POV: Lucien Blackveil
The scent of rogues was thick in the air.
Lucien's boots crunched against broken twigs and charred ground as he led the charge through the northern border of the Silver Fang Pack. Every step was calculated, every signal precise. His men flanked him like shadows—silent, swift, lethal.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The mission was clear: get the girls. Burn everything else.
Asher and Jack trailed close behind, their eyes scanning every tree, every unnatural sound. The forest had gone too still. The calm before blood.
Lucien's sharp gaze caught the faint imprint of boot tracks leading west—too organized for scattered rogues. This wasn't a random attack. It was a plan.
And Lucien hated plans he didn't make.
"Gamma Travis," Lucien mind-linked sharply. "Deploy the right flank, and breach that ridge. There's a passage beneath it."
Moments later, steel clashed.
A hidden hatch was uncovered beneath layers of brush and illusion magic. The moment his warriors broke through, the sickening scent of fear, sweat, and silver hit them like a slap.
"Go," Lucien ordered, already diving into the underground.
It was a dungeon.
Chains rattled. Cries echoed.
Dozens of girls—some unconscious, some shivering, all scared out of their minds—were tied to silver cuffs along the damp stone walls.
Lucien's men began breaking the chains, helping the girls out with calm precision. Jack rushed in, his eyes wild, searching—
"Aira?" he called. "Where is she?!"
"Jack!" a voice called back.
Lila.
She broke through the crowd, flinging herself into her brother's arms. "Jack—he took her! The Rogue King! He took Aira with him—please, you have to save her!"
Time stopped for a moment.
Asher's eyes widened in horror.
Lucien's jaw locked like iron.
Alex Ashwood stepped forward instantly. "I'll escort the girls out safely," he promised.
Lucien nodded once. "Travis, Alex—secure them and get them out. Now."
Then, without a word, Lucien turned and stormed down the final corridor. Asher and Jack followed, their pace sharp, their silence louder than any scream.
The door at the end was open.
And there, standing like a phantom in the firelight—was the Rogue King.
His dark robes moved as though alive, eyes glowing like coals.
He smiled.
"Ah," the Rogue King purred. "The mighty wolves come at last. Took you long enough."
Lucien's face was a mask of pure rage.
"You've made a mistake," he said coldly.
"Oh, I don't think so," the Rogue King grinned. "I've already found what I need. She's more than you can ever imagine. She's fire. She's death. And now—she's mine."
That was all it took.
Lucien raised his weapon and fired.
Silver bullets exploded across the chamber—deadly, glowing, blessed.
The Rogue King dodged most, but one bullet grazed his upper chest, piercing just above the heart.
He grunted, stumbling.
Lucien advanced, eyes glowing. Asher and Jack flanked him, ready to pounce.
But before they could land a final strike—Smoke erupted across the chamber.
Thick. Choking. Laced with some kind of magic.
A veil of darkness swallowed the king.
And when it cleared—
He was gone.
Silence. Stillness. Echoes.
Lucien cursed under his breath, then turned, storming into the inner chamber behind the smoke. Asher and Jack followed quickly.
There—on the center of a soft bed—lay Aira.
Unmoving. Pale.
Lucien's breath caught.
His heart skipped once. Twice.
But before he reached her, Asher rushed forward.
He knelt beside her, whispering her name like a prayer, and scooped her into his arms—protective, gentle, desperate.
He held her like she was made of glass.
Lucien watched.
Watched how carefully he held her.
Watched how his own wolf, Roman, began to stir—restless… hungry… drawn.
The scent.
Lucien took a step forward, and the faint trace of her scent hit him like thunder.
Sweet. Powerful. Familiar.
His breath caught.
His heart slammed in his chest once.
Then twice.
Then Roman whispered, growling low in his chest:
"Mate."
Lucien stared at her, stunned. His world tilted, just slightly, as realization sank in.
And in the chaos of smoke and rescue and broken chains, only one thought echoed in Lucien Blackveil's mind:
Is she… is she my mate?