TREASON

AISHA

The stench of copper and burnt pine hit my nose the second we breached the ridge.

The fight began immediately. Clashing steel, gut-wrenching screams, and the furious howls of shifted wolves shattered the midnight quiet. I didn't hold back. Charging into the chaotic frontline, I attacked Nicholas's men, driving my blade into their shields and throwing my weight into every strike. The objective was absolute: destroy Nicholas’s army and solidify Samson’s hold over the region.

Through the narrow slit of my iron visor, my eyes swept across the bloody battlefield, constantly searching for one face.

That was when I saw him.

Surrounding Samson’s inner flank was a dense ring of dark, heavy armor—Damian’s elite Vanguard. My heart leaped into my throat. Damian’s men had surrounded Samson, just like they did the last time on the western border. Damian didn't care about Nicholas or the territory rights tonight, he truly wanted to kill Samson once and for all.

"No," I gasped under my breath, the metallic taste of panic filling my mouth.

I turned away from Nicholas's foot soldiers, sprinting recklessly through the mud toward the ring of dark armor. The sheer speed I fought with was unnatural—my white wolf instincts surging through my veins, driving my sword with lethal, terrifying force. I cut through three of Damian’s captains in seconds, clearing a path toward Samson.

My speed did not go unnoticed.

Standing on a higher rock covered in blood, Damian was watching the flank. His sharp, predatory eyes locked straight onto my frantic movements. He recognized that there was something deeply abnormal about this very fighter—the fluid grace, the blinding quickness, the desperation to reach Samson.

Before I could reach the line, a shadow slammed into my side.

It was Damian.

He lunged with his broadsword, the force of his strike vibrating straight through my arm as I brought my blade up just in time to block him. "Get out of my way!" I wanted to scream, but I kept my jaw clamped tight. I tried not to fight him. I retreated step by step, lowering my weapon, refusing to launch a single offensive blow against my husband.

Damian’s eyes narrowed into dark, furious slits. He continued hitting me with unrelenting, furious strikes, even though it was clear I was not fighting back. He delivered a brutal kick to my chest plate. The iron buckled under his immense Alpha strength, sending me crashing hard onto my back in the freezing mud.

The air rushed out of my lungs. Before I could scramble up, Damian was over me, straddling my waist, his broadsword pinned across my throat. His dark eyes drilled into mine, searching, analyzing, filled with a terrifying, growing suspicion.

"You look like someone I know," Damian growled, his deep voice slicing through the roar of battle.

I kept my mouth shut. I refused to utter a single word, knowing that even a whispered breath would give my identity away.

Damian shifted his focus to my face. He reached down with his gauntleted hand, his fingers gripping the edge of my heavy iron face visor. "Why should a simple army soldier cover his face?" he asked coldly, pulling at the leather straps.

Panic surged through me. I ignored his question, thrashing my hips, throwing my arms up to defend myself, desperately looking for any way to escape from underneath his weight.

While he was pinned on top of me, I glanced over his shoulder. My heart stopped. Damian’s elite squad was closing in on Samson again. Even though Samson’s armies were right there, desperately shielding their Alpha, Samson was bleeding from a gash on his neck, getting overwhelmed by the sheer numbers.

I need to go save him. The thought screamed in my head.

With a surge of frantic energy, I slammed both my palms against Damian’s chest plate, channeling every ounce of my white wolf strength to shove his massive frame off me. He stumbled backward into the mud. I scrambled to my feet, turning my back on my husband, and rushed forward to protect Samson.

I fought like the White Wolf that I am. I threw myself into the crowd of executioners, my blade a blur of silver, throwing body after body away from Samson's side.

Suddenly, the noise around me seemed to fade into a hollow echo.

I turned around slowly. Standing twenty yards away, framed by the burning fires of the war arena, was Damian. He was no longer fighting. His sword hung loosely at his side, his face completely pale as he stared straight at the way I moved, the way I stood, the rhythm of my breath.

"AISHA!" Damian screamed.

The roar echoed across the entire valley, filled with a gut-wrenching mixture of shock, betrayal, and murderous rage.

He knows.

Panic seized my body. I sprinted away from the frontline toward the edge of the woods where my war chariot was hidden beneath the trees. I climbed inside, snapped the leather reins, and drove the horses as fast as they could run, tearing down the mountain road back toward the Black Star pack house.

