The fire in Alexander's office crackled, casting shadows over the treaty Ava had spent weeks negotiating. She traced the signature line with a pen, mouth twitching. "Human representatives will actually show up to the summit? Or are they gonna bail like last time?"
Alexander grunted, tossing a stack of reports onto the desk. "They'll show. Sent Elena to babysit their mayor. She threatened to leak his tax records if he flakes."
Ava laughed, but the sound died when his jaw tightened. "What's wrong?"
He slid a photo across the desk. A wolf, silver-furred and mangled, lying in a snowbank. "Patrol found this on the north border. Throat torn out. Not Syndicate work—this is European. See the bite marks?"
Ava leaned in, her stomach lurching. The wounds were precise, almost surgical. "Valkyrie pack. They fight with blades, not claws."
"How'd you—"
"Read your stupid history books." She tapped the photo. "Why are they here? We haven't had cross-continental drama since 1947."
Alexander's fingers drummed the desk. "Lorenzo's warning. They want moon-blood. Your moon-blood."
Ava stood, pacing. "Let 'em come. I've taken down rogues, Syndicate goons—what's a few fancy Europeans?"
"These aren't goons." He stood, too, his frame blocking the firelight. "Their Alpha's a woman named Sigrid. She's 300 years old, survived two world wars, and she collects rare bloodlines. Keeps them in cages like trophies."
The office door burst open, Elena stumbling in, her leather jacket stained with blood. "They're here. North border. Took out three wolves—"
A howl split the air, sharp and agonized, cutting her off.
Alexander was already shifting, bones cracking as he blurred into his wolf form—massive, black-furred, fangs bared. Ava grabbed her knife, silver etched into the blade, and followed him outside.
The snow crunched under her boots as they raced to the border. The pack was already fighting—wolves clashing with figures in fur cloaks, their blades glinting blue in the moonlight.
Sigrid stood apart, watching, her silver hair braided with bones. When she spotted Ava, her lips curled into a smile. "There she is. The moon-blood pet."
Ava lunged, knife swinging, but Sigrid dodged, her boot catching Ava's ribs. She crashed into the snow, the wind knocked out of her, as Sigrid pressed a blade to her throat.
"Calm, little one," Sigrid purred. "I won't hurt you. Much."
A silver blur tackled Sigrid off her—Lorenzo, his wolf form leaner than Alexander's, fur streaked with gray. He snarled, claws tearing into her shoulder, but Sigrid laughed, driving a dagger into his flank.
"Traitorous mutt," she spat.
Ava scrambled up, silver light flaring. The Valkyrie wolves froze, whimpering, as her power washed over them. Alexander seized the moment, tearing into their ranks, his jaws crushing throats.
Sigrid broke free from Lorenzo, her blade aimed at Ava's heart. "Pretty light show. Shame it won't save you."
Ava didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just stared into Sigrid's eyes, her voice cold as the snow. "You want moon-blood? Come get it."
Sigrid lunged.
Ava's light exploded, brighter than ever, searing through Sigrid's arm. The blade clattered to the ground as Sigrid screamed, her skin smoking where the light touched it.
"Witchcraft," she gasped.
"Moon-blood," Ava corrected, kicking her legs out from under her. "And you just pissed it off."
Alexander pinned Sigrid, his jaws inches from her throat. "Call off your pack. Now."
Sigrid spat blood. "Never. The High Coven will—"
"Is here."
A woman stepped out of the trees, her red cloak swirling, a raven perched on her shoulder. Her eyes locked on Ava, narrowing. "You. The heir. We've been waiting."
Ava's blood ran cold. "High Coven? The ones who cursed Eleanor?"
The woman smiled, sharp as a blade. "Cursed? We gifted her. A power to balance wolves. Shame she wasted it."
Lorenzo, limping toward them, growled. "Morrigan. You're supposed to be dead."
"Death's boring." Morrigan stroked her raven. "We need your blood, Ava. To fix the curse. To make wolves serve again."
Alexander roared, but Morrigan raised a hand. "Touch me, and your little mate's heart stops. I've got a spell on her. Old magic. Nasty stuff."
Ava's chest tightened, a sharp pain shooting through her. She gasped, doubling over.
"Ava!" Alexander lunged, but Morrigan's raven took flight, clawing at his eyes.
"Call off your wolf, or she dies," Morrigan said, calm as a storm.
Alexander froze, his wolf form trembling with restraint.
Morrigan smiled. "Wise. Now. Come with me, Ava. Or watch everyone you love bleed out."
Ava met Alexander's eyes, pain and fear warring in his gaze. She thought of Elena, of the pack, of Lorenzo—bloodied but still standing.
"Fine," she said, her voice steady. "But if you hurt them, I'll burn your coven to the ground. Moon-blood or not."
Morrigan laughed. "Feisty. I like it."
She grabbed Ava's arm, her touch like ice, and they vanished into the trees.
Alexander shifted back, blood dripping from his face. "Track them. Now."
Lorenzo, pressing a hand to his bleeding flank, shook his head. "You can't. Morrigan's got wards. But I know someone who can."
"Who?"
"Your father." Lorenzo's voice was quiet. "He's not dead. He's with the Coven. Has been for years."
Alexander's face went pale. "No. He—"
"Faked his death. To protect you. From this." Lorenzo nodded at the woods. "He knew they'd come for the heir. For you."
The pack stared, silent.
Alexander closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them, they were hard, determined. "Find my father. And get ready for war."
Elena, her hand on her gun, nodded. "What about Ava?"
Alexander's jaw tightened. "I'm bringing her back. Even if I have to burn the Coven to do it."
In the distance, a raven cawed.
And somewhere in the dark, Ava's light flickered—faint, but still burning.