Ally or Enemy?

The sound of running water echoed faintly from the bathroom—steady, loud, and annoyingly carefree.

Marcus was singing again. Off-key. Loud. With full confidence.

He’d commanded me to “wait for him” like he was some grand Alpha, not the chaos gremlin I’ve been forced to babysit. I could’ve ignored him, left the room, and let him throw a tantrum later—but instead, I stood there like an idiot.

I crossed my arms and exhaled through my nose.

“Just five minutes,” he’d said.

It’s been seventeen.

I glanced around his room, more out of habit than interest. It was… a mess, but not the kind of mess I expected.

Not dirty—just scattered. Like someone lived in chaos but knew where everything was. Clothes draped over a chair. A stack of half-read books toppling on the nightstand. A few weapons lying around—some expensive, some just oddly customized.

His scent clung to everything. Charcoal, citrus, and that wild, unfiltered energy that somehow smelled expensive and ridiculous at once. I tried not to wrinkle my nose.

I wandered toward the bookshelf. Surprisingly extensive for someone who acted allergic to seriousness. A few titles caught my attention—battle strategy, poetry, some weird comic about space werewolves?

I blinked at that one.

Of course.

My fingers trailed over the spines until I found a thin, leather-bound notebook wedged between two thicker books. No title. Just worn edges.

I paused.

Don’t.

This wasn’t part of the plan. You’re here to kill Sebastian. Not snoop around Marcus’s room like a nosy teenager with poor impulse control.

Still I flipped it open.

Sketches.

Rough, expressive. Wolves in motion, teeth bared mid-snarl. Some half-finished, others strangely detailed. The kind of drawings that spoke of someone who *felt* through his pencil. Someone who didn’t just draw for skill—but for release.

Then one caught my eye.

The back of a woman mid-shift—frozen between wolf and human. Her form was strong, defined, graceful in the way most wolves weren’t when they returned to skin. Something about the sketch felt... studied. Almost reverent.

My brows knit as I stared at it.

There was a note scrawled just beneath the page in quick, jagged handwriting:

“The beautiful assassin.”

Before I could fully process it—

The water stopped.

Shit.

I snapped the sketchbook shut and shoved it back onto the shelf exactly how I found it. My fingers lingered half a second longer than necessary before I pulled away and moved back to my post by the door, face unreadable, heartbeat steady.

I wasn’t snooping.

I was observing.

That’s what a good bodyguard does.

Marcus stepped out of the bathroom with a towel lazily slung around his waist, water still dripping from his hair. He paused when he saw me standing by the door—like I hadn’t just rifled through his personal things five minutes ago.

His eyes narrowed just slightly, playful suspicion dancing behind them. “You didn’t touch anything, did you?”

I said nothing. Just lifted a brow.

He smirked. “Right. Of course you didn’t. You’ve got that very trustworthy glare.”

I rolled my eyes.

He strolled past me, heading toward the walk-in closet, then stopped and turned halfway. “Hey… would you mind helping me pick out an outfit for today?”

I stared at him, horrified. “No.”

His grin widened. “Come on, scary hot bodyguard. It’s team bonding. I need you to approve my vibe.”

“You have no vibe.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest dramatically. “That hurt more than it should’ve.”

He took a step closer, towel still low on his hips, droplets trailing down his abs like some overly dramatic cologne commercial. His voice dropped playfully.

“…Wait. Are you a virgin or something? Is that why you're acting so—”

The next second, he was flat on his back on the bed.

Pinned.

Me, on top of him, one knee digging into the mattress near his ribs, my forearm pressing against his throat—not hard enough to hurt. Yet.

His eyes blinked up at me, stunned, lips parted, towel still barely holding on. His ears turned a deep red.

I stared down at him, furious. “Say. That. Again.”

Marcus blinked. “I—I was joking—”

“I’m your bodyguard. Not your entertainment.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His voice, when it came, was just slightly breathless.

Then the door opened.

Both of us turned to look.

Sebastian stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable—but his brows did raise ever so slightly at the sight of me standing beside the bed, and Marcus still sprawled across it, towel barely hanging on and ears visibly red.

I straightened immediately, my arms snapping behind my back, posture perfect, like nothing had happened at all.

Marcus groaned dramatically from the bed, flopping onto his back like this was all a huge inconvenience. “You are indeed good at timing, nerd,” he muttered. “What do you need?”

Sebastian glanced between us for a moment. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Marcus said.

“No,” I said at the exact same time, stepping forward calmly. “He was just about to get dressed.”

Marcus gave me a look. I ignored it.

Sebastian exhaled through his nose, a quiet huff that might have been amusement. “Good. Because we’re scheduled for a strategy briefing in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”

Marcus sat up, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “Can’t I just send my brilliant bodyguard in my place? She seems like she could kill a room of diplomats without blinking.”

