The Secret Alliance of the Lion Alpha and the Betrayed Luna

I slammed the Alpha carved stone door’s study behind me, the sound echoing through the empty stone corridor as I fled. My breaths came fast, my claws half-extended. Hands trembling, I dug through my satchel for my moon-stone communicator. Five years. Five years avoiding this number, avoiding my lineage, avoiding the wolf I truly was. The contact still glowed on the screen: “Father.” My thumb trembled. Everything I’d escaping from—my birthright, my power, my place in the Rustpire Dominion—it all pulled me back here. Before I could hesitate, I tapped the call rune. The hollow ring echoed through the silent underground parking caverns beneath Axton’s territory. One ring. Two. Three— “Isolde?” My father’s voice—deep, rough, unmistakably Alpha—hit me like a physical strike. “Father, I—” The word lodged in my throat. Tears spilled freely. “I’m sorry. I made a huge mistake. I wrong about everything.” Silence followed, thick with five years of distance. “I want to come back to the manor,” I breathed. “I realize I should be who I was meant to be. A Rustpire Luna. The Alpha Ronin’s daughter. The heir of the Rustpire.” “Isolde—” “I know I escaped. I know I wounded the pack. But I understand now. I understand the bloodline, our name, our magic.” I gripped the communicator. “I will start from the scratch. I will study everything. Every single thing I should know.” “Isolde, do you know where you are now?” “Lower city… in my mate’s tower. Axton’s territory.” “Don’t go anywhere.” His tone hardened, the command of a High Alpha layered with lunar steel. “I’m transporting an escort.” *** A sleek black moon-carriage rolled to a stop fifteen minutes later, propelled by silent enchantments. The moon-carriage door opened, and someone popped his head out— he was Calder, getting older now, with silver hair at his temples, but smiling the same warm smile he’d given me since puphood. “Little Wolf of Rustpire,” he said, straightening his mantle. “Welcome home.” My throat tightened. “Calder. You’re still with the pack.” “Where else should I belong? They’re waiting for you.” He held the carriage door open with a familiar, reverent gesture. I slid inside the enchanted leather interior. The scent—pine resin, polished steel, and old magic—flooded me with memories. As we sped away from Axton’s tower, the city lights blurred like streaks of starlight through the windows. Every mile carried me closer to the life I had abandoned. The Rustpire Manor rose behind its iron-wolf gates, towering like a fortress carved from moonstone. Calder stopped before the grand steps where two figures waited. My parents. I jumped out, my knees weakened halfway up the staircase. Father’s expression was indescribable—Alpha mask firmly in place—but his eyes burned with something softer. Between pain and relief. Suddenly mother ran so fast towards me. “Isolde!” She rushed down, velvet robes trailing behind her. She wrapped me in her arms, smelling of winter roses and home. “My little wolf, you came back.” I hid my face in her trembling shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mother. I truly am.” As pulling me back, she cupped my cheeks. “Now you’re here. That’s enough.” I ascended the remaining steps toward Father. His face unreadable, carved from stone. Five years of silence stretched between us like an entire kingdom. Then his features softened. The hard Alpha lines eased, his eyes crinkled, and a smile—rare, real—broke through. He pulled me into a firm embrace, his familiar scent of ironwood and storm magic surrounding me. The pat on my back felt like absolution. “Took you long enough, Isolde.” His voice was still gruff, still protective, still his. He kept an arm around me as we entered the stronghold’s grand hall. Moon-crystal chandeliers cast shimmering patterns across the marble floor. Nothing had changed. “Do you realize, Isolde?” Father said as he guided me toward his study, “our kind doesn’t treat legacy lightly. It’s blood. It’s magic. It’s destiny.” His hand tightened on my shoulder. “No wolf escapes it. Never truly. My father taught me this, and so did my grandfather to him.” “I know. I finally do.” The words came easier as we reached the study. Mother settled beside me on the plush fur-lined couch, her hand finding mine. “Tell us everything,” Father said, lowering himself into his ironwood chair. “In past five years…” I inhaled shakily. “I wanted a normal wolf’s life. And Axton seemed… perfect. Strong, charming. So we decided to bounded under the Moon Oath, started a life together, until life slapped me with hard truth.” “What happened that change your mind?” Mother asked gently. “Everything.” My voice trembled. “He’s been bedding his Beta assistant for months. And that’s not even the worst—” I swallowed. “Two years ago, when I became pregnant… he pushed me into ending the pregnancy. Said it wasn’t the right choice. And all along, he was already betraying me.” Father surged to his feet, fury rippling off him like crackling magic. He pulled out his communicator. “That mongrel! I’ll have him and that she-wolf erased from the map by dawn.” “No.” I rose, shoulders squared, something ancient awakening inside me. “I left the Rustpire Pack for him. That was my choice. My big mistake.” My voice sharpened like a blade. “So I’ll handle this myself. And this time—” A cold smile curved my lips. “I’ll deal with them as Isolde Rustpire. Not Isolde of Axton’s pack.” Father paused. Looked at me. And something shifted—recognition, pride, acceptance of the heir standing before him. He lowered the communicator. “Sounds make sense.” He nodded once, deliberate. “This is your battle. But keep in mind—” “I know.” I lifted my chin, the Rustpire legacy settling on my shoulders like armor. “A Rustpire always finishes what they start.”

