Of Blood And Lies

The Elite

{ Avina }

The instinct that kept wolves alive when facing superior pack authority. My heart slammed against my ribs. Run. Fight. Do something. But my body betrayed me, locked in place as he closed the distance. Ten feet. Five. Close enough that I could see the leather of his uniform was worn at the edges, scarred from use. Close enough to smell iron and earth and something darker—the scent of a wolf who'd killed recently.

He stopped just outside the doorway. Towering. Silent.

"Repeat what you said." His voice was low, controlled. The kind of quiet that preceded violence.

My mouth went dry. Every instinct I'd honed over the years—the ones that told me when to smile, when to deflect, when to make myself smaller—screamed at me to drop my gaze. Apologize. Play the part of the contrite female who'd spoken out of turn. But that burning thing in my chest, the one that had always gotten me into trouble, flared hot and bright.

I met his eyes. Held them.

"I said," I began, keeping my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands, "that your presence seems to unsettle people more than reassure them." I tilted my head slightly, as if considering. "Though perhaps that's intentional." The air between us crackled. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the goatee.

Then he moved.

He pressed forward, his presence a physical force that drove me backward into the shop. I stumbled over the threshold to avoid our bodies touching, my spine hitting the corner of a shelf. He didn't follow me inside—didn't need to. The threat was clear in the way he filled the entrance, blocking out the light, trapping me. His palm slammed down onto the smooth sanded wood of the display table beside the door. The crack echoed like a gunshot. Apples scattered, rolling across the floor in every direction, one tumbling past my feet.

I flinched. Hated myself for it.

Movement in my peripheral vision—his unit had noticed the confrontation, were beginning to approach. But without even looking, he raised his free hand over his shoulder in a sharp, commanding gesture. They halted mid-stride. Obedient. Waiting.

"Keep a lookout for four rogues," he said, each word deliberate. His eyes bored into mine with predatory intensity. "And a boy. They're a threat to pack security."

My breath caught. Four rogues. A boy. His hand shot out, claiming one of the apples from the table that had not fallen. He bit into it, the crisp snap cutting through the tension like a blade. Juice glistened on his lips as he chewed, watching me.

Assessing.

He turned and walked away, his stride as deliberate as his approach. "Another thing..." His voice sliced through the air as he wheeled back to look at me. "You carry yourself with a boldness and defiance that borders on recklessness, woman. A dangerous dance you lead, especially one as pretty as yourself. Tread with more caution."

The weight of his attention lingered even as he rejoined his unit, that cold, calculating interest telling me this wasn't over. I didn't move until they disappeared around the corner. Only then did my knees buckle, and I caught myself against the frame of the shelf, gasping like I'd been underwater.

I'd survived. Barely. But the look in his eyes—that cold, calculating interest—told me I hadn't escaped at all. I rushed to close the door, slamming it shut. My hands shook so violently I could barely turn the lock. The click echoed in the sudden silence, too loud, too final.

What the hell was I thinking?

My back hit it as I spun around, before I slid down to the floor, knees drawn to my chest, trying to force air into lungs that had forgotten how to work. The adrenaline drained out of me in waves, leaving nothing but cold, stark terror in its wake. I'd played this game before—deflecting unwanted advances, using sharp words to keep civilian males at arm's length. It worked because they had something to lose. Reputation. Pride. The social contract that kept our fragile pack society from complete chaos.

But the Ashmere? They were pack law. Sanctioned. Untouchable. Royal authority made flesh.

He could have killed me. Right there in the doorway, in front of witnesses, and no one would have stopped him. No one would have dared. My breath hitched. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the spinning in my head.

Stupid. So incredibly stupid. They wouldn't forget this. Wouldn't forget me. I'd marked myself as defiant, as someone who needed to be reminded of her place in the pack hierarchy.

The next time—and there would be a next time—he wouldn't be generous.

I should have been planning. Thinking of ways to disappear, to make myself smaller, invisible. To survive. As I sat there on the cold floor of my shop, one thing became brutally clear: I needed to be more careful.

The rest of the day crawled by with an unease I couldn't shake.

Every customer who entered felt like a potential threat. Every shadow in the corner of my vision made my shoulders tense. The Ashmere's warning—four rogues and a boy—had burrowed into my mind like a splinter I couldn't extract. The territorial war wasn't just political anymore—it was here, in my world, threatening everything. I found myself listening harder to the sounds outside, watching the street with sharper focus, my hand never straying far from the knife I kept beneath the counter.

By late afternoon, the weight of it had settled into my bones. I moved through closing on autopilot—counting the register, sweeping the floors. When I reached for the door, my hands trembled. I locked it once. Checked the handle. Locked it again. The click of the bolt sliding home sounded too loud, too final.

I pocketed the key and turned toward my car.

Four rogues and a boy.

The Ashmere's words echoed in my skull as I unlocked it—a beat-up Honda Civic that had seen better days but still ran. I tossed my bag onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, pulling the door shut with a metallic thunk that felt too loud in the empty parking lot behind the shop.

The engine turned over on the second try. I pulled out onto the main road, heading toward the highway that cut through the woods. Twenty minutes. That's all it would take to get home on the other side of the forest. Twenty minutes of winding two-lane asphalt flanked by dense trees on both sides. I should have felt safe. The road was familiar, well-maintained, marked with fresh yellow lines down the center and white fog lines on the shoulders. But my alpha senses were screaming that something was wrong. My phone sat in its holder on the dashboard, the screen dark.

No music.

No audiobook.

Just the hum of the engine and the sound of my tires on asphalt. I'd tried turning on the radio earlier, but every station felt too loud, too intrusive. I needed to think. The forest pressed in on both sides as I drove deeper into the woods. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden shafts, painting the asphalt in shifting patterns of light and shadow. The road curved ahead, disappearing around a bend where the trees grew thicker.

I eased off the gas slightly, my hands tight on the steering wheel.

My instincts stirred—restless, alert. Something wasn't right. The forest felt too quiet. No birds. No rustling in the undergrowth. Just an oppressive silence that made my senses scream danger. My heart rate spiked. My heightened hearing picked up sounds that shouldn't be there. The snap of branches too heavy to be deer, the low rumble of growls too deep to be anything but wolves. Multiple wolves. Moving through the forest parallel to the road.

Hunting.

The road straightened out, giving me a clear view ahead. Empty. Just trees and asphalt and the late afternoon sky visible in patches through the canopy. My foot pressed the accelerator, bringing my speed back up to fifty-five.

Then I saw it.

Movement at the tree line. Something large crashing through the undergrowth on the right side of the road.

My pulse spiked.

A figure burst from the trees—stumbling, collapsing forward onto the asphalt directly in my path. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he hit the road hard, coughing violently.

Shit!

My foot slammed the brake pedal to the floor.

The world exploded into chaos. Tires shrieked against the asphalt, the sound piercing and terrible.