Nyra

They say a condemned prisoner is supposed to be solemn on her way to the block. I, apparently, missed that memo.

The chains on my wrists rattled as two guards dragged me across the courtyard, their boots crunching on wet stone. The dawn mist clung to everything... my hair, their armor, the gallows waiting for me in the middle of the square. A nice touch. Very dramatic. The Alpha’s castle certainly knew how to stage a spectacle.

“You know,” I said sweetly, leaning toward the guard on my left, “you’re walking me an awful lot closer to the blade than you are to the healer. I’d take offense if I thought you were clever enough to plan it.”

He scowled. Good.

“Oh, don’t look so sour,” I added, flashing him a smile sharp enough to cut. “You’ll get your moment of glory when you tell your pups how you once dragged the big, bad hybrid to her death. Embellish it a little... say I begged. They’ll eat it up.”

The other one tightened his grip on my arm like I might suddenly sprout wings and fly. As if wings were my problem. If they’d had any sense, they’d have kept more distance. I’d already slit the throat of his cousin last night when I tried slipping out. Three dead before they finally got the drop on me. Their fault for underestimating me.

“I’d keep that hand steady,” I muttered as he jerked me forward. “Would be a shame if your last memory was me cutting it off.”

“Shut your mouth, witch,” he spat.

“Hybrid,” I corrected brightly. “Get it right. Don’t worry- you’ll be dead long before I’m finished.”

His grip faltered just enough to make me smile. A flicker stirred at the edges of my vision- inky tendrils of shadow curling like smoke across the stone beneath me. The guards didn’t notice. But the crowd did. Gasps rippled through the peasants gathered to watch the show. Children clutched their mothers. A drunkard blessed himself. Lovely. I hadn’t even tried yet.

They shoved me up the steps toward the execution block. The axe gleamed dully in the morning light. The executioner stood waiting, hood pulled low, breathing heavy as if he were already exhausted. I gave him a look over. One tooth missing, eyes watery, shoulders hunched.

This was it? This was the big finale?

I should’ve been afraid. Anyone else would’ve been trembling, weeping, maybe begging. Me? I was more annoyed that my final audience was such a boring collection of slack-jawed onlookers.

“You could at least oil the blade,” I called to the executioner, raising my voice so the crowd could hear. “Wouldn’t want it to get stuck halfway. Imagine the embarrassment. I’d never live it down.”

Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd.

The guards forced me to my knees, pressing my face toward the block. The wood smelled of blood and rot. Perfect. Just the décor a girl dreams of when meeting her end.

The officiator, some gray-haired advisor with a voice like a dying goat, stepped forward and unrolled a scroll. “By decree of Alpha Lucien Dreadmoor,” he began, “you stand condemned for trespass, for murder of castle guards, for witchcraft, and for being an abomination born of forbidden blood—”

I yawned. Loudly.

“-and are hereby sentenced-”

“Sentenced to boredom,” I muttered. “Gods, you people could make a thunderstorm sound tedious. Skip to the part where someone interesting shows up.”

The officiator flushed crimson. The crowd tittered. The guards jerked me back against the block. Shadows curled around my wrists, slipping into the cracks of the wood, restless like snakes waiting for my word.

The executioner lifted his axe.

The crowd held its breath.

And then-

“Enough.”

The voice was ice. Hard, deep, carrying across the courtyard without effort.

Everything stilled.

From the steps of the keep, he descended. Lucien Dreadmoor, Alpha of the Blackfang Pack. His presence cut sharper than any blade. Black cloak brushing the stones, boots echoing with measured weight, eyes like winter storms fixed on me. The crowd shrank back as though the air itself had grown colder.

I tilted my head. Finally. The star of the show had arrived.

Lucien didn’t look at the officiator, or the crowd, or even the axe. His gaze pinned me where I knelt, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Unshackle her.”

The guards stiffened. “M-My lord, she-”

“Did I stutter?”

The shadows at my wrists stirred like they heard him. Even I felt a twinge of chill at the way he said it- calm, unshaken, utterly in command.

The executioner lowered his axe. Chains fell away from my wrists. My blood sang with freedom, even as guards scrambled back like I might bite.

I flexed my hands, smirk tugging my lips. “About time. I was worried you’d let them bore me to death before you got here.”

The crowd gasped again- because Lucien Dreadmoor, the Alpha no one dared question, stepped closer. Close enough that the shadows rising off my skin coiled toward him like smoke searching for fire.

His gaze never wavered. He studied me as though trying to unravel the secrets of my blood right there on the block.

At last, he spoke, voice soft but lethal:

“This one dies when I say so. Not before.”

Nyra

If being marched to execution was demeaning, being marched away from it was just insulting.

The guards clearly didn’t know what to do with me now that their shiny Alpha had interrupted the grand finale. Their orders were simple enough- drag me to the dungeons- but you’d think they were being asked to escort a rabid wolf into a nursery. They walked wide around me, hands twitching near their blades, as if I might combust at any moment.

I might, just to prove a point.

