Chapter 7 – Assassin in the Dark

The echo of the dagger hitting stone still rattled in my bones. My breath caught, every sense straining, waiting for the next strike. The corridor seemed to shrink around me, shadows thickening, whispering promises of death.

Then I heard it—the whisper of steel slicing air.

I dropped instinctively, my palms scraping the floor as another blade hissed past, so close I felt the sting as it grazed the edge of my arm. Pain bloomed hot and sharp, but fear shoved it aside. Whoever lurked in the dark wasn’t finished.

I forced myself to my feet, eyes darting. For a heartbeat, I caught the glint of a figure melting back into the black—too fast, too practiced. But what froze me wasn’t the shadow. It was the dagger that had missed me, now quivering upright in the ground.

The hilt bore the unmistakable crest.

A wolf’s skull, crowned in iron thorns.

Shadowfang.

My blood turned to ice. That crest belonged to my father’s bloodline. My bloodline.

“No,” I whispered, stumbling back. “Not possible.”

But the truth was etched into the steel, undeniable. Someone from my family—someone with Shadowfang ties—wanted me dead.

Before the horror could settle, a voice slid into the chaos, venom-sweet.

“Well,” Damien drawled from behind me, his silhouette leaning against a stone pillar. His smirk gleamed in the moonlight like a blade. “Isn’t this convenient? A Shadowfang weapon, cutting straight to the heart of the little princess who claims innocence.”

I spun toward him, fury and fear colliding. “You think I staged this?”

“Why not?” He stepped closer, voice smooth, poisonous. “Who else could smuggle Shadowfang steel into this hall? You return after years in exile, and suddenly assassins appear. Tell me, Aria, are you here to unite us—or destroy us?”

My chest tightened. His words slithered like snakes into the cracks of the watching wolves’ doubts. And worse, a part of me feared he might succeed.

But before I could speak, the air shifted.

Cold. Heavy. Absolute.

Riven.

He stepped out of the shadows like the night itself had given him form. His presence pressed against my lungs, demanding submission, commanding silence. The assassin was gone, melted into darkness the moment Riven appeared, as if the mere scent of his power drove them to flee.

My relief lasted only a heartbeat.

Because Riven’s eyes weren’t searching for the enemy. They locked on me.

He strode forward, plucked the dagger from the floor, and studied the crest glinting in silver. His jaw flexed, the lines of his face carved in fury.

Then his gaze lifted, burning into mine.

“You,” he growled.

I flinched, not from the word, but from the cold certainty in it.

“I didn’t—” I started.

“Explain why a Shadowfang blade seeks your heart.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Unless your return invited it.”

The accusation struck harder than the blade had. My pulse thundered in my ears. “I am the target, not the traitor!” I snapped, desperation sharpening my tone. “Do you think I’d stand here, bleeding, if I sent this assassin myself?”

But his eyes didn’t soften. They only burned brighter, as if he saw not me, but the curse of my bloodline.

Behind him, Damien chuckled darkly. “See? Even her bloodline rejects her. Perhaps fate wants her gone after all.”

Riven’s growl silenced him, deep and primal, a warning that reverberated through the stone walls. Still, the damage was done. I saw it in the pack wolves who had gathered at the edges, in their wary eyes, in their doubt.

I swallowed hard, my voice trembling as I forced the words out. “Someone in my family wants me dead. That crest proves it. Don’t you dare twist it against me.”

For a fraction of a second, I thought I glimpsed conflict flicker in Riven’s eyes. But if it was there, it vanished beneath his icy mask.

He reached for me suddenly, his hand iron around my arm. I gasped as he yanked me forward, his grip unyielding, his aura flooding over me until I could barely breathe.

“You’ve destabilized this pack from the moment you returned,” he said coldly. “Now, blood is on our floor, and suspicion spreads like fire. I will not allow chaos to root in my house.”

“Riven, let go!” I twisted against him, but his strength was a wall. Pain seared where his fingers bit into my skin. Rage flared hotter than fear, humiliation burning in my chest as the watching wolves whispered.

Damien’s smirk widened. He was winning, even without lifting a blade.

Riven dragged me down the corridor, his grip merciless. I stumbled to keep pace, fury and despair tangling in my throat.

“Where are you taking me?” I demanded, though the answer sank cold in my gut.

His eyes flicked down at me, a storm barely caged.

“To the council,” he said. “They will decide your fate.”

The words cut deeper than any dagger.

My heart pounded, not just from fear of judgment, but from the cruel irony of it—my own mate, chosen by the Moon, would not defend me. He would cast me to the wolves.

The heavy doors of the council chamber loomed ahead, light spilling like fire from the cracks. Riven shoved them open, dragging me into the blaze of every watching eye.

Gasps rose. Whispers swirled.

Riven’s voice thundered, final and absolute:

“At dawn, this girl will stand trial before the pack. If she is innocent, let it be proven. If guilty—her bloodline ends tonight.”

The room erupted in shock, but I only heard the sound of my own heartbeat. Loud. Ragged. Betrayed.

And deep inside, the prophecy’s weight pressed heavier than ever. Fate had dragged me here. But fate, it seemed, had also shackled me to the one man who would destroy me.