A sharp whistle cut through the chaos. "Psst—up here, princess.
I craned my neck. Marco crouched on the roof of the butcher's shop, cigarette dangling from his lips, gesturing wildly for me to climb. I gritted my teeth but scaled the rusted drainpipe, boots slipping on ice-slick metal.
He smirked as I hauled myself onto the roof. "Took you long enough."
"What?" I snapped, ignoring the bow slung over his shoulder—since when did he use one?
Marco exhaled a plume of smoke, nodding toward the square below. The Wolves and suckers faced off in a lethal stalemate, the crowd's panic thickening the air. "Well?" he said. "What's your brilliant take? Wolves hand over one of theirs, or we all die watching?"
I glared. "They're outmatched. Eight Wolves, a dozen or more suckers. One Lord. If they fight, our people get trampled as collateral."
"Ah, but the noble Wolves won't trade a single furred boot for fifty peasants, will they?" He tapped ash onto the shingles. "Kingdoms stand on Wolf backs, blah, blah."
The sucker lord's voice hissed from below, amplified by the tension. "Your time dwindles, Alpha. Make the decision."
Marco's gaze slid to Flynn, still unconscious at the gallows' base. "That's your brother down there, yeah?"
I didn't answer.
"Think they'll cave?"
"No." The word tasted bitter. "A Wolf's life is worth a hundred of ours."
"Never figured you for a patriot."
"It's not patriotism. Giving up a wolf to the suckers goes against everything we believe in. " No matter what, the respect and values my dead family had instilled in me for the Volanema wolves, only the wolves, was forever going to stay in me.
Marco snorted, stubbing out his cigarette. "Let's help the Wolves, then. Save our own people. Tilt the odds."
"What?"
He nocked an arrow, aiming at the sucker closest to Flynn. "You take the lord. I'll clear the grunts near your brother. Two arrows, one shot. You've done it before."
My stomach lurched. "If we miss—"
"Then your brother dies. So don't miss."
Below, Zion stood rigid, his blade raised but unmoving. Was he going to give someone up? I'm sure he had orders to never give up a wolf for anyone. Everyone knew that but the last night's events had truly disheartened the people. The crowd's cries crescendoed—"Give them what they want!"
Marco's bowstring creaked as he drew it taut. "The lord's the real threat. Hardest kill. Can't make that shot myself." His eyes met mine, uncharacteristically serious. "You can."
The sucker lord paced, talons glinting. "Tick-tock, little Alpha."
I drew two arrows. "You hit the ones near Flynn. Exactly the ones near Flynn."
Marco grinned wildly. "Yes, ma'am."
"Decide!" the lord shrieked.
Zion's sword twitched.
"On three," Marco murmured.
One.
Two.
Three.
Our bowstrings sang.
The lord's head snapped back, twin arrows jutting from its throat like feathers. Black blood gushed, but the creature didn't fall—it laughed, a wet, gurgling sound that curdled the air.
"Shit," Marco hissed. His arrow had skewered a sucker through the skull, but another lunged for Flynn, talons bared. I nocked and loosed in one motion, my arrow punching through its eye.
Chaos erupted.
Zion moved with darkness embracing him like a mother's cradling arm. I froze mid-reach for another arrow, disbelief locking my joints. Rumors whispered in Sundra's taverns – the Volanema wolves bond grants more than strength, they say… water bends for them… fire answers their call… Children's tales. Soldier's boasts. Nothing I'd ever believed.
Yet here it was. Darkness bled from Zion like ink dropped in water, coalescing not into formless gloom, but into tendrils. Swift, purposeful tendrils that lashed out like living ropes. They snaked around the laughing lord's neck, wrists, and ankles – tangible, constricting darkness. The lord's wet laugh choked into a strangled gasp, its head wrenched back, black eyes bulging as the shadows tightened with crushing force. Only then did Zion's blade flash, a silver arc in the unnatural gloom, severing the imprisoned head mid-strangle. The body crumpled, the shadows dissolving like smoke as the head thudded to the cobbles.
The fight raged—Wolves and suckers colliding in a whirl of fangs and steel. A rider screamed as a sucker latched onto her wolf's flank. My arrow found the sucker's heart before its teeth met fur, the motion automatic, my mind still reeling. Shadows. Living shadows. The rider looked at me, probably in gratification by mind couldn't register the gesture before my gaze found Zion again.
"Eyes on your own kills, princess!" Marco barked, firing rapidly.
