The Alpha's Fated Outcast Rise Of The Moonsinger novel Chapter 295

Ramsey

I stared at the stack of reports on my desk, each page with numbers representing lives lost and battles fought. Two weeks had passed since the Feral attacks, and we were still counting our dead.

"Fifty-three warriors killed in action," Lenny said, standing at attention as he delivered his analysis. "Another seventy-two wounded, eighteen of them critically. We lost four healers who were trying to evacuate civilians."

My grandfather shifted in his chair, his expression grim. His arm was still in a cast from where a Feral had nearly torn it off. The Elders of the White Moon Pack and the Council of the White Mountain Region sat in a semicircle, their faces solemn as they absorbed the casualties.

"What about the enemy's losses?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

"We captured alive approximately two hundred Ferals," Lenny continued. "Another thirty or so died when they turned on each other in the confusion. We also took down fifteen of Nathan's elite guards who were commanding the Ferals."

"And the refugees?" I asked.

"Three hundred and twenty-seven from the Southern Packs," Lenny replied. "Mostly women, children, and elders. Sixty-two warriors among them, all loyal to the fallen Alphas."

Gamma Darius stood silently behind my chair, his presence a comfort. Unlike most of the elders, Darius had been on the front lines with me, fighting to protect our people.

"The Ferals showed unexpected coordination," Lenny added. "They moved like a trained military unit, not like the mindless beasts we're used to facing."

"That's Nathan's influence," my grandfather growled. "Or whatever is controlling him."

"The Dark One," an elder murmured, and several others nodded in agreement.

When Lenny finished his report, a heavy silence fell over the room. I waited, knowing what would come next: the criticism, the second-guessing, the politics. _{freewebnovel.cσ๓}

I wasn't disappointed.

"Alpha Ramsey," Elder Silva began, his voice carrying the weight of his eighty years, "what measures will be put in place for the next attack? Or are we going to rely solely on the power of the Moonsinger?"

Several elders nodded, their expressions skeptical. They'd seen what Lyla could do—how she'd calmed the Ferals, healed the wounded—but old Lycans were slow to trust Lyla's power, and since she wasn't a Lycan, too, it doubled their suspicion.

"Lyla is a powerful ally," I said carefully, "but we're strengthening our defenses regardless. Additional barriers are being constructed at vulnerable points. We've doubled the patrol rotations."

"That's all well and good," Elder Silva pressed, "but shouldn't we be seeking more traditional alliances? The White Lake Pack has offered—"

"That's not what's important now," interrupted Elder Maddox of the White Mountain Council, rising to his feet. "We need to focus on helping restore White Hill Pack. Thankfully, a few of them survived." He cleared his throat. "Also, we must send the werewolves home."

I looked up sharply. "The werewolves?"

"The refugees from the Southern Packs," he clarified, as if I were slow.