“How has the pack been? What’s happening in the territory?” I leaned back on the fur-lined couch, ready to hear everything I’d missed. Mother and Father exchanged a sharp, heavy look. The air in the den seemed to chill. “What?” My gaze flicked between them. “What happened?” Father’s jaw tensed. He strode to the rune-etched drink cabinet and poured himself a measure of ember-whiskey. “The Wintermoon Pack.” My heart dropped. The Wintermoons had been our oldest rival clan. “What about them?” “They’ve risen in strength,” Mother said tightly. “Far more than before.” “How? Last time I was here, they were barely holding their borders—” “Sorenna Wintermoon bonded with Alaric Rageclaw six moons ago.” Father downed the drink in one swallow. “The Rageclaw Clan supports them now.” Color drained from my face. The Rageclaws dominated half the New Lycan. “You’re telling me they merged?” “Not just merged.” Mother’s fingers twisted her moon-pearl necklace. “They’re united. One force. And they’re setting their sights on us, Isolde. All the signs point to it.” “Alaric isn’t just brawn,” Father added, placing the empty glass down with a sharp thud. “He’s tactical and genius. And Sorenna…” He exhaled. “She’s more ruthless than her father ever dreamed of being. Together, they’re dangerous.” I leaned forward, pulse quickening. “How serious is it?” “They’ve already claimed the Molthaven Teritory,” Mother whispered. “Three of our oldest allied packs have pledged loyalty to them. We’re losing land. Wolves. Influence...” “Moon above.” I dragged a hand through my hair. The Molthaven Pack had stood untouched for decades. If they fell… “Why did you never call me? Tell me things were collapsing?” “We wanted you to have peace,” Mother said softly. “After what happened with…” She stopped, not want me hearing his name. “You had walked in a different direction,” Father murmured, refilling his glass with slower, steadier movements. “You sought your own life. Who were we to drag you back?” I breathed hard. “I’m still part of the pack.” “Of course, you are,” Father said, pride flickering in his eyes. “That’s why I knew you’d return when the time was right. Rustpire blood doesn’t fade.” “Your father had a strong believe,” Mother added, shooting him a look filled with years of unspoken tension. “Said if you were meant to come home, you’d walk back on your own.” “And here you are.” Father lifted his glass slightly. “Just as I expected.” Their words settled over me like a heavy cloak. They’d stood by and watched our territory crumble—piece by piece—yet still chose to shield me from the truth. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to part of the Rustpire anymore,” I whispered. “I ran away because I thought… I ran into the better life I wanted.” “We know,” Mother said, squeezing my hand. “We understand.” “How do I help?” The offer left my lips before my mind could catch up. Five years running from this world… and here I was stepping straight back into its jaws. Mother and Father traded another quiet look. One that made my stomach knot. “What?” I straightened. “Just say it to me.” Mother drummed her fingers against her knee. “There is… one possibility.” Her voice barely carried. “But after everything with—after everything you’ve endured… we didn’t want to ask.” “What is it?” My chest tightened. “Stop treating me like I’m fragile. I’m not.” Father stood, pacing to the tall window overlooking our moonlit lands. “A mating alliance.” The words hit like a blow. “What?” “An arranged bond,” he clarified, turning back. “There are still powerful clans not aligned with the Rageclaw-Wintermoon union. Clans who might stand with us—if given the right… incentive.” “You want me to bond with one of them?” My throat felt dry. “After what I had just been through?” “That’s why we hesitated,” Mother said, her voice trembling. “You deserve more than being bartered.” “But with the right alliance,” Father said firmly, “we could counter their strength. Maybe surpass it.” I stood, legs unsteady. Years ago, I’d sworn I’d never let the pack decide my life again. But this wasn’t about romance or freedom. This was about survival and the whole pack. “Who?” I managed. “Marcellus Ashenfell,” Father said quietly. My knees nearly buckled. I gripped the couch to steady myself. “The Lion-wolf of the Northern Territories? You can’t be serious.” The same Alpha they’d once planned to bond me with. The reason I ran. The reason I found Axton. The reason I thought I could break free. I used to think being handed over like a bargaining chip made me shiver. “He remains unpaired,” Father said. “And so his influence has grown more.” My nails dug into my palms. The irony of it all stung—running from an arranged mate only to circle right back to him. I walked to the window, pressing my forehead to the cool glass. Five years ago, I wanted love. I believed in it. Now? My heart ached with the fresh wound of betrayal. Love had only destroyed me. “Isolde, if you don’t want it, you don’t have to,” Mother whispered. “We’ll find another path.” But how? The merged Wintermoon-Rageclaw force was tightening around us. Our land, our allies, our future—everything on the verge of collapse. What did I have left to lose? My dreams? Already shattered. My heart? Already broken. But my pack? They were worth any sacrifice. “I’ll do it.” The words tasted like iron. “Isolde—” Mother started. “No.” I turned to them. “I’m not that frightened girl anymore. If this is what it takes to save the Rustpire, then I’ll bond with Marcellus Ashenfell.”