I didn't look. Didn't breathe. Just aimed. Loose. Aimed. Loose. The image of the coiling darkness burned behind my eyelids. Not rumors. Power. Real, terrifying power.
I sensed a movement to my left – too fast. A blur of grey fur and leather. One of the Wolves, moving faster than anything human, faster than the suckers, a streak of impossible speed that ended with a sucker's spine snapping audibly over the din.
Whispersofspeed…windgivenform…. Loose. Another arrow, another sucker falling. Aimed.
The ground itself seemed to shift. Near the gallows, a different rider slammed his boot down. Cobblestones surged upwards like liquid stone, forming jagged spikes that impaled two suckers charging Zion's flank.
Earth bends…
Loose. A guttural roar, not of pain but of pure force, erupted from a third rider. The sound hit me like a physical blow, vibrating in my teeth. The suckers closest to him staggered, clutching their heads, black blood leaking from ears and eyes before Zion's wolves tore into them.
Shattering voices…
By the time the last sucker fell, my quiver was empty. Zion stood amidst the carnage, his wolf's muzzle dripping black ichor, the air thick with the coppery tang of blood and the ozone scent of expended power. Our eyes locked, a heartbeat too long, before he turned to bind the surviving sucker, its limbs twisted at unnatural angles.
My head felt heavy with the weight of the impossible things I'd just witnessed, darkness that strangled, speed that defied sight, voices that crushed.
The realization struck me like ice water, the Wolves hadn't attacked during the standoff not because they were outmatched, but because they were leashed. Our people, trapped in the square, had been the only chain holding them back. Unleashed, eight Volanema riders and their wolves hadn't just fought a dozen suckers, they had dismantled them with terrifying, brutal economy. What had seemed a lethal stalemate had merely been a moment of calculated restraint.
The crowd surged toward the gallows.
"Flynn—!" I shoved through bodies, Marco at my heels.
Lorraine lay slumped against the gallows post, her breath shallow but steady. Flynn stirred beside her, a bruise blooming on his temple.
"Help me," I snapped at Marco.
He hoisted Flynn over his shoulder with a grunt. "He's heavier than he looks."
I looped Lorraine's arm around my neck. "Move."
Behind us, Zion's voice cut through the din, "Interrogate the prisoner. Burn the rest."
— — —
The tavern stank of bloodwort salve and burnt bread, the air thick with the murmur of survivors nursing wounds. I slumped against the counter, the hare's weight long gone from my satchel, replaced by a loaf of rye and a jar of honey Mary had pressed into my hands. "For the heroes," she'd said.
My reflection in a dented ale cask showed the toll—bruises purpling under my eyes, hair matted with soot and worse. Lorraine and Flynn were asleep in the cellar, their breaths still ragged but at least they were alive, and that was enough.
"Behold!" Marco's voice boomed from the corner, tankard raised. "The Savior of Sundra, folks! Bow to her divine grumpiness!"
A few half-hearted chuckles rippled through the room. I shot him a glare, but he grinned, kicking out the stool beside him. "C'mon, hero. Eat before you faint."
The meat pie on his plate steamed, its buttery and rich scent made my stomach growl traitorously. I sat, tearing into the crust without grace. Marco watched, elbow propped on the table, his smirk softer than usual. "Slow down. You'll choke."
"S'your fault," I muttered through a mouthful.
Mary materialized with two mugs of mulled cider. "On the house," she said, ignoring my raised hand. "For saving our kids."
Marco clinked his mug against mine. "Hell yeah!"
The door creaked open at the same moment and silence fell like a blade.
A Wolf rider stood in the threshold, helm tucked under one arm, their leathers streaked with dried gore. I'd seen him yesterday, he had been calling the Earth to do his bidding. The tavern's warmth curdled.
"You're not welcome here," a woodcutter spat.
"Get out," another growled.
The rider stiffened, gloved hand hovering near their sword.
"Wait." I stood, the stool screeching against the floorboards. "Let them stay."
Murmurs swelled. "They left us to die—"
"We harbored a traitor," I snapped, louder. "The suckers came because we failed. The Wolves bled for us last night. Let them drink."
The rider hesitated, then nodded once, to me—and retreated back into the night. Well, at least they knew shame.
Marco whistled low. "Since when do you play diplomat?"
"Shut up." I collapsed back onto the stool, the cider suddenly too sweet.
The door creaked again.
This time, it was Zion. And everyone froze, conversations dying mid-sentence. No one here was stupid to even look the wrong way at him, especially after witnessing his wrath with their own eyes.
He stood framed in the doorway, his wolf's pelt draped over one shoulder, eyes sweeping the crowd before landing on me. "Iris Liren."