I looked behind me. Damian was riding hard on a heavy black stallion, pursuing me through the night. I pushed my horses harder, but my own strength was rapidly failing me from the sheer exhaustion of the fight. Within three miles of the border, his horse cut off my chariot, flipping the wooden frame onto its side.

I hit the dirt, rolling into a clearing. Damian leaped off his mount, lunging at me like a wounded beast.

"Take off the mask!" he bellowed, grabbing my shoulder and slamming me against an oak tree. "TAKE IT OFF!"

I fought back with terrifying desperation, resisting with everything I had. If he officially confirmed my face here, under the laws of the realm, it was treason. It was an absolute taboo to fight against your own pack, a crime punishable by immediate execution.

To protect this little secret, I had no choice. I fought Damian like we were two sworn enemies. Blood spilled on both sides. Of course, he gave me deep, agonizing wounds as well—his dagger slicing across my back and shoulders—but I refused to submit.

As Damian lunged forward to pin my wrists, I ducked beneath his guard, drawing a short blade from my boot. With a clean, brutal sweep, I cut deep into the muscle of his right leg.

Damian let out a strangled groan as his knee gave out, and he fell heavily onto the forest floor, clutching his bleeding thigh.

I didn't look back. Leaving him bleeding in the dark forest, I ran the remaining distance home on foot, my chest burning, my body trembling with agony.

I slipped into the pack house through the servants' entrance, taking the back stairs up to our master bedchamber. I tore off the bloody, battered male armor, hiding it beneath the loose floorboards under the heavy oak wardrobe. Thank goodness the wounds he gave me were relatively minor and mostly located on my back—easily hidden under dark fabric.

I threw on a simple, high-necked dark blue dress, brushed my disheveled hair, and wiped the sweat from my face, forcing my breathing to steady.

A few hours later, heavy footsteps echoed down the grand hallway. The bedroom door burst open, and four trembling soldiers carried Damian into the room. He was unconscious, his face deathly pale, his right leg wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet soaked entirely in thick red blood.

"Luna Aisha!" the head guard gasped, his voice shaking. "The Alpha... he was ambushed by a high-ranking Blue Wing assassin near the border! He lost too much blood!"

"Leave him on the bed," I ordered, keeping my voice soft, laced with worried, tearful panic. "All of you, out! I will tend to my husband myself."

Once the doors were locked behind them, a heavy silence descended over the dimly lit room.

I grabbed a basin of warm water and clean linen cloths, sitting on the edge of the mattress next to Damian’s still body. I cleaned him up slowly, wiping the mud and dried blood from his face, his powerful chest, and his arms. He was so weak, his breathing shallow, completely knocked out from the blood loss and exhaustion.

As I washed down his body, I reached his waist and carefully unbuckled his heavy leather trousers, pulling them down past his thighs to tend to the deep slash I had dealt his leg.

Looking down at him lying there helpless, a strange, dark heat suddenly pooled in my lower belly.

I remembered that this man went no day without having sex with me. No matter how many wars he fought, no matter how many men he executed, he always came home to claim my body, to anchor himself inside me. Even now, smelling like iron and leather, his presence overwhelmed me.

I set the bloody cloth aside. I leaned down between his thick thighs, wrapping my fingers around his soft length.

I lowered my head and began to suck his penis. I took him deep into my throat, swirling my warm tongue around his tip, sucking with a slow, relentless rhythm. I stayed there for a long time, working him with my mouth in the quiet room, until I felt his shaft begin to swell, growing thick, hard, and fully erect against my tongue despite his unconscious state.

I pulled back, a soft, wicked smile gracing my lips.

I lifted my simple dress, shifting my body over his hips. I aligned myself with his throb, and slowly lowered my weight down, letting his massive penis slide all the way into my wet, tight pussy.

"Ah..." I gasped, gripping his broad chest for support as my sore back muscles stretched tight.

I began to ride him. I rolled my waist over him in slow, heavy circles, fucking my wounded Alpha like never before. The rhythm was dirty, primal, and intense, the contrast between his helpless, weak state and the overwhelming thickness between my legs driving me out of my mind.

Damian shifted beneath me, a low, raspy groan escaping his pale lips. His eyes didn't open—he was still half-conscious, floating in a delirium of pain and weakness—but his instinct recognized my body. His large, trembling hand reached up, his fingers weakly cupping my breast, squeezing my nipple through the thin fabric of my gown as I continued to drive myself down on his erect cock.

I rode him faster, my wetness slapping against his thighs, matching the dark, chaotic rhythm of my heart until the very end.