MasukThe city’s skyline burned gold under the setting sun, but for Lia, the beauty was a lie. Every shadow, every alley, every whisper of wind felt like it carried a warning. Damien didn’t speak much during the drive. His hands gripped the steering wheel with a precision that suggested every muscle in his body was ready to strike. Lia sat beside him, nerves humming, heart racing—but there was determination there too. “They’re not just testing me anymore,” she said quietly. “No,” Damien replied, eyes on the road. “They’re setting the board. Every move you make, every thought you have, they’re trying to anticipate. But… they made one mistake.” Lia tilted her head. “Which one?” Damien didn’t answer immediately. He just slowed the car at a deserted intersection, scanning the empty streets. Then, finally: “They underestimated you.” The words gave her a strange thrill. Fear and pride tangled together in a way she didn’t fully understand. “You’re stronger than I thought,” he said, voice lo
The city felt different at night. Dark corners whispered secrets, and every streetlamp flickered like it was holding its breath. Lia’s pulse wouldn’t slow. She followed Damien through the deserted alleyways, every step echoing off the brick walls, every shadow a potential threat. He was silent beside her, but the tension radiating off him could have sliced steel. “Tell me,” she said finally, unable to hold the question back. “Who is behind this? Who wants to hurt us so badly?” Damien didn’t answer. Not at first. His jaw was tight; his eyes scanned every rooftop, every doorway. It was the Alpha in him—the predator always alert to danger. But Lia knew that look too. It was more than caution. It was fear. “Not just one,” he said at last, his voice low, almost a growl. “A network. A shadow inside the pack… and outside. Someone with power, patience, and a taste for control. Someone who… enjoys watching me lose everything.” Lia swallowed. The words didn’t fully register at first. Then
The warehouse smelled of cold iron and old secrets. Lia felt it the moment she stepped inside—that subtle shift in the air when truth was about to surface whether anyone was ready for it or not. The silence was too deliberate, stretched thin like a wire pulled to breaking point. Even the Alpha’s presence beside her did little to calm the warning crawling up her spine. Damien stood tall, shoulders squared, his authority filling the space without effort. But Lia knew him well enough now to notice the fracture beneath the control—the tension coiled tight in his jaw, the faint flex of his fingers as if restraining something far more dangerous than anger. Across from them, under a flickering industrial light, stood Elder Marrec. One of the oldest. One of the most trusted. One of the last people Lia would have suspected. Her breath caught. “No,” she whispered before she could stop herself. Marrec smiled—slow, indulgent, almost pitying. “You see, Alpha?” he said smoothly. “This is w
The dawn had barely broken when Lia awoke to an unsettling stillness. The safe house, usually a sanctuary, felt constricted, like the walls were closing in. The black feather from the night before rested on her dresser, a dark reminder that the world beyond the walls was far from safe. Damien had already left before she stirred, leaving only a folded note on the table, written in his precise handwriting: “Do not leave the house today. Not alone. I will return soon. —D” Lia frowned. His message was short, but it carried weight. Every word was measured, controlled, and yet it conveyed the same intensity she had come to expect from him: protection, warning, and an unspoken promise. She tucked the feather into her pocket and traced her fingers along the edge of the note. Her mind raced. The woman from the forest—the one with the silver hair and deadly calm—was still out there. And she had sent a warning that was far more than just intimidation. It was a challenge. Lia had never backe
The forest held its breath. Moonlight spilled across the jagged ridges, silvering the trees and painting long, trembling shadows. Lia’s fingers brushed the strap of her bag, not from fear, but from instinct. Something was wrong. She could feel it—like a thread pulling at the edges of her awareness. Damien, walking just a step behind her, had his eyes on the path, scanning for any threat, but he didn’t sense it yet. He was confident. Overconfident. And Lia didn’t have the heart to tell him she could see the flicker in the shadows—the movement that didn’t belong. A rustle. Just a whisper, but enough to make Lia freeze mid-step. “Lia?” Damien’s voice was low, steady, protective. He stopped, his gaze sweeping the clearing. “You’re quiet. Did something happen?” She forced a laugh, shaking her head. “Just… the wind, maybe.” But the shadow didn’t move like the wind. It moved with purpose. Slow, deliberate, watching them from the edge of the forest. Her pulse quickened. A warning tighte
The night pressed in thick and heavy. The pack’s clearing was alive with whispers, the scent of burning wood, and tension sharp enough to cut through fur and bone. Damien stood near the center, the firelight playing across his sharp angles, the crown of Alpha not resting on him—but weighing him down in a way no one could see. Everyone watched him. The Elders, the younger wolves, and Selina—Selina who moved through the crowd like a shadow brushing against silk. And then there was Lia, standing apart, her arms crossed lightly over her chest, her gaze steady despite the low murmur of disapproval that floated toward her like smoke. She was a single human—barely even that in the pack’s eyes—but tonight, the way she carried herself made her impossible to ignore. Damien’s eyes never left her. She was calm, defiant, serene—like she had already made a choice he didn’t need to fight for. Yet, every instinct inside him warned that this night would not stay calm for long. Selina approached him







