BLOOD OATH

The first body dropped at Lena Cross’s feet before the moon cleared the skyline. He was still breathing. Barely. She crouched beside him on the warehouse roof, city lights burning below like fallen stars. “Who hired you?” she asked softly. The trafficker laughed, blood slick on his teeth. “You don’t scare packs, little wolf.” “I’m not a pack.” She broke his wrist before he could shift. Lena moved like smoke—silent, precise. No scent markers. No territory claim. She hunted men who used wolf routes to move women and children across the city. The packs ignored it. The packs profited. She didn’t. Tonight, she found something she wasn’t supposed to. A silver ring on the trafficker’s chain. A wolf sigil carved into black iron. Volkov. Rafe Volkov didn’t just control territory. He controlled fear. His pack ran the eastern districts—docks, nightclubs, underground transport. They called it business. Everyone else called it survival. Lena stared at the ring. Her brother had vanished two years ago after investigating Volkov shipments. The packs said he was dead. But this man had whispered something before she broke him. “He’s alive.” Lena wiped blood from her blade. If Rafe Volkov knew anything about her brother— She would make him talk. And if he didn’t— She would make him