My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 395

Chapter 395: Chapter 395 SEEDS OF CONFUSION

CHRISTIAN’S POV

In my time as Alpha, I had commanded Nightfang through many wars.

Territorial disputes. Blood feuds. Rogue incursions that tested the borders and the strength of our pack.

I had seen fear before.

I had seen hesitation.

I had seen men break under pressure, then rise again under an Alpha’s command.

But what I witnessed that night was something else entirely.

Before he left, Kieran entrusted Nightfang to me with enough context to understand the scale of what we were facing.

What were the odds that Nightfang being attacked by rogues on the very night they went to confront Catherine was a coincidence?

Zero.

As if that wasn’t enough, young Daniel had had a prophetic dream during his nap earlier that afternoon, and urgently warned of an attack.

Most would dismiss it as a child’s wild imagination, but knowing who his mother and father were, I took it seriously and immediately arranged for him and Leona to be taken to a safe house.

By the time the first howl tore through the western perimeter, we were ready for it.

Beside me, Gavin was already moving, his pace matching mine as we crossed the courtyard without wasting a single word between us.

We did not need to speak to understand what was happening; the call had been clear, and its urgency left no room for doubt.

The moment we reached the edge of the western line, the scent hit me.

Fresh blood, thick enough to coat the back of the throat.

It was followed almost immediately by the sound of conflict, the deep, violent rhythm of bodies colliding, of snarls tearing through the night, of warriors calling out to one another as they fought to hold the line.

We broke through the last stretch of trees and stepped into chaos.

Nightfang’s warriors had already formed a defensive arc along the breach, their bodies positioned with practiced precision as they pushed back against the incoming rogues.

Under normal circumstances, I would have felt a measure of confidence at the sight. Our pack had never lacked discipline, had always thrived under pressure, and with Gavin coordinating alongside me, a rogue assault—even a large one—should have been manageable.

At first, it appeared that way.

The rogues came in waves, their movements aggressive but contained, their attacks met with equal force as our warriors held their ground.

Steel flashed in the moonlight, claws tore through fur, the sharp scent of violence and blood thickened with every passing second.

‘Push them back!’ Gavin barked through the mind-link as his wolf, Xander, drove one of the rogues off balance with a well-placed strike. ‘Do not let them past the line!’

I stepped forward into the fray without hesitation, only half-shifting.

My presence alone was enough to shift the immediate space around me as I intercepted a lunging wolf and drove it into the dirt with bone-crushing force.

The impact sent it skidding across the ground, but it recovered quickly, twisting with unnatural speed as it came at me again.

I ended it before it could reach me.

For several minutes, the battle held its shape.

We absorbed the impact.

We countered.

We advanced in controlled increments.

Under normal circumstances, it should have stayed that way.

But then something changed.

A hesitation out of place.

A shift in posture that did not align with instinct.

A moment—brief but unmistakable—where one of our warriors faltered when he should have struck.

My gaze sharpened as I took in the battlefield to find the cause.

A rogue in human form burst through the front line, lunging at a young fighter who should have deflected the attack easily.

Instead, the boy froze, his stance collapsing.

I moved on instinct, intercepting the rogue before he could land a killing blow, but as he twisted beneath my grip, his eyes met mine.

Recognition hit like a physical force, and if I were a lesser wolf, I would have frozen in shock, too.

Because I knew that face.

Not as an enemy.

As one of my own.

The scar that cut across its shoulder had been earned during a border skirmish two summers ago.

I had been there when it happened. I had commended him for holding the line when others would have retreated.

Six months later, I had stood at his funeral pyre and watched the flames take him.

And now he was here. Alive.

Just like Aaron.

The recognition was obviously not mutual.

He snarled, snapping human teeth at me with no sign of recognition, no hesitation, no trace of the man I had once known.

Behind me, I heard a voice stutter, “D-dad—?”

Another cut off mid-sentence.

“It can’t be—”

I turned sharply, scanning the battlefield again, and what I saw made something cold settle deep in my chest.

It was not just this one.

It was several.

Familiar faces, familiar pack members.

Who should all be dead.

There were not enough of them to dominate the field or turn the tide based on the confusion they had caused.

But they were enough.

Enough for our warriors to recognize them.

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