I lay in my childhood den, surrounded by the familiar scents of cedarwood and moon lilies that once meant safety. The enchanted silk pelts whispered against my skin as I stared at the carved ceiling, tracing the same lunar sigils I’d memorized as a pup. Everything felt different now—sharper, more defined. Agreeing to bond with Marcellus no longer felt like surrender. After Axton’s betrayal, it felt like reclaiming my power. My moonstone communicator pulsed. Axton’s name glowed red. My stomach tightened, but I answered. “Enjoying your little pity party?” His voice was thick with ale. “Or did you already find some stray wolf to rut with?” The disgust rose like poison. This was the male I’d abandoned my birth-pack for? The one I thought cherished me? “Where I roam is no longer your concern.” My tone was ice. “We meet tomorrow before the Elders. Don’t be late.” I cut the link before he could snarl another word and immediately contacted our pack’s legal envoy. “Isolde Rustpire speaking,” I said evenly. “I need the separation bond prepared at once. Yes, I know the hour. They must be ready with first light. Make it done as soon as possible.” When the call ended, I let the communicator fall to the bedside table. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting shifting shadows across the den. For the first time since learning the truth, a strange calm settled into my bones. *** By dawn, I pulled my obsidian-black moon-carriage into the Council Hall’s stone courtyard. Through the tinted warded glass, I spotted Axton—and Vanya. His hand rested on the dip of her back as she giggled. The silver charm I’d once gifted him—the one infused with my aura—now shone on her wrist. I stepped out, my rune-etched heels striking the stone. Axton’s head looked up. His smirk faltered, then forced itself back. Vanya stopped laughing. “Well, look who crawled back.” His nostrils flared. “Ran to your Alpha father the moment life outside your precious territory got tough? Pathetic, Isolde.” I adjusted my enchanted satchel and met his gaze. “You know what’s pathetic, Axton? A male who had to claw after his own assistant because he couldn’t stand being outmatched in rank, strength, or mind.” I flicked my eyes to Vanya. “Enjoy the leftovers, Vanya. Just remember—he betrayed the last female too.” Both of them paled. I walked past without another glance, pushing open the heavy warded doors. I settled across from the Pack Envoy while Axton and Vanya slunk into the chamber. The rite progressed quickly—seals exchanged, bonds dissolved. My envoy had prepared every clause perfectly. Axton had no room to challenge anything. “Well, that’s done.” Axton leaned back, unfastening his collar. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone, Isolde. While I’m living my true life with Vanya, you’ll be alone in that cold ancestral manor of yours.” I gathered my documents, sliding them into my case. “The only thing I’ll miss,” I said smoothly, “is the five years I wasted believing you were worthy.” “You ungrateful shrew.” His lips curled. “I gave you a normal wolf’s life—far from your pack’s twisted ways. You ought to thank me.” “Thank you?” I laughed, sharp as a blade. “For what? For the forced moon-purging you tricked me into? Or for rutting with your assistant on our sacred nesting furs?” His hand lifted—animalistic reflex—but before he could strike, I caught his wrist mid-air. My fingers pressed into the nerve points my uncle, War-Alpha Draeven, had taught me. Axton’s face contorted in pain. “Lay a hand on me,” I whispered, voice low and feral, “and you’ll learn what it truly means to cross a Rustpire wolf. They won’t even find all the pieces.” I released him, watching him stumble. Vanya clung to his arm, trembling. Only now did she understand the danger she’d stepped into. “You’re just like those savage she-wolves,” Axton half shouted at me. “No, Axton.” I straightened my blazer. “I’m worse. I’m a Rustpire she-wolf scorned.” I slid into the back of my moon-carriage. The leather was cool beneath me. Calder, my driver, met my eyes through the mirror and simply nodded. He knew. The carriage pulled away, leaving Axton and his weak new mate behind. From now on, Axton’s betrayal and disloyalty would be repaid—not with words. But with blood, as pack law demanded.

