The Wolf She Came to Kill

The forest outside Blackridge village had one rule: don’t go out after dark. Aria ignored that rule. She tightened her grip on her silver dagger as moonlight filtered through the branches. The cold glow turned the mist pale and ghostly. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a wolf howled. “Perfect,” she muttered. “Exactly what I was hoping for.” Aria was a hunter—trained, stubborn, and very tired of the creature that had been stalking the outskirts of the village for weeks. Livestock dead. Footprints the size of dinner plates. And rumors of glowing eyes in the trees. A werewolf. And tonight she planned to end it. A branch snapped behind her. Aria spun, dagger raised. “Show yourself!” A man stepped from the shadows. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair falling across sharp eyes that glinted gold in the moonlight. He looked far too calm for someone standing in the middle of monster territory. “You’re hunting something,” he said coolly. Aria scoffed. “And you’re in my way.” His gaze flicked to the silver blade. One eyebrow lifted. “A werewolf hunter,” he said. “Bold.” “Move.” “Or?” She stepped closer, dagger angled toward his chest. “Or I’ll assume you’re the problem.” For a moment the forest went still. Then he laughed. Low. Amused. “You’d stab a stranger in the woods?” “If he deserves it.” His golden eyes sharpened. “Careful,” he said softly. “You might regret that.”