LOGINAmaya’s POV
It takes me longer than expected to sneak out of the west wing. After waiting for a few more minutes to ensure Lucian is finally gone, I make my way out of the room and back to the first floor, only to find out that the door had jammed. For a second, I think that I am going to be trapped in here, with all the thoughts and seemingly buried secrets, and that when I pound on the door for help, Evelara will be the one to hear me. But after a few more tries, the door opens under my palms and I slip out, moving through the same path I came in through. The crest now lies in the pocket of my pants, the lightweight bearing more on my mind. I am almost back in the kitchen when I hear laughter traveling from the living area. It has to be the first time I have heard such easy sound in the pack house, as everyone is always so uptight and scared of Darian. Rather than go to the kitchen, I edge instead towards the sound, stopping just before the archway that leads into the living room. I hold my breath for a second when I see him there, sprawled causally on one of the long couches. "Yeah, I remember!" he is laughing at something Darian said, his head thrown back in amusement. His eyes appear more golden than amber now, and the mystery about him is toned down a bit. Darian is right next to him on the couch, the perpetual scowl on his face missing. That is shocking. It’s so strange seeing him smile like that. “It’s so nice seeing you here again,” Evelara says in a falsely high voice, sitting elegantly in a corner. "We missed you at the mating ceremony, and when you didn't show up, I thought you wouldn't be coming anytime soon. Although your brother didn't admit it, he was a little bit sad about it." I roll my eyes at her words. She speaks to Lucian like she’s trying to win him over without sounding so desperate. I only met him a few minutes ago, but I am certain he is not easily fooled. And from what he said about her, Lucian isn’t her greatest fan. “I missed my flight,” Lucian sighs, and for some reason, I feel like that is a lie. He has this mysterious glint in his eyes that tells me he just cooked up an excuse. He just didn’t want to see his brother get mated to Evelara. "And there were no other flights on that day. I think it was a dangerous day to fly or something." I stifle the chuckle bubbling in my stomach. “I heard Rome is such a pretty city,” a petite girl says from beside Lucian. I have seen her before. Lirra, the Beta’s daughter. “Will you take me with you when you go there next?” Her fingers draw circles on Lucian’s arm as she gazes at him, but he doesn’t flinch. Still, he doesn’t pull away from her. A smirk graces his lips, the same one he wore when he walked into me in the west wing. “I don’t know,” he answers, not exactly looking at her. “A lot of other girls have asked me the same question. I’m thinking of asking you all to take numbers.” Evelara laughs, but Darian does not. "I'm hungry," Lucian mutters suddenly, casually taking Lirra’s hand off his body as he sits up on the couch. “I totally forgot about that because I was eager to see Darian.” “I’ll have one of the slaves bring some food to your room,” Evelara says at once, getting on her feet. Being the lady of the house and the Luna of the Greyhide pack looks good on her, I have to admit. Lucian frowns slightly. “I already know who I want to serve me.” This causes Evelara to pause. “You just got back. How do you…” “Amaya.” He stares directly at me, where I am hiding behind the arch. He must have seen me the minute I got here. Was he waiting for me? Everyone turns to stare at me. It is impossible to back away or act like I haven’t been there for a while. So, I take a few steps forward, keeping my head bowed low and hoping the full glare of light doesn’t wake the crest. “Lucian.” I look up in time to see the scowl I am so familiar with return to Darian’s face. “We have a lot of hands for that. Leave Amaya alone.” There is a warning beneath his calm demeanour. Even Evelara notices it. “Amaya is one of the hands, isn’t she?” Lucian counters. He seems to be having a great time with this. “There’s nothing wrong with her serving my food. Unless…” What is Lucian doing? I risk a glance at Darian, and I feel it. The mate bond. He hates that his brother wants me personally, but cannot say why because of Evelara. Still, he clenches his jaw and folds his hands into fists, as if preparing for a war. His scent changes, now tainted with something darker. Possession. I recognize it because I can feel everything that goes through him. “She’s busy,” Darian retorts. “Aren’t you, Amaya?” It isn’t an ordinary question. It’s laden with an instruction. But Darian has to do more than that ot get his brother to back down. “I insist, Darian.” “How about I…” Evelara begins to say, but I cut in, probably making her hate me even more. “I can do it.” I bring my eyes back to the ground, not wanting to look into Darian’s eyes. “I’ll bring his food to his room.” Lucian looks like a child who has just been handed his favorite toy, as a smile covers his features. I don't wait to hear anymore, walking to the kitchen to grab a tray. I place some toast, juice, cheese, and sausages on it before heading upstairs. His door is slightly open. “Lucian?” “What’s the deal with you and my brother?”LUCIAN“One degree,” Amaya says.Light thickens. The crystal hums like a throat. Theron lifts his ring. Evelara needles her flame.“Hold them,” Theron says.“Come take us,” I answer.Darian steps to my right. We make a narrow wall in a wide room.“Do not touch her,” he tells the men.They hesitate. His voice costs.“Left,” I tell him.He shifts. The first guard slides from shadow. I catch his wrist, turn, and send his knife to the floor. Darian clips his knee. The man folds.“Back,” I say.We slide one step. The cradle creaks. Amaya does not move her hand. Light lays across her cheek like milk.“Now,” Isolde whispers from inside the glow.“Do not listen to her,” Darian says.“I am listening to Amaya,” I say.Two more come. I take the quick one. He leads with iron. I let it kiss my coat, then give him the pillar. He bounces. Darian drives the heavy one into stone and steals his air with a shoulder.Evelara smiles. “You both look tired.”“We are,” I say. “Keep coming.”She flicks a ribb
AMAYA“Basement,” I say.Now.Darian nods and turns for the servants’ lane. Lucian takes my left, reading shadows. Trish keeps close to Garran. Amon watches our feet and copies them.“We split here,” Garran says at the laundry arch. “I take the boy. Trish with me until third bell.”“Go,” I tell him. “No heroics.”“Only habit,” he says, and vanishes.Darian leads us through the scullery and down a stair. Stone is wet, air full of ash. We pass a locked room of flour, another of wine. Darian presses a palm against blank wall. Stone shifts.“Secret?” Lucian asks.“Father liked them,” Darian says.The passage angles left and drops. A hum rises beneath the steps and gets into my teeth. It feels like thunder leashed.“That is it,” I whisper.Lucian glances at my hand. “Steady?”“Not yet,” I say. “Soon.”We reach a slab door with iron latches shaped like wolves. The metal is cold the way iron is for me and something else. Darian sets his palm to the center. Nothing.“Council seals,” he says.
