THE ALPHA'S ASSASSIN MATE

Lyra's POVI was fifteen the night my world exploded.The sun had barely begun to drop behind the pines, painting the Blue Moon Pack lands in gold. My birthday lanterns dangled from the trees, rustling softly. The air reeked of roasted meat, pine, and laughter. Wolves danced, pups played, music rang off the hills. For once, everyone was joyful.I sat atop the fence post beside Emma, who'd been my friend all our lives. She had tied a light blue ribbon through her blonde braids, the same shade as my pack's crest. "You're nervous," she playfully bumped my arm and said. "Is the amazing Lyra scared of her own party?"I'm not afraid," I lied, puffing out my chest like he used to. "Just thinking about my first shift. Dad says it'll be any week now. He thinks I'll be a better Alpha than him."Emma snorted. "No one's better than Alpha Kael.""He said I'd be a better Alpha someday," I whispered.I knew he did. I really did.The elders would tell me I inherited his eyes sharp, gold-amber, fierce

Lyra's POVThe road to Black Crest was colder than I'd imagined.With every step I took, I felt its weight more — as if the shades from my pack clung to my boots, warning, Don't mess this up .I hadn't slept in days. When my eyes would close and all I would see was the body of my father there on the ground in a puddle of blood, his hand reaching for mine even as he died.Now I was approaching the territory of the monster who had ordered it done.The infamous Alpha Aziel.When the iron gates of the Black Crest pack rose into view, my heart almost stopped. The guards stood tall — black armor, pale eyes, and the scent of dominance clinging to the air. One of them, broader than a tree trunk, blocked my way.“Who are you?” His growl rolled through my bones.I forced my voice steady. “New servant. Kitchen department. I—I’m supposed to be interviewed today.”He leaned in. For a moment, I was certain he heard my racing heart. Then he snorted, the sound sharp. "Name?""L–Lyra. Sir."He looked a

Lyra's POVI would rather die than see the alpha in his chambers . I tell myself over and over again as a kind of mantra so that maybe it will be real.So I don't leave. I stay where the air smells of soap and pots, where work keeps my hands busy and my head muddled. The servants' wing is boisterous in the only way a space stays vibrant — clinking pots, a humming woman ironing, a boy swearing under his breath as he lifts sacks of rags. I scrub, sweep, pile. Anything to have something between my ribs to keep the rest of me from hurting.My shoulders hurt by noon from lifting too many trays. My hands sweat with steam. I value the little exhaustion which conceals the larger one. Rumour runs faster than I do; someone in the kitchen has already seen the message and the rumour goes out. It is a little, fiery patch at the base of my neck: the knowledge that the Alpha asked for me. The knowledge that I declined ,and now probably look like an insolent fool.A girl — Rue — rushes by me with an a

Aziel’s POVThe morning light streamed through the Black Crest towers in thin, golden slices across the polished stone floors. I moved through the corridors with my usual precision. Each step was measured. Each breath was deliberate. My pack slept while the castle felt half-empty, yet the weight on my chest never lessened.I paused at the infirmary. A small pup sat on the bench. One leg was wrapped in linen, and wide eyes blinked up at me. The boy had tried to impress his older cousins. He had been too quick, too daring. Now, he limped. I crouched and let my hands hover over the soft fur of his shoulder. Not a command. Not a test. Just care.“Easy,” I murmured. “Easy, little one. You’ll walk again.”His eyes shimmered with gratitude but also with fear. Fear of me, my position, and the stories whispered in the shadows of this pack. I suppressed a sigh. Some of it was deserved, but some was not. The burden of my name, my blood, and my father’s sins followed me everywhere.“Aziel?” Orlan

Lyra’s POVPalace gossip spread faster than I ever imagined. By mid-morning, I learned three things: who broke the steward’s favorite plate, which cook was caught sneaking spirits, and how Tarian managed to put suspicion on me without even speaking to me.“Do you ever get tired of knowing everything?” I muttered as I swept a batch of silver trays, carefully avoiding the scalding water that threatened to ruin my day.Spark, of course, appeared just then, gliding by with a stack of folded linens as if she had read my mind. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said with a grin. “I don’t know everything. But yes, some things are better known than others. Like that Tarian guy. Watch yourself.”“Watch myself?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “He’s a councilor. What can he do? Mutter behind his papers?”Spark rolled her eyes. “Oh, pup. That would be cute if he wasn’t scary. He notices things. Little things. People who move too fast, speak too softly, or carry their knives like love letters.” She leane