Killian's POV
The music had been too light, the champagne too bubbly, and the smiles of the Silver River elite too forced. I had felt the itch under my skin since the moment I stepped into this glass cage of a palace. My wolf, Fenris, was not a creature of chandeliers and waltzes; he was a creature of the dark, and he knew when a predator was stalking the perimeter.
The moment my lips touched the pulse point on Lyra's neck, the world seemed to tilt. Her skin was like silk, her scent an intoxicating drug that made me want to forget the hundreds of eyes watching us. But even as the bond hummed between us, a new scent cut through the cedar and lilies. It was the smell of old copper and rot-the unmistakable stench of a wolf who had turned rogue.
I felt Lyra stiffen in my arms. Her ice-blue eyes, which had been soft with a dazed pleasure just a second ago, suddenly sharpened into lethal shards. She had smelled it too.
"Killian," she whispered, her hand tightening on my shoulder.
"I know," I growled.
The scream came from the eastern balcony. It was a sharp, jagged sound that tore through the violins like a blade. Then came the sound of breaking glass-the heavy, rhythmic thuds of bodies hitting the marble floor.
"Assassins!" someone shrieked.
The ballroom erupted into a frenzy of silver and black. My father, Alpha Valerius, was already in motion, his tuxedo jacket discarded as his claws began to extend. Across the floor, Alpha Silas was being rushed toward the secure elevators by a phalanx of Silver River guards.
"Stay behind me, Lyra," I commanded, my voice dropping into the Alpha register.
"Like hell," she retorted.
In a blur of silver silk, she reached down. I expected her to gather her skirts to run. Instead, she reached into the hidden holsters strapped to her thighs. Two daggers, forged from tempered silver and tipped with obsidian, appeared in her hands as if by magic. She didn't look like a bride anymore; she looked like a goddess of war.
The attackers poured in from the garden doors. They were dressed in the tactical black of the Shadow Stalkers-a radical cell of Blood Moon extremists who believed that any peace with the "Light Wolves" was an act of treason. They were my own people, or at least they used to be. Now, they were just targets.
"Traitors," I hissed, my eyes flaring gold.
One of them lunged at Lyra, a massive male with a jagged scar across his throat. He was shifting halfway, his bones snapping and reforming as he flew through the air. He was twice her size, a wall of muscle and fur.
Lyra didn't flinch. She stepped into his guard, spinning with a grace that made the waltz we had just shared look like child's play. Her silver dagger whistled through the air, catching the light before it buried itself in the assassin's throat. She didn't stop to watch him fall. She used his falling body as a stepping stone, launching herself at a second attacker.
"Impressive, little bird," I muttered, my own transition taking hold.
I didn't need blades. My claws were longer, sharper, and backed by the weight of a Royal Alpha. I met the next three attackers head-on. The first one died before he could even raise his weapon, my hand crushing his windpipe. The second I threw across the room, his body shattering a marble pillar.
The ballroom had become a slaughterhouse. The "Glass Peace" was now a floor of broken crystal and spreading crimson.
"Killian! The garden!" Lyra shouted over the roar of the fighting.
I looked toward the glass doors. More shadows were moving through the bioluminescent hedges. They weren't coming for the gala guests. They were flanking the palace, heading straight for the private wing where Alpha Silas had been taken.
"They're going for your father," I realized.
"We have to get outside," she said, her white hair flying behind her as she cut down another Shadow Stalker. "The sensors are down in the north garden. If they breach the secondary gate, the palace's internal defenses won't trigger."
I grabbed her hand, our skin meeting in a jolt of electric heat that fueled my wolf's fury. "Together?"
"Together," she agreed, her grip like iron.
We broke through the garden doors, leaping from the terrace into the dark. The cool night air hit my face, heightening my senses. I could hear the heartbeat of every assassin hiding in the bushes. I could hear the frantic breathing of the Silver River guards on the walls.
We moved as a single unit-a black storm and a silver flame. I took the heavy hits, using my strength to shatter shields and break bones, while Lyra moved in the gaps, her daggers finding the soft spots in the Shadow Stalkers' armor. We were a Powerful Couple in the most literal sense, a harmony of brute force and surgical precision.
We reached the Weeping Goddess fountain, the same spot where we had shared our midnight truce. Three assassins stood there, guarding the path to the private wing.
"Last chance to turn back," I growled at them, my voice a beast's roar.
They didn't answer. They shifted fully, three massive black wolves with eyes full of madness. They lunged.
I met the largest one mid-air, my claws tearing into his shoulder. We tumbled into the fountain, the water turning pink as we fought for dominance. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lyra take on the other two. She was a blur of silver silk and steel, her daggers dancing in a deadly rhythm. One wolf snapped at her heels; she vaulted over him, driving a blade into his spine.
I snapped the neck of the wolf in the water and stood up, dripping and lethal. Lyra was standing over her own fallen enemies, her silver dress torn and stained, her breathing heavy but her eyes bright with victory.
"You're bleeding," I said, stepping toward her. A small cut was weeping on her shoulder.
"It's not mine," she said, nodding toward the fallen wolves. Then she looked up at the palace. "Killian, look."
On the balcony of the private wing, my father, Alpha Valerius, was standing with Alpha Silas. They were surrounded by guards, but they were looking down at us. Valerius's expression was unreadable, but Silas looked horrified.
The peace had been challenged, and we had held the line. But as I looked at the carnage in the garden, I realized that the "Shadow" wasn't just outside our walls. It was already inside. Someone had deactivated those sensors. Someone had allowed my people's radicals into this palace.
"The traitor isn't just a Blood Moon wolf," I whispered, my gold eyes locking onto Lyra's blue ones. "Someone gave them the codes, Lyra. Someone in your own pack wants this wedding to fail as much as mine does."
Lyra's face went pale, her white hair shimmering like a halo of ice. "Then we aren't just fighting a war between packs anymore. We're fighting a war for our lives."
I reached out, wiping a drop of blood from her cheek with my thumb. "Then it's a good thing you have me, little bird. Because I don't plan on letting anyone kill my wife before I've even had a chance to kiss her properly."
Author's Note:
OKAY, THE ACTION IS HERE! 🗡️🔥 Lyra with the daggers? Absolute QUEEN energy! She really said "I'm not the one in danger, I AM the danger!" 💅🛡️
But wait... a traitor in the Silver River Pack? 😱💥 Who do you think it is? Could it be Kael, who is jealous of the bond? Or someone even higher up in the Royal Family? 🕵️♀️
And Killian... "I don't plan on letting anyone kill my wife before I've had a chance to kiss her properly." SIR! 🫠🍫 The tension is literally killing me! Do you think they can find the traitor before the wedding in Chapter ...?
Drop a comment! Are you Team #BattleMates or do you think the secrets are going to tear them apart? I'm replying to the best theories! See you in Chapter 7 for the aftermath! 🐺✨
