned.

Darius smiled faintly. “The Shadow Fangs. ”

The hefty rogue—his name was Garrick, I later discovered—observed me intently for a prolonged moment. Then, without uttering a single word, he knelt. Not in submission, not in defeat, but in recognition.

One after another, the others mimicked his action.

I had won their loyalty, but it wasn’t obedience they were offering. It was something much stronger. It was belief.

For the first time since my exile, I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t weak.

I was queen.

---

Time went by, and the Shadow Fangs took form. It wasn’t simple. Rogues were not accustomed to order, to loyalty, to anything beyond their continuation. But they heeded. Gradually, we constructed something genuine.

We had fighters, scouts, informants. We established our governing system—not regulations like the packs, but principles. We defended our own. We didn’t betray each other. And we fought for a future where rogues were more than outcasts.

I trained more intensively than ever. Each night, Darius pushed me beyond my boundaries. I learned to combat without pause, to foresee strikes before they occurred. Every lesson, every injury, every mark was another stride toward becoming the leader they needed.

But power invariably comes with a cost.

One night, while I sat honing my dagger by the fire, Darius came over, his expression grim.

“We have an issue,” he stated, voice low.

I looked up, noticing the tightness in his posture. “What sort of issue? ”

“A familiar one. ” His jaw tightened. “Raiden. ”

The name shot a sharp ache through my heart, but I suppressed any sign of it. “What about him? ”

Darius faltered for a moment, then sighed. “Rumor has it, he’s learned about what’s unfolding here. About you. ”

I breathed out slowly, tightening my grip on the dagger. “And? ”

“He’s not overlooking it. ” Darius held my gaze. “He’s dispatching warriors. He wants you dead. ”

A chilling, intense fury settled in my gut. I had anticipated this would occur eventually. I had taken charge of the Rogue Lands, forged something formidable. There was no way Raiden would permit that to go unchallenged.

Yet knowing it was inevitable did not ease the burden.

The man I had once adored, the man who had discarded me, was now sending his wolves to slay me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing resolve into my voice. “Then we’ll be prepared. ”

Darius observed me closely. “Are you? ”

I met his gaze, refusing to falter. “Yes. ”

But deep within, in the part of me I kept sealed away, a murmur of uncertainty stirred.

Raiden had once been my entire universe. Now, he was my enemy.

And soon, one of us would have to fall.