LOGINAmaya’s POV
I hold my breath, still crouched on the floor, and count to ten in my head. I can no longer hear the footsteps, but I know better than to move in that moment. “Shit!” I whisper. In my head, I try to think of possible excuses to explain why I am in the west wing of the packhouse, when I know no one comes in here. If Evelara finds me in here, I might as well just say goodbye to my chances of getting revenge on the pack. She already despises me so much, and one wrong move is bound to force her to throw me out of the packhouse, maybe meeting the same fate as the rest of the rogue pack. The footsteps resume again, and I almost start hyperventilating. The crest is still in my palm, held so tight like it’s my lifeline. It stops at the other side of the door, and I stare at the handle, waiting for it to be twisted. My wolf is alert, her senses heightened as my pulse races. Fear slowly dissipates from me as another emotion takes over. Curiosity. It feels like the person is giving me enough time to run away, but there is nothing in here for me to hide myself. I wait as the door pushes open, slowly. A figure strolls in. At first, all I see is his silhouette, framed by the light coming in from the stained glass. But as soon as he moves away from its glare, I am able to make out his features. He is almost as tall as Darian, but their presence feels different. While Damian fills the room with so much power and dominance, this person envelopes the room with strength. His amber eyes meet mine in the silence. He watches me with curiosity in his gaze, and just when I think I am going to combust from the intensity of the moment, his upper lip twitches. “Well,” he drawls, his tone laced with amusement. “You’re not exactly what I thought I would find hiding in the forbidden west wing of the pack house.” I got on my feet, keeping the crest behind me. “I wasn’t hiding.” "I don't doubt that." He moves closer to me, and I take an unconscious step back. Who the hell is this? "You just happened to get lost in here and were trying to find your way back. The family crest, of course, has nothing to do with it." He knows what I was holding. “How do you know it’s a family crest?” I whisper, so painfully aware of every part of him. He shrugs. “Because I kept it in here.” “It’s the Grayhide’s crest?” His laughter sounds like rainfall on a hot day, the patters gently hitting the roof. I shift under my feet, my eyes darting towards the door. "Gods, no!" He shakes his head and then stretches out a hand like we are meeting at some ball and not inside a room in the west wing, where anyone can find us. "I am Lucian, Darian's younger brother. Well, I guess it’s Alpha Darian to you.” I don't take his hands, partly because the crest is still nestled in mine. "It's Darian to me, too." "Ah!" Lucian's eyes glow in realization as he lets his hand drop to his side. "So the rumors are true.” “What rumors?” “I heard there is a pretty rogue girl living under Evelara’s eagle eyes. I thought the stories were exaggerated, especially the part about your looks. I didn’t doubt Evelara’s part. She’s scary.” Lucian is cocky, the kind of person who is aware of his charms. Why is he striking up a conversation with me instead of reporting me to Darian? He already mentioned that this part of the packhouse is off-limits. “What do you want?” The question falls from my lips. "I usually come here when I get back home, to escape the Beta's daughter most times and all the girls that think they have a claim to me. They are lining the gates of the pack house now. I should have come in later at night." I don’t blink. “And there’s one more reason why these walls will see me more often. Evelara. How do you guys tolerate her?” “Lucian…” “I saw you when you came in. You looked like you were looking for something, so I figured I’d help.” “I wasn’t looking for anything.” He will not be this enthusiastic if he finds out the reason I came here is to find something that I can use to destroy the pack and his brother. “You sure?” he eyes the floorboard I pried the crest from. “Because I know a lot more than you do. I spent an odd amount of hours in here, trying to get away from everyone.” “You look like you love attention, so why try to get away?” “You look compliant, yet here you are, breaking rules.” He takes a deep breath. “I guess we both don’t look like the things we really are. What are you searching for?” “I don’t need your help.” “That crest,” he begins, bringing his attention back to me. “It’s not just a crest. It is a lock.” I raise my brows. “A lock? What does it open?” “Something you probably shouldn’t bother about.” He walks past me to one of the trunks, his hands grazing it longingly. “Have you thought about why this wing is off-limits?” I shake my head. “It was sealed off by the former Alpha, our father. For good reasons.” Lucian walks back to the door. “You won’t listen to me if I tell you to stay away, so if you want answers, Amaya, look in places where you were told not to.” Now, I am just more confused. “How do you know my name?” His hand is on the handle of the door. “I told you. The rumours. Besides, Evelara does not get worked up about nothing. I had to know the one person who has managed to get under her skin." Heat patches glue themselves to my cheeks, and my wolf starts acting all odd. “Be careful, Amaya. Some things are better left dead,” he murmurs, before walking out.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







