Page 48 of Bronx

“Bronx,” she whispered, relief flooding her face as he reached her side. “What’s happening?”

“Rebels are close,” he said, his voice urgent. “Stay close to me.”

“I will,” she said, her small hand reaching for his as they stood together, their fingers entwining as they braced themselves for the battle headed their direction.

Bronx admired her courage, even in the face of such danger, his own resolve strengthening as he looked around at the tight-knit group of shifters that made up their pack.

As if on cue, music began to play—soft strains of strings mingling with the haunting melody of a flute. The shifters around them moved into formation, creating a circle around the center stone that stood tall and proud in the middle of the clearing, as if they were already participating in the mating ceremony. Half the shifters had already taken their wolf forms, and the dancing that followed was a swirling mass of fur and flesh, the shifters moving gracefully around the stone in a mesmerizing display of unity and strength. Even if it was all a show for the rebels, it was an important one.

“Stay close to me,” Bronx whispered to Cora, his eyes never leaving hers as they joined the circle. She nodded, her gaze filled with trust as she pressed herself against his side, her hand still tightly clasped in his.

As they danced, Bronx could feel the tension mounting, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he sensed the approach of the rebels. He kept his body between Cora and the edge of the clearing, ready to shield her from any harm that might come their way.

Despite the fear that gnawed at him, something about the dance—the unity of their pack moving as one in the face of impending danger—filled him with a sense of hope.

The music swelled to a crescendo, the beats reverberating through the earth beneath their feet. Bronx scanned the tree line as he held Cora close. The unity of the Moonstone Pack was evident in their synchronized movements, but tension thickened the air.

“Remember,” Bronx whispered urgently to Cora, “stay close and don’t hesitate to shift if things go wrong.”

Cora nodded, her grip on his hand tightening. “I know.”

From the corner of his eye, Bronx saw movement in the shadows—too fast and purposeful to be mere animals. He tensed, ready to spring into action at any moment. As the rebels emerged from the darkness, more Moonstone Pack shifters slipped from the trees behind them, effectively trapping them between the two groups.

“Now!” Steele roared, his voice carrying over the music. Instantly, the dancing stopped, and snarls erupted from both sides of the clearing. The rebels hesitated for a fraction of a second, realizing they had been ambushed, then lunged forward with vicious growls.

“Stay back,” Bronx ordered Cora, shifting into his white wolf form in the blink of an eye, the dark clothes he wore ripping and falling away from him. He charged forward, meeting the first rebel head-on.

Chapter 20

THE MOONSTONE PACK HADdrawn the Idahos into a trap, but it didn’t mean the battle would be easily won, Bronx quickly realized.

Teeth flashed in the moonlight as he clashed with the enemy, his powerful jaws snapping at exposed flesh. Around him, other members of the Moonstone Pack fought bravely, their loyalty driving them to defend their packmates.

Bronx’s jaws closed around his opponent’s front leg, and the bone between his teeth snapped. Its owner let out a yelp and collapsed to the ground. He might have crawled away, had it not been for the fact that Bronx had already broken the other front leg, leaving their owner little choice but to lie on the ground and whimper.

Crouching low to the ground, Bronx surveyed the clearing, glad Steele had taken his advice to position Moonstone Pack members strategically throughout the tree line, ready to spring from hiding and attack the Idaho Pack from behind.

The plan had been simple yet effective: take advantage of the wedding venue’s dense forest to catch their enemies off guard.

Bronx’s heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline of battle coursing through his veins, his gaze flickering between the Moonstone Pack and their attackers from Idaho.

The Moonstones moved with swift efficiency, snarls and growls punctuating the air as they fell into formation. Bronx watched with pride as Ryker took up a defensive stance near Ivy, Cora, and Samuel, his black wolf form poised and ready to strike at any who dared approach.

“Stop!” A voice boomed from the shadows, momentarily halting the chaos. The Idaho rebel leader emerged from the trees with a grim expression. “We call for a truce.”

Bronx’s body tensed, coiling like a spring. His hackles rose as the Idaho rebel leader stepped forward, his cold gaze fixed on Steele.

He didn’t trust this sudden peace offering, but he knew better than to think Steele would dismiss it outright. Bronx didn’t recognize the rebels’ spokesman, but a glance at Ryker told him his cousin did know the man—and Ryker’s snarl made clear his opinion about how Steele should respond.

A protective growl rumbled in Bronx’s chest, every instinct he had screaming at him to safeguard his alpha, his pack, and his newfound family.

“Speak your terms,” the Moonstone alpha replied, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“I challenge you to a duel for leadership.”

The words sent a jolt through Bronx’s wolf form. Anger bubbled beneath his fur, the urge to protect his family and pack growing stronger by the second.

How dare they betray us after their acceptance into our ranks?

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