THE PAKHAN'S STOLEN OMEGA

Finish 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.