The Half-Breed's Revenge

Ayla's POV

I had been living with my aunt in the Silvermoon Pack for a few months now.

Before that, my life had been quiet and secluded. My parents and I lived deep in the forest, far from the conflicts of werewolves and vampires. We had our own home—a peaceful sanctuary.

My father was a werewolf with Alpha blood, my mother a vampire. They met during a hike in the woods and fell in love at first sight.

But their love was forbidden. Werewolves and vampires were never meant to be together.

To escape their people's wrath, they gave up everything and hid away in the wilderness, choosing exile over death—for my sake, their half-blood daughter. They had planned carefully, calculated that their savings would be enough to raise me into adulthood.

But all of that was destroyed in a single night.

A pack of rogue werewolves attacked us.

My parents fought with everything they had to protect me, but in the end, they died. I barely escaped, carrying nothing but my father's map, a bundle of letters, and what little money we had left. With nowhere else to go, I fled to Silvermoon City, seeking refuge with my only living relative—my aunt.

Life in Silvermoon was far harsher than I had imagined.

I thought that if I worked hard enough, I could carve out a quiet existence for myself.

I was wrong.

My aunt was a woman of greed. She took me in, but only because she needed free labor. Her inn was always short-staffed, and from dawn to dusk, I worked—washing sheets, cleaning rooms, serving customers, balancing her books.

She paid me next to nothing and never let me forget it.

"You'd be dead without me," she reminded me constantly.

I never argued. She was right—I had nowhere else to go.

But the guests at the inn didn't see me as a helpless orphan. They saw me as something else.

I was young. Not bad-looking. I could feel their eyes on me, the way they lingered, hungry and expectant. Some would block my path in the hallways. Others would grasp my wrist when I handed them their keys, fingers pressing just a little too hard. Some didn't bother with pretense at all.

"How much for a night?" one had asked me bluntly.

I ignored them, swallowed my disgust, and told myself to endure. I only needed enough money to leave.

But worse than the guests were my aunt's sons—Reine, Ethan, and Kyle. Triplets with Alpha blood. The darlings of the Silvermoon Pack. Strong, charming, adored by all.

But they were cruel beyond measure.

At first, they pretended. They played the part of perfect mates, spinning delicate traps of kindness and affection.

I had never been in love before. I was naive enough to believe them.

I didn't realize until it was too late—I wasn't their beloved. I was their prey.

They smiled to my face while spreading whispers behind my back.

"She's a filthy half-blood," they said. "Just a mutt for anyone to use."

Reine, the eldest, often cornered me, his gaze soft, his voice dripping with sweetness.

"I want to be your mate," he'd murmur, a hand brushing my hair.

Ethan, the second brother, had his own games.

He'd make a mess of his sheets on purpose, just to call me in to clean.

And as I worked, he'd grab my wrist, laugh under his breath.

"Ayla, if you're so desperate for money, have you ever thought of an easier way to earn it?"

Kyle, the youngest, was the worst.

One evening, I was carrying a tray through the hall when he stuck out his foot. I tripped. The food crashed to the floor, staining his expensive clothes.

He sneered down at me. "Let me deflower you, and I'll forget this ever happened."

I refused.

So they decided to get rid of me.

They dragged me to an old mine pit—one that had collapsed long ago, its air thick with silver dust. Then they tossed me in.

Torches rained down after me, fire flickering, the flames reflecting in their amused eyes. I tried to move, but with every breath, the silver poisoned me from the inside out. My skin burned, my lungs seared. My hybrid blood was tearing itself apart.

Suffocation. Fire. Cold. The agony of my wolf soul unraveling under the silver's touch.

Slowly, my body gave out.

They returned to the inn to drink, to celebrate, to laugh about how I had screamed.

My aunt simply frowned and sighed. "That girl was too ungrateful for her own good."

I died knowing one thing: the world does not spare the weak.

And as my life drained away, only one thought remained.

Revenge.

I hated them. I wanted to tear them apart.

And then, just as the darkness swallowed me whole, something pulled me back. Perhaps it was the Moon Goddess. Perhaps it was fate, granting me a second chance.

When I opened my eyes, I was in my bed. The past had reset. I was alive again.

Before I could even process my return, there was a knock at the door.

I opened it.

Reine stood there, as charming as ever. The perfect gentleman. His smile was warm, inviting, melting away suspicion like snow under the sun.

"Ayla," he said, his voice smooth. "I've always thought your name was as beautiful as you are. I'd love to take you to the bonfire festival. Will you come with me?"

The bonfire festival.

I smiled.

"Of course," I said, my voice light.

This time, I wouldn't be the hunted.

This time, I would be the hunter.