THE SLAYER AND THE ALPHA KING

Two years earlier.

The silver sword drove into the Alpha King's shoulder with a satisfying sound.

Anatolia had imagined this moment a thousand times while she trained. In her fantasies, Harolin Draycott would scream for mercy as she stabbed him, and he would fall to his knees, clutching the wound, while she watched as the life drained from his golden eyes.

She would finally avenge every human he had killed, every village that his armies had burned, and all the children who had died beneath the claws of this monstrous wolf.

Instead, the Alpha King grabbed the blade with his bare hand and smiled at her.

"A remarkable weapon," he said, his voice calm despite the blood that was streaming down his chest. "Silver and wolfsbane, if I'm not mistaken, and also enchanted with runes that I have never seen before. Astoria's finest work, I assume."

Anatolia twisted the blade through his flesh, but Harolin didn't even flinch. He tightened his grip on the sword, his fingers pressing around the sharp edges as though it was nothing more than a piece of wood.

More blood dripped from his palm, but his expression said he was bored.

"You're going to have to do better than that," he said.

Around them, Lunehalla burned in ruins.

The ancient Moon Goddess temple had once been a place of sacred worship. It had beautiful white marble columns so tall they touched the clouds. The silver altar, which used to shine in the light of the full moon, was now a battlefield.

The pillars were broken and scattered all around the ground like trees that had been chopped down, and the sacred altar itself had been cracked in two by the force of Anatolia's explosive runes.

There were bodies all around them, bodies of hundreds of werewolves, particularly the Astengaurds, who were the Alpha King's elite warriors. They all lay dead and were still dying in the rubble.

Anatolia had cut through them with practiced ease. Her silver weapons had broken no sweat as they sliced through thick fur and flesh.

She had been unstoppable, and she was so close, but Harolin had already anticipated her attack, which was why he had sent his army ahead of him, sacrificing them so he could tire her out.

And now he stood before her with her sword poking out of his shoulder and a smile that made her want to slit her own throat.

"You have killed more of my people than any wolf slayer in history," he said, "including five high-ranking alphas, and yet here you stand before me, barely able to lift your sword."

"I can still lift it enough to kill you," Anatolia said through gritted teeth.

She then tried to activate the silver runes that were engraved along her blade. It was the final resort that she had built into her weapon. The runes would detonate and release a blast of concentrated wolfsbane toxins, which would go directly into the Alpha King's bloodstream.

But Harolin caught her wrist before she could. His grip was like stone, and he squeezed, grinding her bones together.

The pain made her grit her teeth, her fingers going completely numb, and the sword slipped from her grasp, falling to the ground.

"Enough," he said before he transformed.

His transformation happened in the blink of an eye, faster than any wolf she had ever seen.

One moment, Harolin Draycott was just a man, tall and towering over her with his silver hair and golden eyes, and the next, he was another creature.

His black wolf was enormous and easily twice the size of any wolf Anatolia had ever fought. Its fur was the color of the night, and it had unusual silver patterns that shifted and slithered through his fur like liquid.

His eyes glowed gold, brighter than they were when he was human, and when he opened his mouth, his teeth were the size of daggers.

Anatolia scrambled backward, her arm shooting out to reach for the dagger she had hidden inside her boot, but Harolin was faster.

The wolf launched at her, and before she could react, she was pinned under its heavy paw.

She struggled to breathe. The wolf's weight crushed her and pressed her into the broken floor.

Then she felt something crack under his weight. Two of her ribs groaned as the familiar metallic taste filled her mouth.

Her hand moved to her chest, where the explosive silver rune was hidden inside her armor. It was her last plan. She knew it would kill her, but it would also kill him.

Harolin's paw lifted off her frame, and he shifted back into his human form, standing over her.

But before she could react, he had grabbed the rune from her armor and tossed it aside, far out of reach.

"No more tricks," he said as he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her up.

Anatolia choked from the force, and her hands shot out to claw at his wrist. But he didn't squeeze. He just held her there, studying her face with an unreadable expression.

"You're the first human in decades to have wounded me so severely," he said. "The first to penetrate my Astengaurd’s defenses, and I want to know how."

Anatolia spat blood in his face.

"Go to hell," she said through gritted teeth.

Harolin didn't wipe the blood away, nor did he flinch. He just stared at her, his golden eyes unreadable.

Then he did something that took her by surprise.

He laughed.

"You have a strong spirit. I will give you that," he said.

Then he released her throat, letting her collapse to the ground with a hard thud.

Anatolia sucked in air and gasped, her vision swimming, but she forced herself to look up at him.

He then turned to his remaining surviving guards, the few who had managed to escape Anatolia's killing rampage.

They stood at a safe distance, their eyes wide with fear and hatred.

"Take her to Astengard," Harolin ordered. "She is my prisoner."