The night was silent, unnaturally so.
Moonlight poured through the tall windows of the Ravenmoon mansion, spilling over the marble floors like silver threads. The servants had long gone to rest, and the entire east wing had fallen into a hush, disturbed only by the soft sound of breathing, one faint, one smaller.
Devon lay on the edge of the bed, fully awake.
Elias slept beside him, curled under the thick quilts, his little hands clutching the hem of Devon's shirt even in dreams. It had been like this for the past week. The boy refused to sleep without him nearby. The pack doctors said it was trauma from the attack. The Alpha gave no objections, only ordered guards to double their patrols around the east wing.
Devon, though uneasy, couldn't bring himself to deny the child. There was something fragile about Elias, not just physically, but in spirit. When he cried, Devon's heart ached in ways he couldn't explain.
So he stayed.
The scent of pine and clean linen filled the room. Outside, the forest whispered in the wind. Everything seemed peaceful.
Until it wasn't.
A faint click echoed through the hallway, too soft for human ears, but Devon was a wolf. His eyes snapped open. The sound was wrong. Cautious. Intentional.
Who?
He sat up slowly, his senses sharpening. The boy stirred beside him, murmuring something in his sleep. Devon gently hushed him, his hand brushing the child's hair before he rose silently from the bed.
He moved toward the door, every step soundless, instincts coiled tight like a drawn bow.
Then the lights flickered, the faint golden glow of the magic lanterns dimmed, and a wave of cold swept across the room.
A shadow slipped through the open balcony window. Then another. And another.
Assassins!
Devon's pulse quickened. There were three, maybe four, all cloaked in black, their faces hidden, their scents unfamiliar. Rogues, but not wolves. The stench of poison clung to their blades.
He barely had time to think.
The nearest one lunged toward the bed, straight for Elias.
"No!"
Devon moved on instinct. His body screamed in pain, his ribs still not fully healed, but he didn't care. He threw himself forward, intercepting the strike meant for the boy. The blade tore through his arm, hot blood splattering across the floor.
The assassin hissed and swung again, but Devon ducked, grabbing a broken chair leg nearby. He swung it hard, shattering the man's jaw. The second assassin leaped from the shadows, slashing toward him, but before Devon could react, the air around him shifted.
A faint hum. A crackle.
Then light, soft, silver-white, erupted from his palm.
The room froze.
The glow spread like rippling water, wrapping around him and the child in a protective shimmer. The assassin's blade met the barrier and snapped.
Devon's eyes widened in disbelief. His heart thundered in his chest as he stared at his own hand, it was glowing faintly, veins lit with threads of silver light.
Magic!
No, that was impossible. Wolves couldn't wield magic.
But the assassins didn't care about impossibility. They attacked again, desperate and wild. Devon moved without thought, the strange energy pulsing with his heartbeat. It responded, bending the air, twisting it, and a shockwave burst outward, throwing the intruders back against the walls.
The sound of steel clattering echoed through the room, followed by groans and the crack of splintering wood.
Devon stood trembling, the faint light around him slowly fading. His wounds burned, his vision blurred. The boy stirred and whimpered, frightened. Devon turned, his breathing ragged.
"It's okay," he whispered hoarsely, kneeling beside him. "You're safe now, Elias."
But his voice was drowned out by the sudden pounding of footsteps in the corridor.
The door slammed open, and a group of guards rushed in, weapons drawn, their eyes widened at the sight before them, assassins unconscious on the floor, the air heavy with the lingering scent of burnt ozone, and Devon, pale, shaking, his arm bleeding, holding the Alpha's heir protectively.
"Call the Alpha!" one of them barked.
Devon barely heard them. His knees buckled, his strength gone. The light that had shielded them flickered once more, then vanished completely. He fell to the floor, his vision darkening at the edges. The last thing he saw before everything went black was Elias crawling toward him, tiny hands gripping his sleeve, tears in his eyes.
"Devon… don't go…"
Then, nothing.
Minutes later, Lucien burst into the room, his eyes flashing with fury and fear. He took in the chaos, the destroyed furniture, the smell of blood, the faint traces of magic still hanging in the air, and his gaze snapped to the bed, where his son sat crying beside an unconscious Devon.
Rowan, the Beta, froze at his side. "Alpha… what in the goddess's name happened here?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. His sharp gaze lingered on Devon's limp form, and the faint, glowing residue that still shimmered beneath the man's skin.
"That," Lucien said quietly, voice cold and unreadable, "is what we're going to find out."
The dungeon beneath the Ravenmoon mansion was nothing like the rest of the estate above, no shimmering lights, no gentle hum of magic in the air. Down here, there was only stone, blood, and silence.
The torches along the walls flickered weakly, throwing jagged shadows across the floor. The metallic scent of iron mixed with the raw stench of fear.
Lucien stood at the center of the cold chamber, his presence alone commanding every guard to hold their breath. His eyes glinted under the torchlight, not calm this time, but razor sharp, dangerous.
Three assassins knelt before him, their hands bound with enchanted silver chains that burned into their wrists. One was unconscious, the other two barely breathing.
Rowan, the Beta, leaned against a pillar behind him, arms crossed, eyes wary.
"They've been tight-lipped since we caught them," he muttered. "Not even a grunt when our men used silver lash. Whoever sent them trained them well."
Lucien didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept across the assassins, calm and steady.
Then he stepped forward, slow, deliberate, his boots echoing against the damp stone. He crouched before the nearest assassin, a dark-haired man with a fresh wound on his temple.
Lucien's voice, when he spoke, was low and cold. "You entered my home. You tried to kill my son."