Every head turned.
"Alpha," I said flatly.
He stepped inside. The worn floorboards groaned like tortured souls under his boots. His eyes flickered – a microsecond of cold scrutiny – taking in my half-eaten pie, the greasy crumbs on the plate, and then lingering a fraction too long on Marco's hand, resting with familiar ease on my shoulder.
"After you're done…" His voice was low, cutting through the stillness. "…please come to the town office." His gaze shifted. "You too, Marco Korvin." Without waiting for acknowledgment, he pivoted sharply. The door thudded shut behind him, leaving only the echo of his command and the thick scent of pine and iron clinging to the air.
— — —
Marco batted my hand away as I wiped greasy pie crumbs on his coat. "Use your own damn sleeve," he snapped, but I just shrugged.
"Why do you think we're called?" he muttered, trailing me down the muddy path. "Bet it's a gallantry award. Medals. Maybe a parade with rose petals."
I snorted. "It's compensation. For the arrows we wasted."
"Ballsy compensation, then. We earned spectacle."
The office loomed ahead, two Volanema wolves flanking its entrance like gargoyles. We bowed deep, palms pressed to our hearts, before entering. Zion stood at a scarred oak table, three riders at his back, their faces as muted as their Alpha's. Two burlap sacks bulged at his feet. "Liren. Korvin." Zion spoke, his voice smooth and rich, and deep beautifully so, I wondered how many women threw themselves at him all for that deep timbre of his voice.
He lifted the sacks, coins clinking, "Your intervention saved lives. The pack acknowledges this," and tossed the sack to me.
I caught it, the weight surprising. "We didn't do it for coin."
"No. You did it for them." His gaze flicked toward the tavern. "But the pack pays its debts."
Marco plucked the sack from my hands, peering inside. Coins spilled out—glistening gold sovereigns, enough to rebuild half the town. Marco whistled. "That's… a lot of compensation."
"Your actions served the pack," Zion said. "Take it."
I hefted my sack, the weight staggering. "This could feed Sundra for months."
Marco stared at his, lip curled. "Was hoping for a shiny badge, honestly. Something to impress the ladies."
One rider coughed, masking a laugh. Zion's gaze narrowed. "The pack doesn't award trinkets. We reward utility."
"Utility," Marco echoed, tossing a coin and catching it. "Right. Thought I'd get a pat on the head too." Someone let out a chuckle again but smothered it just as quickly, being on the receiving end of Alpha Zion Kage's glare was probably enough to hold composure.
Zion nodded once, turning back to the maps. "Dismissed."
I turned to follow Marco, the rough burlap scraping against my tunic. The riders lining the room were a wall of watchful silence, their earlier amusement firmly locked down under Zion's stern presence. He was bent over the maps again, his broad shoulders tense, the lamplight catching the sharp angles of his jaw and the faint silver threading through his dark hair at the temples.
But as I reached the threshold, a strange compulsion pulled at me. I paused, one hand on the worn doorframe, and glanced back.
His head lifted. Not fully, just enough for his gaze to shift from the parchment sea on the table. Those dark eyes, intense and unreadable as deep water, met mine across the dimly lit room.
No nod, no change expression. Just that unwavering, assessing gaze, holding mine for a fraction longer than necessary. There was this scar, a small one near his left eyebrow that got my attention. It made me look twice at his beautifully sculpted face and the scar made him look annoyingly hot. Whoever said scars ruined faces? Then, as if the connection had never been, his lashes lowered, and he was absorbed back into the strategy laid out before him. The moment snapped.
"Oi! Coming?" Marco's impatient whisper cut through the silence from the hallway. "Or are you waiting for that pat on the head too? Trust me, it's not worth the glare."
I stepped over the threshold, pulling the heavy door shut behind me. The solid thud echoed in the corridor, sealing away the map room.
Outside, Marco kicked a stone, the sack slung over his shoulder. "Medal would've been lighter."
I rolled my eyes. "Use it to fix your leaky roof."
"Or buy a better coat." He flicked pie grease off his sleeve. "Since you treat mine like a napkin."
The tavern's glow warmed the street ahead, but Marco lingered, uncharacteristically quiet.
"You know," he said quietly, "he's right. The Wolves don't say 'thank you.' This is as close as it gets. They'll never respect us. Not really. To them, we're just… useful peasants."
I adjusted my sack, the coins clinking like a bell. "Respect won't rebuild homes."
He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Keep the money, hero. I'm buying a wolf-sized ego."