LOGINFinish the mission, Seven, or we finish your sister." My handler's voice is static in my ear. Clinical. My sister's heartbeat still echoes from this morning's audio clip, steady, for now. Across the Volkov's gilded ballroom, my three targets watch me with possessive hunger. Alexei, whose brutal hands lift my chin like I'm something precious. Dimitri, who counts my lies like other men count coins. Nikolai, whose kindness is the most dangerous weapon of all, because it's the first thing that cracked my programming. I was engineered for this. Genetically modified to be immune to their mate bond, sculpted into the perfect weapon to destroy the most dangerous werewolf mafia family in Russia. Six months to make them love me. Six months to kill them. My immunity is failing. I feel it when Nikolai's touch doesn't repulse me. When Dimitri's suspicion feels like concern. When Alexei's cruelty looks more like pain. The bond I was supposed to fake is stitching itself into my bones, real and terrifying. Now my handlers want the kill. My sister's life for theirs. But the man who created me is their uncle. This isn't a mission, it's an eighty-year revenge, and I'm the blade he sharpened to cut his own bloodline. They think they've claimed their fated Luna. I'm carrying the knife that could end them. And I'm not sure which is sharper anymore:the silver in my sleeve, or the hope in my chest that maybe, just maybe, I could belong to them instead of my creators.
View MoreTori’s POV
"Luna! Luna Victoria! We've just received a report from the frontlines. The war is over!!!" Gamma Sylas's heavy footsteps rang through the hallway as he hurried toward my office, where I was buried in the grain production report from our farm. His excited voice echoed from down the hall even before he reached the door. My hand trembled, and my heart seemed to stop in an instant as the news sank in. The war is over? At that moment, a face flashed across my mind, causing my heart to skip a beat as a wave of happiness and disbelief washed over me. I sprang up from my chair, the heavy wooden seat crashing to the floor with a resounding thud behind me. Yet all I could hear was a ringing in my ears, my Gamma's words echoing in my thoughts. A wide, unguarded smile spread across my face one that hadn't appeared in months, revealing a youthful gleam beneath my tired, gaunt face. Though still in my early twenties, the trials of war had aged me beyond my years, making me look much older than I actually was. "Is it true?!" My face lit up with an excited, warm smile as I eagerly awaited my Gamma to reach me, holding a sealed letter one that had come from the frontlines via our messenger birds. Gamma Sylas didn't speak. Instead, he handed the letter to me, allowing me to read the news myself. His eyes softened as he watched me the woman he had worked with this entire three years to keep the pack afloat while our Alpha and most of our warriors were fighting in the frontlines. Although it sounded glamorous to hear that I became the rock of our pack, in reality, none of the pack members actually respected me. After all, aside from my managerial skills, my wolf is weak; I can't even shift into my wolf form and am labeled as an omega. However, my status is actually lower than an omega since I can't even shift, which nearly makes me wolfless. And what's worse is that my Alpha left immediately after the marking ceremony was completed; he didn't even stay to mate with me, which only shows how much he detested me. But I can't do anything about it; this is a marriage of convenience. For the entire three years, I stayed in the pack, picking up the broken pieces and slowly supporting everyone while being ridiculed and looked down upon. I didn't have anyone to turn to; the only person who treated me fairly well was my Gamma, who kept me sane through all the hard work and pain I had to endure. Not once did my mate, my Alpha, send me a message to inquire about what I was up to. Every message he sent was directed to Gamma Sylas, asking for provisions to support the war against the vampires who were terrorizing the borders and killing the werewolves like livestock. As I read the letter confirming their victory in the war and the retreat of the vampires to their lands, my eyes lingered on the words that sent a rush of emotions through me Carlisle, my mate and Alpha, was returning. I ran my fingers over the words that read 'Returning' and felt my heart beat faster, happiness surging within me like a wave crashing down before I lifted my gaze to my Gamma. "Carlisle is coming back," I murmured softly, my voice breaking as tears welled up in my eyes. I can't really hate my mate despite all the neglect I endured. After all, he's my mate, and the mate bond will bind us together, making our hearts long for each other and love one another. I believe that once we meet again, I'll have a chance to melt his cold heart, and we can slowly resolve our differences and the misunderstandings between us. "Gamma Sylas, let's prepare for a banquet to welcome back our Alpha, our hero!" I said excitedly as I made my way out of my office. My strides were almost turning into a sprint; I calculated that since the letter was arriving now, the Alpha and his entourage weren't far off and would be arriving any minute too. I wanted to be the first to welcome them back with a smile and the most glamorous, heartwarming welcome I could offer for my mate and my pack. After receiving my order, Sylas left almost immediately to help the omegas prepare the banquet hall for the Alpha's arrival. Meanwhile, I headed to the entrance of our pack border, where people had already gathered, waiting for the Alpha. Everyone was excited and hopeful to see their loved ones. I pushed my way to the very front of the group. Not far from us, I saw the silhouette of the werewolves running toward us, dust swirling behind them. My heart trembled as I sensed my connection to my Alpha. He's there! My eyes sparkled with hope and anticipation, my heart hanging by a thread. As the entourage drew closer, I raised my hand in the air to wave at my mate, but then I stiffened, halting my action midway. I noticed long golden locks swaying in the wind behind my mate's wolf form and delicate legs. W-Who's that woman? My heart constricted as my eyes widened. "That should be my place," I muttered softly. A werewolf's back is meant to be reserved for their mate, and allowing someone of the opposite gender to sit on their back signifies that they acknowledge them as their mate. I thought that I wouldn't feel more pain, but when the entourage came a little closer, I noticed that the woman sitting behind my mate was actually pregnant, and