Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 25

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Rain hammered against the canvas walls of the war tent, a steady downpour that turned the camp’s walkways to sludge and drowned out most other noise. Inside, torches flickered against the damp air, creating shadows across the maps strewn across the main table.

Alpha Collin stood at the center, jaw clenched, eyes scanning a blood–marked sketch of their recent skirmishes. His cloak was still damp from carlier rounds through the outposts, but he barely felt the cold anymore. The smell of wet leather and iron clung to everything.

A scout knelt in front of him, mud smeared up his arms and across the side of his face.

“Two more were found near the southern ridge,” the scout reported. “Same wounds. Neck punctured. Blackened veins. We’ve confirmed it, it’s poison.”

Collin’s fist slammed into the edge of the table, rattling the ink pot and toppling a small wooden marker off the map.

“Then use poison against poison,” he growled. “If those bastards want to fight dirty, we’ll match it. Dip every blade in venom. I want them to feel it with every cut.”

The scout nodded quickly and began to rise.

“Wait,” Collin snapped. “What about Cassian’s men? Status?”

“All accounted for, sir,” the scout replied, hesitation flickering in his voice. “No deaths. Not even serious injuries, according to the medics.”

Collin’s brows drew down hard.

“Not one?”

“No, Alpha. They’re saying Lord Cassian’s people managed to hold the eastern line without losses.”

A muscle ticked in Collin’s jaw. He leaned over the table and stared at the map like it had wronged him personally. Something didn’t add up.

“Where’s William?”

The scout swallowed. “Patrol, sir. Near the west wing of the mansion. He took it himself last night.”

“Send someone to get him. Now.”

11:07 Wed, Sep 10

Chapter 25

The scout bolted out of the tent.

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Collin straightened and turned toward the man sitting at the edge of the room–Renan, one of his oldest and most trusted warriors. A heavy scar ran from his temple to his collarbone, a souvenir from a battle years ago. Though he no longer fought on the front lines, his eyes missed nothing.

Renan shifted slightly in his seat. “We may have underestimated Physician Mendez,” he said calmly, hands resting over his knee. “The wound treatment last night, his methods were beyond standard protocol. I’ve only ever seen that kind of recovery speed from poisons.”

Collin didn’t answer right away.

“There were rumors,” Renan continued. “Back when he still served the royal court. Some said he worked closely with the fae and witches. Some say he tortured witches to gain their secret prescriptions, others say he was one of the few humans who could survive their rituals. Most dismissed it as legend. I thought so too… until now.”

Collin sneered. “Legend or not, it’s just luck. His people travel constantly. Of course, they’ve come across rare poisons. Familiarity isn’t power, it’s just timing. Timing and luck.”

Still, he didn’t sound as sure as he wanted to be. He looked down at the map again, fingers drumming the edge.

“So why now?” he muttered. “Why would the Demon Fangs attack again so soon? They already struck once, caused a stir, then vanished. Are they testing Cassian’s strength? Do they truly want us… dead?”

Renan’s eyes narrowed. “Could be. Or they’re looking for something.”

Collin shook his head, but the unease remained. If Cassian hadn’t taken a single casualty, and Mendez was treating wounds with near–miraculous results, then someone was lying or worse, someone was ahead of him.

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