LUCIAN“Left,” I say.Amaya cuts for the dark between two sheds. Trish stays with her, small and fast. Garran swings behind with Amon tucked to his side.“Keep low,” I add.We cross a strip of open ground. Smoke hangs in sheets. Torches rake the rooftops like teeth. The nets are behind us for now.“Listen,” Amaya says.I hear boots. I hear metal. I hear a bell struggling to live again.“Quarry lane,” I tell Garran. “Back stair to the dye loft. We split at the kiln.”He nods once. “We know the turns.”A voice floats from the square. Evelara. Calm. Pretty. Wrong.“Alive,” she calls. “Unmarked.”Trish swallows hard. “She means you.”“She means all of us,” I say.We slip into the kiln yard. Heat breathes up from sleeping brick. A gutter runs black along the wall. It tastes like old ash.“Stop,” Amaya whispers.I freeze. Three shadows move across the far arch. Their spears drag the stones.“Window,” Garran murmurs.We slide through a broken frame into the loft. Threads of light cut the dus
AMAYAI do not remember when fear began to feel like a shape I could hold. Tonight it has edges. It has teeth.The market is a throat full of people and smoke. Nets fall like sudden rain. They catch arms, shoulders, anything that moves. Silver threads flash with wolfsbane and intent. I feel them before I see them, a cold vibration under my skin that answers a footstep. Trish is pressed to my side, small and shaking, and Garran is a map of quiet motion. Lucian is a shadow at my back. Darian is a stone in my chest.Evelara moves like a knife through water, smooth and cold. She lifts her palm and makes flame bloom as if lighting a candle. It is clean, controlled, cruel. The net above us shrieks when heat licks it and parts just enough for a gate. People gasp as if the world lost its balance. Theron hears it and smiles the way a man smells blood. He points, and soldiers follow.I keep my hands loose at my sides, palms empty. The iron ring in my pocket feels like a secret. Heat slides unde
LUCIAN The arrow bends in the air and turns for her.“Amaya,” I shout.She throws an arm across her face. The shaft should take her throat. Darian moves first. His blade flashes. Wood cracks. The head shears and skitters across stone.The messenger tumbles from the saddle, clutching his shoulder. The mare bolts. The pouch spins toward the ditch.I dive. Fingers brush leather. A second arrow hisses from the ridge. I roll. Stone bites my cheek. The arrow nails the pouch to the ground through its strap.“Hold the line,” Darian roars. “No one shoots without my word.”Silence snaps tight. The ridge breathes.Amaya drags the messenger into shadow. “Stay with me,” she tells him. Calm. Fierce.I wrench the arrow free and sling the pouch. The hawk seal is smeared but intact. Our wax sits over it like a second skin.Darian steps between us and the road. “Under the wall,” he says.We cut low across gravel to the quarry mouth. A rusted winch looms. Ore rails dive into dark. The air smells like o
AMAYAHe says one word.“Choose.”It lands between us like a blade laid on a table. The drain room breathes behind him. Wet brick. Old dye. My pulse kicks once and holds.Lucian stands at my shoulder, quiet. I feel his heat through the wet cloak. I feel Darian through the bond, the ache that never learned how to sleep.“I choose to live,” I say.His jaw tightens. “With him?”I do not look at Lucian. I keep my eyes on the Alpha. “With myself.”Darian steps inside and shuts the door with his heel. The lanterns are dead. Only the slit of the culvert gives us a thread of gray.“You cannot leave,” he says. “Not tonight.”“Then stop me.”He lowers the blade. “I am trying to save you.”“You are trying to save the house.”He exhales once. “Both.”Lucian’s voice is low. “Brother, stand down.”“No,” Darian says. “Theron is moving nets. Evelara is feeding him names. If you step out that door with a forged pouch, you will not make ten paces.”“So you know,” I say.“I know enough to know you think







