The night was quiet again.
Too quiet.
Not the calm that followed danger, but the kind that curled beneath the skin—a silence that felt unnatural. Trained. Manufactured. The wind didn’t rattle the shutters. The guards didn’t murmur outside the door. Even the fire seemed to burn without crackle or pop, flickering low and blue.
Aria sat by Elara’s crib with her eyes wide open, muscles locked in that space between stillness and strike.
The first attack had come without warning.
She didn’t believe the second would offer her the courtesy.
The moment it happened, there would be no guards.
No time.
It would be her.
And them.
She’d already removed her Luna robe, exchanging it for a loose black tunic, blades strapped beneath her sleeves. Her pendant was looped twice around her wrist for grip. One hand never strayed far from Elara’s bassinet.
Across the room, Zara had fallen into a light doze again, but her boots remained on, her hand curled around the hilt of her favorite knife. Even in sleep, she looked ready to lunge.
But something tugged at Aria—an old instinct. A whisper in her blood.
It wasn’t over.
Not yet.
She stood.
Walked once around the room.
Paused by the fireplace, where a log hissed low in its embers.
Then she felt it.
Not sound.
Not movement.
Scent.
A sour, metallic tinge—distinctly human, but wrong. It came from the air vent behind the bookshelf.
Aria’s spine straightened.
She turned to Zara, about to speak—
And then the bookshelf exploded.
Wood splintered.
A smoke bomb rolled into the room with a soft clink.
Zara leapt to her feet, coughing, eyes already narrowing. “Protect the baby!”
Aria was already there, lifting Elara into her arms as smoke bloomed thick and gray. She pulled the child close, wrapping her in the folds of her tunic, then turned just as two masked figures dropped from the vent.
Not rogues.
Not wolves.
Humans.
Aria didn’t wait.
She launched herself across the room, body low and fast. Her shoulder slammed into the first attacker’s chest, sending him sprawling. The second raised a baton—
Zara’s blade buried itself in his throat before he could swing.
But a third figure was already emerging from the vent.
This one moved differently—faster. Trained.
He sprinted for the crib, unaware that Aria held Elara against her chest.
“NO!” Aria’s voice cracked like thunder.
She pivoted, kicked the leg of the crib, sent it crashing into his knees. He stumbled—just enough.
Aria drew her blade.
He raised his.
They clashed.
Steel met steel in sparks.
He was stronger.
But she was faster.
She ducked his slash, stepped inside his guard, and drove her elbow into his jaw. He reeled, snarled, grabbed her by the throat.
Her back slammed into the wall, vision blinking black.
Elara whimpered beneath her tunic.
Something inside Aria snapped.
She twisted her wrist and jammed the blade upward into the man’s side. Not fatal. But deep. He howled and dropped her.
She didn’t stop.
She spun, slashed again—shoulder, thigh, cheek.
He fell hard.
Blood pooled.
She staggered, clutching Elara close, breathing like a hunted animal.
Zara stood over the bodies, panting, one shoulder bloodied but her grip steady. “Three. All dead.”
“No,” Aria whispered. “There was a fourth.”
Zara froze. “What?”
“I smelled him. Before the bookshelf blew.”
She turned sharply—
And saw the shadow in the hallway.
Tall.
Not masked.
A man in Greenwood colors.
He hadn’t moved to attack.
He watched.
And then… smiled.
A mocking, knowing curl of his lip.
He turned and ran.
Zara chased instantly, boots slamming down the corridor, but Aria didn’t follow.
She couldn’t.
Elara had begun to cry, low and frightened.
Aria held her tighter, rocking her instinctively, her own hands shaking with fury.
This wasn’t a threat anymore.
It was a war.
And her child had become the battleground.
The guards stormed in minutes later, too late to help but fast enough to confirm the truth—Elara had been the target again.
A second direct attempt.
Inside SilverCrest walls.
That should have been impossible.
And yet, here they were.
Zara returned half an hour later, blood on her knuckles, expression tight. “He escaped. West wing. There’s a breach in the old wine cellars.”
“Seal it. Burn it if you have to.”
“Already done.”
Aria didn’t move from her seat beside the crib.
Zara stared at her. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Aria said honestly.
Zara hesitated. “Do you want Kael?”
“No.”
“I think you do,” she said gently. “Not because he’s the Alpha. Because he’s the father.”
Aria looked at her. “And if he had come tonight—if he had stood in this room and fought beside me—maybe I would’ve believed he could still protect something beyond his name.”
Zara didn’t respond.
Because they both knew he hadn’t come.
The next morning, Aria stood before the council chamber with Elara in her arms, flanked by guards loyal to her blood, not her bond.
The prophecy had not just been spoken.
It had been fulfilled.
Twice now, she had saved the heir.
Twice now, the council had failed to protect its future.
“I don’t ask for loyalty,” she said coldly. “But I demand accountability.”
Not one elder could meet her eyes.
She left the chamber without waiting for their response.
Outside, the wolves of SilverCrest gathered in quiet awe.
They had heard the howls in the night.
They had smelled the blood.
And they had seen their Luna emerge… unbroken.
Unyielding.
Unafraid.