her belly was already bulging. This meant that she had been pregnant for quite some time and would be giving birth in a few months. My heart shattered, even more so when I heard my pack members whisper excitedly after seeing this. "Our Alpha must have found his fated mate! Soon, we'll witness the first heir of the Red Moon Pack!" "Ha ha ha! She must be our future Luna, not some omega who only knows how to exploit the situation!" "It will only be a matter of time before the Alpha dissolves his mate bond with the omega and rejects her. After all, the woman riding behind him must be his fated mate, his true mate!" The people around me sneered, not even trying to hide their mocking glares as they openly talked about their Alpha in front of me. My whole body trembled as my calm facade cracked bit by bit while I listened to their words. My heart was shattering into a million pieces, but I needed to be a gracious host. As a Luna, it was my responsibility and my job. Soon, Alpha Carlisle reached us, and I stepped forward with a smile that was uglier than my crying. "Welcome back, My Lord!" However, he just walked past me as if he didn't even see me. The warriors behind him mirrored his attitude toward me, and they all ignored me as they made their way to the packhouse. When we reached the front door of the hall, Alpha Carlisle stopped, and with the help of his Beta, they gently lowered the pregnant woman from behind him. "I'll just take a quick wash before I return. Please look after her for me; she's heavily pregnant with a pup. If anything happens to her, you'll face serious consequences!" His voice that came through the mind link was menacingly threatening, as only a mate would sound. With his cold, indifferent eyes, he looked at me for the first time. My breath caught in my throat with anticipation, but the words I heard shattered my heart even more as he sent a private mind link. "Look after her and my pup." His tone was laced with a mocking sneer as he casually mentioned that the pup inside the woman's belly was his, only to watch me break. And he indeed succeeded in breaking my heart into a million pieces. I tried to hold myself together, but everyone ignored me as they welcomed the woman; even Carlisle didn't look at me a second time after turning his back to leave. In that moment, I felt more alone and lonelier than in the three years I had worked for this pack. Is it really that hard to melt their cold hearts? Is it truly impossible for them to accept me? Is it because I am weak? Or is it simply hatred, still blaming me? I felt like a heavy stone was pressing on my chest; I wanted to cry, but sadly no tears were coming out of my eyes.POV: Multiple - ONE HUNDRED YEARS AFTER ANYA'S DEATH (2187) PART ONE: The Memorial Vera Volkova, now one hundred forty-six years old and still serving as Luna after seventy years, stood before her mother's memorial on the centennial of her death. The simple stone had weathered beautifully, moss growing in the carved letters, flowers blooming around its base—left by family, pack members, even strangers who'd learned Anya's story. Here lies Anya Volkova Weapon. Luna. Mother. Human. She chose love. It was enough. "Tell me about her," requested a child's voice. Vera turned to find her great-great-granddaughter, six years old, eyes bright with curiosity. "About Great-Great-Great-Grandma Anya." Vera knelt slowly, her supernatural body was aging finally, joints stiff after over a century—and pulled the child close. "What do you want to know?" "Everything. Why is she famous? Why do people still talk about her?" "Because she changed the world by choosing to fail. She was sent to kill
POV: Anya SIXTY-FIVE TO NINETY-TWO YEARS OLD The deterioration came gradually, then all at once. At seventy, Anya needed a cane. At seventy-five, she needed help bathing. At eighty, her memory became unreliable—she'd forget conversations from hours ago, repeat stories without realizing, occasionally fail to recognize people she'd known for decades. "It's dementia," Galina confirmed gently during one of their increasingly frequent check-ups. The ancient pack doctor was failing too, two hundred eighty years old, clearly approaching her final decade. "Early stages. It'll progress." "How long?" "Impossible to predict. Could be five years. Could be twenty. But yes, eventually you'll lose yourself to it." Anya absorbed this with surprising calm. She'd survived so much, why not this too? "I want to write everything down. While I still can. So my family has it all." She spent the next year compiling memories, writing letters, recording videos. Some days her mind was sharp, and she wor
POV: Anya THIRTY-FIVE TO FORTY YEARS AFTER INFILTRATION At fifty-eight years old, Anya Volkova discovered something unexpected: being ordinary was extraordinary. She woke each morning without Council sessions to attend or territorial disputes to mediate. She painted when inspiration struck rather than scheduling creativity around diplomatic obligations. She spent hours watching her granddaughter Sophia, now five years old, learn about the world with wonder Anya had never been allowed as a child. "Grandma Anya, why do trees have leaves?" Sophia asked, examining a maple leaf with intense concentration. "To catch sunlight and make food for the tree." "But why?" "Because that's how trees survive." "But why?" The endless questions would have frustrated Anya once. Now they delighted her. Sophia's curiosity was pure, unmarred by the cynicism that came from knowing too much about the world's darkness. Anya wanted to protect that innocence as long as possible. "You're good with her,"
POV: Anya THIRTY-TWO YEARS AFTER INFILTRATION The doctor's office smelled of antiseptic and fear. Anya sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the X-rays illuminated on the wall, trying to make sense of the shadows that apparently meant something terrible. "I'm sorry," Dr. Petrov said gently. He was human, supernatural healers couldn't help with purely human diseases. "The biopsy confirmed it. Breast cancer. Stage two. It's aggressive, but we caught it relatively early." The words felt distant, abstract. Cancer. The disease that had plagued humanity for millennia. The thing supernatural healing should have protected her from, except she wasn't supernatural anymore. She was just human. Just mortal. Just fifty-five years old and facing the mortality she'd been trying not to think about for four years. "Treatment options?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. "Chemotherapy, starting immediately. Six cycles, every three weeks. Then we'll evaluate whether surgery i
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