The wound in my arm burned hot, but the blade in my hand didn't shake.
The archer was reloading. Bad angle, northeast balcony. The bowstring whined. I moved. My body cut through the panic like it was choreographed, blood dripping a trail across marble tiles polished for a wedding.
Screams echoed as nobles shoved for cover. The orchestra abandoned their instruments, strings wailing in dissonance.
I pulled, aimed, and released. My arrow sang through the smoke of incense and shattered glass—straight into the bastard's chest. He toppled, dead before he hit the ground.
Another moved behind him. This one had a gun.
I didn't hesitate. My hand dipped to my thigh holster, fingers brushing steel. Cold weight answered: my Glock 19. Smooth. Familiar. My shadowed partner in a thousand drills I was never meant to use in public.
I leveled and fired.
The shot cracked through the chamber, ripping past silk drapes and shattering a priest's prayer bowl on its way through the shooter's skull. Gasps turned into shrieks. The crowd was in full panic now, but my wolf was calm—finally calm. She knew what she was bred for.
And then I felt it—his gaze.
The King hadn't moved for Liora. Not once. He was on the dais, shoulders squared, silver burning in his eyes. His wolf prowled just under his skin, dangerous and hungry. He looked at me like the chaos wasn't chaos at all—it was a stage set for one thing. For us.
But then he turned his head slightly to his right.
His Beta.
The silent message passed between them like lightning: This is it. We move now.
The bond between them was old and trained. I recognized it because I had been taught to read it. And I knew what it meant: the King wasn't going to let me die here.
"Royal Guard!" His voice was thunder over screams. "Get her backup!"
Steel boots hit marble. Wolves surged forward, black-suited guards snapping into a phalanx. They didn't move for Liora. They moved for me.
The Princess screamed again, high and sharp, "Protect me!" But the King's Beta barked orders over her: "Shields on the royal family—circle formation. Eyes on the shadows. NOW!"
For the first time in my life, the guards protecting my sister weren't mine. They weren't even hers. They were his.
And then he growled.
Not human. Not polite. Not rehearsed. The sound vibrated through the hall, shaking bone and glass. A feral, primal claim that made wolves in the audience drop their eyes to the floor.
Every hair on my body stood on end. My wolf arched her back inside me, answering with a low, a raw, guttural rumble that spoke the words I couldn't. Yes. Ours.
Another shot rang out. Close—too close. I pivoted, knife flashing in my left hand, Glock still in my right. I fired once, ducked, rolled, and came up under the jaw of a would-be assassin, slamming my blade into his throat. Hot spray hit my neck. I shoved him off and pivoted again, blood dripping down my temple, adrenaline screaming.
Dorian was moving.
He came down the dais like a storm in a suit—Beta on his right, three guards at his flanks. His wolf was so close to the surface that his canines had lengthened. He shoved one priest out of the way like he was paper. His eyes never left me.
Not once.
I fired again—another headshot. Dropped one more with a knife across the artery. Too fast, too precise. The wrong twin was showing the whole world exactly what she'd been trained to do.
And then he was there.
Dorian slammed into me, hand fisting the back of my vest, dragging me against him as a bullet ricocheted where I'd been standing. His heat seared through my armor, his scent a violent mix of smoke and winter pine, grounding and intoxicating all at once.
"Mine," he snarled into my ear, the growl low and feral. "And no one touches what's mine."
My body betrayed me. The bond flared hot between us, wolf howling in triumph, knees threatening to buckle even as blood soaked my sleeve. His hand stayed locked in my vest, his body shield over mine, his wolf daring anyone to try again.
"Eyes UP!" the Beta barked, firing a round into the balcony. "North cleared! East line compromised—cover the exits!"
"Secure the Princess!" one guard shouted.
"She is secure!" the Beta snapped. "The King gave the order!"
Liora's scream cut through again, shrill and cracking, "No—he's mine! She's nothing! She's—"
Another gunshot drowned her out.
I twisted in his grip, blade in one hand, gun in the other. I should have broken free. I should have moved to intercept. But Dorian's arm locked around my waist, dragging me against his chest as his growl rolled through the chamber again.
The room froze. Wolves in human skin stilled under it. Even the assassins hesitated.
He wasn't just a man. He wasn't just a king.
He was an Alpha, a Lycan, claiming his mate in the middle of a firefight.
And it was the sexiest, most terrifying thing I'd ever seen.
My wolf purred, shameless. My assassin instincts screamed back. But for the first time in my life, my training didn't matter. Because the prophecy was burning, the wedding was collapsing, and the Lycan King wasn't saving my sister.
He was saving me.
The smoke cleared just enough for everyone—priests, nobles, cameras—to see the truth: the King of Wolves had his mate in his arms, and it wasn't the princess in silk. It was the assassin with blood on her hands and a gun still hot in her grip