The day passed in a haze of pack meetings and war-council discussions. Father paced his command den, the scent of burning wolfsbane cigar drifting around him as he spoke about the latest movement from the Ashenfell Pack. “Their influence grows by the moon,” he said, tapping ash into a carved moonstone tray. “Marcellus isn’t like his father. He’s sharper and more strategic. A union with him strengthens both our bloodlines.” That night, I sank into my nesting furs, my mind heavy. The enchanted silk wraps curled around me as I reached for my moon-communicator. A notification glowed across the screen. From an unknown number. My breath halted. [I heard what happened today. You handled yourself well. A true Rustpire. — Marcellus] My fingers hovered, but before I replied, another message appeared: [I keep eyes across the territories, Isolde. Your ex-mate made a grave mistake. One he’ll regret beneath the moon.] A shiver ran down my spine—not fear, but recognition. Power. The world I’d tried to escape. Another message, [Rest well. We’ll speak of our future soon. And Isolde… that strength you showed today? Perfect.] I stared at the screen. He wasn’t just sending words. He was staking a claim—quiet, calculated, undeniable. And somehow… it didn’t scare me anymore. It felt like returning to my pack’s true scent. *** The communicator vibrated against my cheek, waking me. The same unknown number flashed again. Marcellus. “Good morning, Isolde.” His voice was deep and warm, like dark timber under moonlight. “Good morning.” I sat up, brushing hair from my face. “Sleep well?” “Better than I expected,” I murmured, fingers tracing the silk furs. “Your messages were… interesting.” A low chuckle rumbled through the line. “I meant every word. By the way, what’s your plan for today? I’d like to meet if you dint mind.” The question lingered. Logic told me to refuse, but something else tugged—an instinctual pull. “Isolde?” he murmured. “You’re thinking too hard.” “Yes.” The word slipped out. “Well, I have no plans for today.” “Perfect. Check your communicator in five minutes.” I rushed through my morning routine, still breathless. After a quick shower, wrapped in a towel, I finally saved his number. Right on cue, a message arrived, [Moonbrew Pavilion. Eleventh bell. I look forward to seeing you, Isolde] *** I pushed open the carved doors of Moonbrew Pavilion. Cool enchanted air brushed my face. Crystal lights shimmered overhead, illuminating polished obsidian floors. A server in midnight-black attire approached. “Luna Rustpire?” He bowed slightly. “Your table awaits.” We wove through moonlit tables toward a secluded alcove—the Alpha section. I sat in a plush velvet chair, scanning the room. Old habits: always map your exits. The door opened. The air shifted. A male entered with the quiet authority of an Alpha born. Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a charcoal battlecoat tailored to precision. Without trying, he commanded the entire space. His dark eyes found mine. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips as he crossed the room. “Isolde.” His voice was exactly as his messages—rich, deep, magnetic. He extended his hand. I placed my hand in his. Warm. Firm. A subtle spark shot up my arm. “It’s good to finally meet you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over my knuckles before releasing my hand. I inhaled, steadying myself. “About five years ago… I’m sorry I refused you.” Marcellus leaned back, expression softening. “Don’t be. That rejection forged who I am today.” My brows lifted. “What do you mean?” “It pushed me to rise. To become someone worthy.” He folded his hands. “And I know why you turned away. The Axton matter isn’t exactly hidden.” My mouth dried. Heat crept up my neck. He knew. The power plays, the threats, all of it. “You…” I bit my lips hard. “You know everything?” “Isolde, I make it my business to know the landscape of our world.” His eyes held mine. “Including why you’re considering bonding again.” I pushed my chair back, hands trembling. “If you know all that, then I won’t waste your time. I don’t want you thinking I’m using—” A low, full laugh cut me off. Marcellus shook his head. “What makes you laugh?” “You.” He wiped a tear. “I’m navigating ten steps beforehand, and you’re worried about how I feel?” “What are you talking about?” I gripped the chair. He gestured calmly. “Sit. Let’s speak properly.” I lowered myself back into the seat. A server appeared with a bottle of lunar wine, but Marcellus waved him away. “I’ll accept the union,” he said, voice dropping to a private growl meant