“You lot are awfully jumpy,” I drawled, strolling down the narrow stone steps with chains still dangling from my wrists like jewelry. “Is it because I killed three of your friends last night? Or is it because your Alpha prefers my company over yours?”

The guard closest to me—a wiry one with scars puckering his cheek—snarled. “Keep talking, witch. The dungeons are dark and full of rats. They’ll match you well.”

“Charming. Though if I wanted rodent company, I’d sit closer to you.”

He lunged, but his friend grabbed his arm. I winked at both of them. Shadows curled lazily around my ankles, licking the edges of the torches as we descended into the bowels of the keep. The guards tried not to look, but the sweat on their brows betrayed them.

The dungeon smelled like mildew and despair, which was right on brand for this place. Iron bars lined the walls, each cell crammed with the occasional skeleton or unfortunate soul who hadn’t rotted fast enough. They shoved me into one of the “premium” suites- a cell at the end of the hall with thicker bars and a view of dripping stone. Delightful.

The door slammed shut with a clang.

I sat on the cold bench, stretched my legs, and sighed dramatically. “What, no wine? No cheese platter? You’d think with all this pageantry, you’d at least spring for hospitality.”

“Silence,” Scarface growled, slamming the bars with his spear.

I tilted my head, eyes narrowing just slightly. Shadows flickered across the floor between us, rising like the tendrils of smoke I hadn’t meant to let slip. The torch nearest him sputtered, light bending as if swallowed. His grip on the spear whitened.

I smiled. “Say it again.”

He didn’t.

..........

Time stretched. Hours, maybe. The guards rotated, but they never strayed too far. I occupied myself by humming obnoxiously, scratching insults into the wall with a rock, and inventing elaborate stories about the skeleton two cells over. I named him Gregory. Gregory and I had very deep conversations about death, taxes, and whether bones counted as a fashion accessory.

But the real entertainment came when he arrived.

Bootsteps. Heavy steps echoing through the hall. The guards stiffened like pups caught stealing meat.

Lucien Dreadmoor filled the dungeon like he had filled the courtyard: absolutely and completely. Cloak brushing the floor, jaw set, storm-gray eyes fixed on me with unnerving precision. He wasn’t just an Alpha- he was a predator who’d grown bored of hunting deer and was now considering lions.

I leaned back against the wall, smirking. “Well. Took you long enough. I was starting to think I’d been abandoned.”

“Leave us,” Lucien said without sparing the guards a glance.

They fled. Actual warriors of the Blackfang Pack scurried like mice. Delicious.

Lucien stopped before my cell, arms folding across his chest. “You enjoy mocking them.”

“Mocking?” I widened my eyes innocently. “That’s just my way of making friends. You should’ve heard me with the executioner. We were practically in love.”

His gaze didn’t flicker. He was infuriatingly still, as though carved from stone. But there was a sharpness there, behind the mask, like he was cataloging every syllable, every breath.

“What are you?” he asked at last.

“Hungry,” I said immediately. “Your guards forgot the wine and cheese.”

His silence pressed harder.

I sighed. “Hybrid. Obviously. Try to keep up.”

His eyes narrowed. “Half-vampire. Half-werewolf.”

“And a dash of something extra, apparently.” I wiggled my fingers, and a tendril of shadow curled lazily up the bars between us. It licked toward him, brushing close to his boots before dispersing.

Most men would’ve flinched. He didn’t move.

Interesting.

“I should kill you,” he said softly, almost like he was speaking to himself.

I grinned. “You should try.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. For a moment, the air between us thickened, electric. The shadows stirred like they wanted him closer. I wasn’t sure if it was instinct or my own twisted curiosity, but I leaned forward, just slightly, as if daring him.

He stepped closer. Close enough that the bars were the only thing between us. His voice dropped to a growl:

“You don’t understand what you are.”

I arched a brow. “Oh, do enlighten me, oh wise execution-interrupter. Since you seem to think my life belongs to you now.”

I caught the briefest flicker of something in his gaze- amusement, maybe? Quickly buried beneath that iron calm. “Maybe not. But your life definitely doesn’t belong to you. That’s the point.”

Shadows coiled higher, almost brushing his hand where it gripped the bars. I caught the faintest shift in his breathing. He wasn’t unaffected, no matter how carefully he masked it.

Good.

“Tell me something,” I said sweetly. “Why stop them? If I’m such an abomination, why not let them cut off my head and be done with it?”

His gaze drilled into me, pinning me in place. When he spoke, it wasn’t an answer- it was a test.

“Don’t you feel it?”

The words sank beneath my skin. My pulse betrayed me, stuttering hard against my throat.

I forced a smirk, even as I could feel the heat low in my chest. “Feel what exactly? Your arrogance? Your breath? You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at me... long enough, deep enough... that my own wolf stirred, pushing against my ribs. I hated that I could feel the heat trail up my cheeks. In that moment, I knew he knew. He could see it, no matter how hard I smiled.

..........

Later, when the guards dragged him away to his duties, I sat alone in my cell with Gregory the skeleton and the echo of his words.

Something told me this dungeon wasn’t going to hold me half as well as Lucien thought.

And something else told me- I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.