The wolf they erased

The assassination

CHAPTER 1

AYLA

TWENTY-THREE YEARS LATER.

“How much longer, Mum? This is really irritating,” I complain, sitting between her legs as she massages oil into my hair.

“Remember what I told you, Ayla. Never let your guard down, no matter what. Wait—did you go visit the injured?”

“I didn’t. I just walk past,” I mutter, playing with the device on my wrist. “But I don't know how much longer I can tame my wolf. This watch might not work forever.”

The watch is custom-made for me. It monitors my heartbeat, sensing the exact moment I become pissed or livid. When my anger spikes, it injects a chemical resistance directly into my veins flooding my system with dopamine so I won’t forcefully shift into my wolf.

“Don’t fiddle with it,” Mum says, swatting my arm. I go silent. “Your pulse will bulge if you keep stressing.”

I look up at her, my eyes meeting her piercing hazel ones. “Did you know about Dorian and the General’s daughter?”

She gives me a sad, heavy smile that tells me everything I need to know. I turn fully to face her. “What is it, Mum?”

“Dorian doesn’t want you worrying, Ayla.”

“Mum?” I stand up abruptly, my heart instantly racing. A mild sting pricks my arm as the watch triggers, forcing my heart rate back down to a normal pace.

“Dorian got hurt,” Mum explains, her voice cracking slightly. “Zarek saw Dorian with Storme and assumed he was attacking her. Storme tried to explain, but things went out of hand.”

“Out of hand?” I don't wait for the rest of the explanation. I pull up my gown and take off at a sprint.

Zarek did what? I have heard enough about that monster to know nothing good ever follows his name. Why didn't he let his sister speak? Why is he such a coward? He should have known Storme and Dorian are dating.

The damn watch is barely keeping up. I want nothing more than to rip my clothes off, shift into my wolf, and tear Zarek limb from limb.

‘Let me out! If you don't, Zarek will finish him next time!’ my wolf echoes relentlessly in my mind.

I swing the door to the medical tent open. Dorian is sitting up, pillows propped behind him. A heavy plaster runs from the corner of his eye down to his cheek. His long hair is a tangled, sweaty mess, and his soft skin looks toughened by this relentless war.

“Ayla,” he utters in disbelief.

Beside him, Dad tilts his head toward me, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. “Hey, princess.”

“Aren't you supposed to be having a hair massage with Mum?” Dorian asks, but my eyes are already scanning him for more wounds. Just the face. Duly noted.

“I didn't know you two were having a father-son moment. I will take my leave. Are you okay, Dorian?” I raise an eyebrow. I watch his chest heave, a flicker of residual fear crossing his face.

Fear. That is the exact emotion I am going to inflict on that asshole Zarek.

“I am leaving now,” I say, twirling on my heel and exiting before Dorian can try to change my mind.

● ~ ●

The camp is almost silent as I slip between the shadows of the tents.

Almost.

A few guards patrol the perimeter, their long shadows stretching across the dirt. I wait for one to pass before darting forward. A heavy scarf covers my hair, my nose, and most of my face. Only my eyes are visible. No one outside my family and female friends has ever seen my face, and tonight, I intend to keep it that way.

Zarek's tent stands farther from the others. It is guarded, but not heavily enough. His wolves are exhausted after the skirmish at the mansion; they clearly haven't expected a counter-attack so quickly.

That’s what happens when you are dumb enough to pick a fight with the Shadow Stalker pack. Didn’t the name of our territory strike enough terror? We live in the Weeping Canopy for a reason.

I crouch beside the entrance, listening intently. Nothing. Slowly, I push the flap aside. Zarek is fast asleep. My hand closes around the knife hidden beneath my sleeve as I step inside. Taking sluggish, silent steps, I ensure my boots make no sound against the ground. One step. Another.

I raise the blade. His eyes snap open.

What the hell?

Before I can drive the blade down, he moves. The knife slices cleanly through his blanket as Zarek rolls away. In a single, explosive stride, he closes the distance between us. I twirl out of his grasp, keeping my grip tight on the blade, ready to strike again.

He catches my wrist, his eyes locking onto mine, desperately trying to figure out who I was. Acting on instinct, I drop the knife from my trapped hand and catch it with my free one, slashing it across his leg.

He groans, his grip loosening. I use the opening to swirl behind him, driving the knife deep into his back. When I rip it out, warm blood splashes across my face.

He spins around to face me. I look him dead in the eyes, give him a devious wink, and smile beneath my scarf. He lunges to grab me, but I slam the heavy butt of the knife directly into his cheek, throwing his head to the side.

“Who are you?” he growls.

I pull back, bouncing lightly on my feet. This is thrilling. Is this really the Zarek everyone fears? If Dorian had actually fought back, Zarek would be a dead man right now.

He watches me in sheer awe, his face harboring a silent question: Who is this psycho?

“What do you want?” he growls in pure frustration.

I say nothing. I eye his ash-grey singlet, smirking as I pick out the exact spot I want to s***h next. I rush him, but he anticipates the move, catching my wrist. Has he been studying me too?

Twisting sharply, I use my smaller frame to slip right underneath his arm. I drive my shoulder hard into his chest, forcing him backward. He stumbles, panting heavily. Pushing my advantage, I strike again, but he blocks it.

I swivel to create some distance and rethink my strategy, but he is too fast. He grabs me by the waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. He spins me our chests heave in perfect sync, our eyes locking. His blue eyes are strikingly bright in the darkness, illuminated by the harsh security light outside the tent.

He raises a hand to rip the scarf from my face. I grab his wrist, but he uses the momentum to spin us. In a flash, my back slams against the support pole of the tent, and my hands are pinned firmly above my head.

“Are you from the Shadow Stalker pack?” he sneers, tilting his head. “Are they so weak that they send a little girl?”

I knee him hard where the sun doesn't shine.

He doubles over, letting go of me with a muffled curse. I spin behind him and s***h the side of his stomach. But without a single shred of warning, he whips his hand out. Before my brain can even register the movement to dodge, a massive wave of raw kinetic power slams into me.

The force throws me backward, tearing right through the tent fabric. My body skids violently across the hard dirt outside. I cough, tasting copper as blood spills past my lips. My entire body goes completely numb, feeling as though I have been trampled by a herd.

Zarek walks out of the torn tent, moving sluggishly toward me like a predator playing with its prey.

Shit. I underestimate him. With just a flick of his wrist, he causes this much damage.

“Dorian really has no spine if he lets you fight his battles,” Zarek mutters, stopping beside me.

He grabs my wrist and drags me off the ground effortlessly. I dangle in front of his face, my free hand clutching my throbbing stomach. He tightens his grip on my wrist—so hard that my royal bangle squeezes against my skin, snapping apart and pricking my flesh.

The watch on my other wrist sparks violently, burning my skin as it desperately tries to inject enough dopamine to keep my raging wolf from bursting out.

Ignoring the pain, I stylishly slide my free hand down to my waist, slipping a hidden dagger from my belt loop. With a sudden burst of energy, I s***h it right across his face—carving a deep line in the exact same spot he cut Dorian.

He lets go of me, howling in pain. I don't waste a second; I turn and make a blind run for the tree line.

I whip my head back as I reach the shadows. Zarek is nowhere behind me. He is swift, I have to admit. I scan the camp and finally catch sight of him standing directly beneath the security light.

He isn't chasing me. Instead, he looks down, staring intently at the broken pieces of the royal bangle he is holding in his hand.

I look away, wiping the blood from my mouth. That isn't my business anymore. The favor has been repaid. A slow, devious smile spreads across my face beneath the torn scarf.

And then, I melt into the dark.