only for me. “An alliance between our families strengthens every territory. And I give you my oath—I will protect the Rustpire line with everything I possess.” My breath caught. So easily? It couldn’t be. There must be something. “But…” He leaned forward, eyes dark and intense. “I want something in return.” Of course. There were always strings—territory, power, dominance. “What do you want?” My voice stayed firm. Marcellus tapped one finger against the table, the only sign of tension. Sunlight filtered in through enchanted glass, casting sharp shadows along his jaw. “Well?” I pressed. “What’s your price?” A slow smile curved his lips, “I won’t ask for much. Fall in love with me.” “What?” The word burst from me. My glass trembled in my hand. “You heard me.” His gaze held mine. Steady. Fierce. “I want your real love, Isolde. Not just a pact between packs.” My mind reeled. Of all the demands—a territory claim, sovereignty rights, blood-oaths—this wasn’t even close. “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “You could ask for anything. Why this?” “Because I know you’ve settled for someone you didn’t deserve.” He reached across the table, stilling my fidgeting hand. Warm. Certain. “You can’t order someone to fall in love. Love doesn’t work like that.” I breathed. “I’m not asking for instant devotion.” His thumb brushed circles over my wrist. “I’m asking for a chance. Real moments. Real honesty. No power games. No politics. Just us. Getting to know each other” “And if it doesn’t happen?” “Then at least we tried for something real.” His eyes softened. “Aren’t you tired of unions built only on advantage?” His words hit with the force of truth. Five years with Axton had hollowed me out. And now here was Marcellus, asking for the one thing I thought I’d lost the ability to feel. “So, what’s your call?” he murmured, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, “will you give us a real chance?”

I looked at Marcellus’s hand resting over mine, my pulse thundering like distant war drums at his unexpected binding offer. Before I could speak, my moonstone communicator vibrated. A glowing rune from my father pulsed on the screen. “Wintermoon Pack just breached the harbor territory.” My breath snagged. The Wintermoon wolves had been testing our borders for moons, but striking our maritime routes? That was an open challenge to our Crescentblood Domain. “Is there something wrong?” Marcellus’s tone sharpened instantly, the charming façade dropping as the Alpha in him surfaced. I slid my hand away, steadying my thoughts. “Wintermoon wolves are stirring trouble near the tidal docks.” His jaw tensed, the air around him shifting with barely restrained power. “Sorenna’s doing. She’s grown bold since binding herself to Rageclaw.” “How do you even know about that?” “As I said, I make it my duty to know what happens across the northern packs.” He flicked his fingers, signaling the tavern attendant. “We should leave. Those moon-bound shipments matter to my clan as much as yours now.” I arched a brow. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.” “Soon you will.” He stood and extended his hand again. “Because without you even realize, right now you need someone who understands this realm. Someone who knows how to keep Sorenna in line without igniting a full-pack war.” Another rune buzzed onto my screen. Two of our warriors were down. “Fine.” I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. “But this doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to your… romantic nonsense.” “Let’s just see.” His eyes gleamed with wolfish confidence as we strode out of the tavern. “First, let’s remind the Wintermoon Pack what happens when they trespass on what belongs to the Crescentblood and Ashenfell.” The weight of my enchanted blade pressed against my thigh as we hurried toward his obsidian-runed moon-carriage. Maybe he was right — having someone who understood this life, who didn’t require a gentler version of who I truly was — might be exactly what I needed. But love? That could wait. For now, we had a message to deliver. Marcellus’s shadow-forged vehicle roared down the stone pathways of New Lycan, weaving with supernatural precision. My claws nearly punched through the handle from gripping too hard. “The southern entry will be guarded,” I said, pulling up the docks’ territorial wards on my screen. “We need another approach.” “I know one.” Marcellus swung sharply, tires screeching like angry spirits. “Used it centuries ago when the Moon Council sniffed around my… shipments.” “Your shipments?” “Let’s just say the Ashenfell