Sebastian raised a brow. “Yes, but unlike you, she doesn’t enjoy wasting my time.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Marcus sighed, swinging his legs off the bed and finally standing. “Nerd’s lucky he’s hot.”

“I’m right here,” I reminded him, eyes narrowed.

He grinned. “Yeah, and thank god you are. That was almost embarrassing.”

I didn’t answer.

My glare said enough.

—

We walked down the corridor, my footsteps light and measured behind Marcus’s lazy, uneven gait.

He was talking again. Complaining.

“Like, I don’t get it,” he whined—yes, whined, like a child denied his favorite toy. “Sebastian’s already going to be there, right? He’s Mister Organized, Mister Plan-Everything-Three-Months-Ahead. So why do I have to go too? What’s the point of both of us being bored to death?”

He even pitched his voice higher, mocking Sebastian. “Oh Marcus, please show up so I don’t cry into my folders.”

I closed my eyes briefly, wondering if I could survive one more day of this.

My ears twitched at his voice, like they physically wanted to escape. And the thought hit me before I could stop it—

I could just throw both of them into the training ring.

No claws. No teeth. Just brutal, beautiful silence after a solid left hook.

I smiled a little to myself.

“What are you doing?” Marcus suddenly asked, turning around mid-step.

I blinked, caught.

“What?” I said too quickly.

“You just smiled. Creepy. What were you thinking?” he asked, suspicious and far too curious for my comfort.

I coughed lightly, straightening. “Nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes, then grinned. “You were thinking about murdering me again, weren’t you?”

I said nothing.

Which, apparently, was answer enough.

Marcus was about to say something else—probably another whiny complaint or a teasing jab—when the scent hit me.

Faint at first.

Then stronger.

Warm. Familiar. Wrapped in years of memories I’d locked away like they were corpses in my closet.

My breath caught in my throat.

No. It couldn’t be.

That scent… soft, like crushed herbs and rain on pinewood. A smell I thought I’d buried alongside the woman who carried it.

Mother.

I froze.

Why?

Why here? Why now?

She hates me.

Her face flashed in my mind—not from memories of comfort, but of cold glares and turned backs. She didn’t even mourn them, not the way I did. She just found someone to blame. Me.

What is she doing in the Eldridge Pack? She wouldn’t come here without a reason. Not unless…

No. No, no, no. This complicates everything.

The scent grew stronger with every passing second, curling around my ribs like a vice. My eyes burned.

Panic surged in my chest. I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t be seen. Not like this. Not now.

A figure turned the corner up ahead. I couldn’t risk it.

Without thinking, I shoved Marcus hard into the nearest wall, his back thudding softly against it.

His mouth opened, maybe to protest, but I didn’t give him the chance.

I kissed him.

His breath hitched. I could feel the shock in how stiff his body became, frozen in the heat of contact.

I didn’t care.

It was just enough to hide my face. Just enough to let whoever passed think I was just another reckless wolf caught up in some hallway tryst. Not a rogue. Not me.

Not someone who recognized the scent of her dead mother.

My heart thundered.

Seconds passed like eternity.

Then the scent was gone.

I pulled back slowly.

Marcus stared at me, blinking like he’d been struck by lightning. His ears were bright red. His lips parted, speechless.

“You—” he started, voice hoarse.

“Shut up,” I muttered, stepping away.

And for once, Marcus actually did.

The moment the scent faded down the hallway, I slipped away—quiet, swift. Years of living rogue taught me how to disappear in plain sight. They wouldn’t smell me. Not anymore. That part of me died with the pack.

I moved like a shadow, staying just a few steps behind. She didn’t notice.

Her back was rigid as ever, her stride purposeful. Still the same woman I remembered—stern, proud, unreachable.

Then another shape joined her.

I stopped breathing.

That man… My father’s beta.

Old, but not weak. The silver in his hair didn’t dull the sharpness in his eyes. If he was here, this wasn’t just a social visit.

They spoke in hushed tones. Close. Serious. I couldn’t hear them, not from this distance. But their body language told me everything. This wasn’t a friendly reunion. This was strategy. This was business.

Why would she come all the way here to speak to him?

Unless…

Unless it had something to do with him.

Just as I thought that, another figure walked up.

Sebastian.

He approached them like he belonged in that circle, and my stomach twisted. My mother’s posture shifted—not cold, not guarded, but… polite. Civil. She greeted him with a slight nod, the kind she only gave to men she respected—or men she feared.

They spoke briefly, casually. Like acquaintances.

And then the three of them disappeared behind a door. The beta opened it for them.

I stayed frozen in the corridor, rooted to the floor.

No one else saw me. No one smelled me.

But I felt seen.

I shouldn’t be here. Not watching them. Not listening in.

Yet…

That wasn’t a coincidence. My mother’s presence here—with Sebastian—wasn’t a coincidence.

Did she know who he really was?

Did she know he was Carlos and Bethany’s son?

My blood went cold.

Because if she did… why was she standing beside him like an ally?

And worse—what did that make me?