C6

"Don't make a sound," a icy voice breathes directly against my ear.

The cold edge of a silver blade presses flat against the sensitive pulse point on my neck. My eyes snap open in the pitch black room. The smell of copper, wet earth, and Silver Moon military oil fills my nose instantly.

I don't freeze. I don't cry out for help.

I slam my head backward with every bit of strength left in my body, my skull smashing violently into his nose. A loud crunch echoes in the dark room, followed by a harsh grunt of pain. Before the assassin can regain his balance, I swing my elbow into his ribs and bite down hard on his sword wrist, tasting iron and dirty skin.

He snarls, backhanding me across the face with his free hand. The blow sends me sprawling across the bed furs, my lip splitting open against my teeth.

"Bitch," the assassin growls, raising his dagger to strike down.

The heavy glass window shatters into a thousand flying shards.

A massive black figure crashes through the opening, landing in the room like an apex predator. Before the assassin can even adjust his grip, Lancelot closes the distance. The strike is terrifying in its speed. Lancelot's large hand clamps around the killer's throat, lifting him straight off the floor.

A sharp crunch fills the room as Lancelot snaps his neck in one fluid motion. He slams the body face-down into the stone floor, plunging his broad dagger through the back of the assassin's lung before stomping his heavy boot directly onto the man's skull.

Silence slams back into the room, thick and suffocating.

Lancelot doesn't look at the lifeless corpse bleeding out on his floorboards. He turns instantly to me. His golden eyes flare brightly in the dark, sweeping over my shaking body, my bloodied cheek, and the wild, savage fire burning in my gaze.

"Did he touch you?" Lancelot demands, stepping toward the bed with a cold, clinical intensity.

"I bit him," I gasp, my chest heaving as my fingers clutch the sheets. "He didn't touch the belly."

Lancelot kneels beside the corpse, wiping his bloody fingers on the dead man's collar. He reaches down, searching the assassin's belt until his fingers wrap around a long, slim object hidden inside a leather sheath. He pulls it out, holding it up to the faint light of the moon.

It is a long, hollow silver needle, tipped with dark purple poison designed specifically to pierce a pregnant womb and induce immediate, lethal hemorrhaging.

Lancelot's entire aura shifts. The air in the room turns so freezing cold my breath fogs in front of my face. His wolf pushes to the surface, his jaw locking so hard a vein bulges along his neck.

"Touch her again," Lancelot says, his low, lethal voice vibrating the very stone beneath our feet, "and the entire Silver Moon pack burns."

He turns his head slowly, raising the poisoned silver needle so I can see it clearly under the moonlight.

"They weren't sent to kill you, Cecelia," Lancelot growls, his golden eyes locking into mine with dark realization. "They were sent to cut the pup out of you."

A cold wave of horror crashes straight through my gut. My hands slam over my lower belly in pure survival instinct. Lucas didn't just want me erased from his life; he wanted to butcher his own child before it could breathe a single breath of air.

"How did he get inside your fortress?" I ask, my voice trembling with rage. "You said your borders were sealed."

"He had help," Lancelot replies coldly.

I slide off the edge of the bed, my bare feet hitting the blood-slicked stone floor. I kneel directly beside the dead assassin, ignoring the mess, and begin tearing through his tactical vest with my own bare hands.

My fingers catch on a small, warm metallic object tucked deep inside the man's ear canal. I yank it out violently. It is a tiny, glowing communication crystal, still pulsing with soft blue light.

"It's warm," I whisper, looking up at Lancelot. "He was taking orders from someone inside these walls less than two minutes ago. Someone who gave him your guard rotations, my room location, and the layout of the keep."

Lancelot reaches down and takes the glowing crystal from my bloody palm. He stares at it for a single second before crushing it into fine dust between his bare fingers.

His eyes slowly track toward the wooden door leading to the east wing of the fortress.

"Peterson," Lancelot growls softly, his voice dropping into a dark, terrifying register. "Not Lucas. Peterson."

My heart stops beating in my chest. General Peterson was my uncle, my father's brother, the only blood relative I had left in the Silver Moon pack—and the man who personally dragged me to Lancelot's border three days ago.

"My uncle is here?" I choke out, my breath catching in my throat.

"He crossed the river at midnight with a peace banner," Lancelot says, his golden eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as he turns toward the door. "He claimed he wanted to negotiate your return. But he brought a rat in his shadow."