Alpha line has roots everywhere.” His grin flashed dangerously. “Including the docks you’re worrying about.” We rolled into a narrow gap between two abandoned forge-houses. The salty wind carried hints of incoming storm-magic as he killed the engine. Through the iron fence, shadows shifted — Wintermoon wolves. “Four in sight,” I murmured, checking my crescent-forged pistol. “Probably more hidden.” “Six.” Marcellus drew his own weapon. “Two perched on the roof. Amateurs — silhouette sharp against the moonlight.” I studied him under the dark sky. The playful Alpha Prince was gone, replaced by a lethal predator whose movements whispered war. “You’ve done this a lot.” “More than I care to recount.” He checked his magazine. “Stay close. We’ll slip through the maintenance burrow.” “I can take care of myself.” “I believe you could.” His fingers brushed my arm. “But we fight stronger together, don’t we?” The maintenance tunnel was pitch-black, reeking of rust and old ocean magic. Our footsteps echoed despite soft pads on our boots. At the far end, voices drifted through the vent — Wintermoon wolves arguing. “They’re trying to pry the moon-locked container open,” I whispered. “Not much longer.” Marcellus pressed to the wall and gestured. “Ladies first.” I rolled my eyes and stepped forward anyway. The cold metal of my weapon steadied my nerves as I advanced. Whatever was inside that container, Sorenna wanted it badly enough to risk a territorial war. I crouched behind stacked crates. Marcellus’s breath warmed the back of my neck as he leaned close. The container strained under the wolves’ attempts to open it. “We need some distraction,” I murmured. Marcellus’s hand glided briefly over my waist as he reached into his jacket. “Already ahead of you.” He held up a tiny rune-device. “I’ll throw to your count to three.” He slipped past me in the shadows, threw the device, and three heartbeats later — a blinding flare and thunderous crack shattered the night. Shouts erupted. In the chaos, Marcellus caught my hand, pulling me toward the container. His touch sent sparks through me, but I forced myself to stay focused. “Stood in front of me,” I said, slipping free to examine the lock. Still intact. Marcellus stood behind me, back pressed to mine, a solid, reassuring presence. I opened my communicator to call reinforcements. “Watch out your back!” I spun at his warning. A Wintermoon wolf lunged through the smoke. Before I could react, Marcellus yanked me aside, his arm wrapping around my waist. The attacker’s blade slashed where I had been standing. We moved like two wolves in one soul — synchronized. He circled right, I circled left. The thug lunged again. I dropped low, sweeping his legs, while Marcellus struck him unconscious. “Smooth,” I said. His hand lingered on my back. “We work well together.” Heavy footsteps approached. Marcellus pulled me into the shadows, his body shielding mine. My heart pounded — not only from the fight. His scent was intoxicating: cedar, ozone, and the wild. “Your warriors are two minutes out,” he whispered near my ear. “Think we can last that long?” I faced his face, and it made our lips inches apart. “Pretty sure.” *** My muscles remembered everything — years of brutal training disguised as “education.” While other Alpha daughters learned harp and courtly graces, I learned from retired Shadow Wolves, rogue champions and underground fighters who knew every vicious trick. A wolf charged me with a blade. I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and flipped him. He hit the ground hard. Marcellus let out a low whistle. “Damn.” “You should see me when I’m not annoyed.” I blocked a punch and jabbed my elbow into another wolf’s ribs. Two more emerged — military-trained wolves by their stance. Marcellus and I pressed back-to-back, breathing in sync. “Seven o’clock,” he muttered. I caught a glint to my left. “Weapon!” We dove behind a container as shots rang out, bullets sparking off metal. The sharp cracks echoed across the dark water. I checked my ammo. “How many rounds?” Marcellus asked. “Thirteen. One in the Chamber.” I peeked. “They’re pinning us.” More gunfire — closer. They were flanking. A shadow darted left. “We split,” I said. “Draw their aim.” Marcellus grabbed my arm. “A suicide?” “Trust me.” I met his eyes. “My father didn’t spend a fortune training me to cower.” Before he could argue, I rolled toward the next crate. Bullets struck the ground behind me. I came up firing, forcing one gunman into cover. Then— A shotgun racked directly behind my head. “Stay right there,” a strange voice ordered.