The Unwanted Wife Of Mr Villareal

Lyra's POV

When I found the rogue, he was still chewing on the body of one of the Aurelian scouts that had gone out on patrol earlier. Moonlight shone over the ground, turning the snow into glass and the blood into black ink.

I've been trained for this exact moment since I was six years old to be an Assassin.

Pulling my cloak around me, I pulled the silver blade from the sheath on my thigh. Crouching low, I snuck to his side away from the direction of the wind. Doing my best to avoid him smelling my scent, I waited for the exact moment to strike.

Breathe in, Breathe out.

I struck with the precision years of training had given me. Sliding down, I went under him, my body touching the corpse, avoiding the reeking smell of death, I raised my blade, aiming true right into the center of his heart.

His eyes glared at me, not expecting his sudden death. I quickly rolled to the side, his body collapsing with a loud thump, toppling on top of the dead scout.

His wolven body snapped and cracked, shifting back into his human form.

This had been the fifth one this week. We usually had rogues sniffing around, scouting the perimeter of Aurelia.

But the one thing they've underestimated about us humans is that we have a backup plan.

I was part of the backup plan.

Standing up, I brushed the strands of black hair that came undone from my braid away from my face. Looking down at my blade, it still dripped with the thick red and black blood that belongs only to werewolves.

Wiping my blade off using the hard-packed snow to clean it, I shoved it back into my sheath.

"Lyra is it finished? Check in!" Rowan, my best friend of 19 years, spoke over my comm.

"Yes, I'm fine. He was distracted; it was an easier kill than expected. I'm headed back now."

"Ok, but just know Commander Rourke is waiting for you in his office."

Rubbing my hands over my face, I sighed.

This is fucking great.

"Ok, I'm coming. Tell them to open the wall gates in minus four minutes."

"Will do." And the crackling of the comm fizzled out.

The snow crunched under my boots as I approached the massive stone and silver-enforced walls of Aurelia, the last stronghold of humankind.

The guards on the towers noticed it was me and called out, "Open the gates."

With a loud grinding noise, the six-foot-thick silver gates slowly opened, revealing the city within.

Most people would think that, as the last human stronghold, we would be thriving, with ample food, medicine, and education, and a booming birth rate.

That sadly wasn't the case in Aurelia.

Food was rationed so tightly in Aurelia that every meal felt like a borrowed mercy. Miss one distribution of grain and/or bread, and the city didn't slow down to care if you starved.

Our kingdom, if you want to call it that, produced the medication that kept the werewolf kingdoms alive, with only a fraction set aside for humans. Even then, the shelves were never full. Every winter, when infections and viruses were at an all-time high, the average Aurelian would have to wait in hour-long lines or even sometimes have to steal from another when there wasn't enough to go around.

Education was until 8th grade, then you went to trade school. Everyone was required to have a trade in order to keep Aurelia running.

Every year, there were advertisements and government-sponsored programs promoting and encouraging families to have more children. A few years ago, the council members voted on a decree that everyone at the age of twenty would be required to marry. If you did not have a boyfriend or girlfriend at that time, you would be entered into a lottery, and they would match you with your future spouse.

Despite all efforts made, the number of children born each year was dwindling at an alarming rate. Some said it was malnutrition, issues with fertility, curses from witches, and some even said it was biological warfare from the werewolves trying to eliminate us altogether. On that last part, it wouldn't shock me at all.

Walking through the gates, the guards nodded at me with an air of respect, while others quickly moved out of my way, averting their gaze while clutching their little ones tight.

Thirteen years ago, I came to these exact gates. I was a wiry six-year-old with black hair of bob length, gray eyes, olive complexion, and tattered clothes drenched in blood. Commander Rourke had found me seven miles from the stronghold in the wreckage of an armored car, one of many that were carrying the last remaining refugees. Werewolves had attacked our armored car; after wrecking it, they used their strong jaws to rip the doors off the hinges.

My parents, Adam and Olivia, had thrown themselves on top of me, trying to shield me. The last thing I remember is their screams and seeing them being dragged out of the car before being torn to pieces. When I woke up, I was wrapped in a blanket by a tall human soldier with bright red hair and a matching colored beard. He had brought me here and raised me.

Walking across the main square, I entered a side entrance, climbed down two flights of stairs, and opened the door to that floor. Going down the dimly lit hallway, I make it to an office door. The sign above the door read "Commander Rourke: Elite Training Division", which was code for the assassin training program that only a few of us had ever been chosen for.

It was definitely not common knowledge, and we liked to keep it that way.

I knocked on the door. A gruff voice from inside answered, "Enter." A chill ran down my spine as I reached for the handle, having a sensation that everything was about to change.

I opened the door and quickly entered his office. The office was a stark contrast to the exterior's drab grayness. There were bright tapestries on the wall, beautifully designed red carpets lining the floors, and a massive brown oak desk sitting in the middle where Commander Rourke sat smiling at me.

He was a man in his mid-forties whose whole demeanor commanded awe and respect. He was one of the last surviving officers in the last major war between humans and werewolves. I was five when that war happened, old enough to remember my house being destroyed. We had fled to the safe zone in the middle of the night with only one sack of clothes for the three of us. I remember the relief once we reached the safe zone, knowing that we would be coming here. The sad fact of it all is that we never did make it... or maybe I should say, my parents never did.

Focusing my mind back to the situation at hand, "Sir, reporting for duty."

Gesturing to the chair opposite him, "Lyra, you know there are no formalities between us, please take a seat."

"Yes, Commander."

As I lowered myself into the chair, the bitter, rich smell of coffee hit my nose. Knowing me too well, he slid a mug across the table towards me.

Picking up the mug, I found it contained espresso with a hint of cream, a rare treat in the compound.

Taking a sip, I savored the intense flavor, letting out a slight moan of enjoyment.

"Lyra, we have a lot to talk about, so let's get down to business."

Noticing the tone in his voice, I knew that this was not a normal briefing.