Celine barely had time to catch her breath before she saw it—a shadow, motionless and wrong, standing in the center of her room like it had been waiting for her.
Her blood turned to ice.
She didn’t think. She reacted.
A sharp cry tore from her throat as she snatched the nearest object—a chipped ceramic cup from the nightstand—and hurled it with all the force panic could give her.
The figure moved fast, ducking just in time. The cup shattered against the wall, spraying shards across the floor.
But the intruder didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.
“Wait! Wait—I’m not here to hurt you!”
The voice was female, young—too girly for someone who had just stepped out of the shadows.
The candlelight wavered, casting golden shadows over delicate features—wide, earnest eyes, cheeks flushed with nerves, and a braid coming loose from the ribbon at her shoulder. She wore a simple servant’s tunic, a size too big, sleeves rolled to the elbow, smudged with flour and ink. Her posture was tense, arms slightly raised as if she wasn’t sure whether to run or bow.
The face was familiar. Too familiar.
The girl Celine had shielded in the training yard. The one she’d defended when no one else had dared.
“I—I’m L-Lucy,” she stammered, her voice small but insistent. “I had to f-find you.”
Celine didn’t move at first. Her hands were still curled into fists, heart pounding in her ears.
But slowly, she let out a breath. Let her shoulders fall.
Lucy.
Now that she was closer, Celine noticed just how small she was. How thin. A girl people overlooked. A girl too easy to break.
But Celine saw something else too—a quiet kind of steel beneath all that fear.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Celine said carefully. “If anyone finds you—”
Lucy shook her head. “I had to say thank you.” Her voice wavered. “For helping me.”
Celine swallowed. “Anyone would have done the same.”
“No,” Lucy said, her voice stronger now. “They wouldn’t have.”
A flicker of something bitter and old twisted in Celine’s chest. She knew that truth too well. How different would her life have been if someone had fought for her the way she had fought for Lucy?
Lucy took a deep breath. “Be careful of Reese,” she murmured. “He doesn’t let things go.”
Celine’s stomach tightened. She had already known that.
Lucy hesitated, then—softer, almost ashamed—she whispered, “He’s hurt girls before.”
Celine’s blood turned cold, but before she could respond, a knock rattled the door. Lucy hid behind the curtain before Celine even had time to blink.
The door swung open, and a warrior stood there, looking impatient.
“Alpha Leon has summoned you.”
***
Celine followed the warrior through the winding halls of the packhouse, her steps quick but cautious. At first, she thought nothing of it—the usual movement of courtiers, servants, guards shifting through their routines.
But then she noticed the difference.
People weren’t just moving—they were whispering. Servants hurried by with linens and silver trays, their arms full of polished goblets and ceremonial cloths. The scent of fresh herbs and perfumed oils clung to the air, and distant music—soft, tentative—floated from somewhere ahead.
Something was happening.
Something big.
Celine slowed slightly, her brow furrowing. The atmosphere was too charged. Not fear—but anticipation.
A gathering.
One that no one had bothered to tell her about.
But Celine wasn’t led toward the commotion. She was taken directly to him.
The warrior knocked twice on the Alpha’s chamber door, its surface adorned with carved symbols of Crimson Fang’s lineage—twisting wolves etched into dark wood, their eyes painted in a burnished red that caught the light like flame.
Then came his voice, low and unmistakable through the door: “Enter.”
Leon stood near his desk, arms loosely crossed, his gaze pinned on her with that unsettling, unreadable focus. He didn’t speak right away. He just watched.
Then, at last, his voice broke the silence—low and deliberate.
“Did I tell you I kill rogues who trespass on my territory?”
Celine’s throat tightened. She nodded once. “Yes… but I agreed to be your slave.”
His brow lifted, a slow smirk curving at the edge of his mouth. “You’re good at this, aren’t you?”
She hesitated, caught between the urge to snap something sharp and the instinct to keep herself alive.
But before she could answer, his voice cut clean through the air.
“You’re from Midnight Crest.”
Her breath caught.
Panic surged just beneath her skin, but she forced herself still. Her mind scrambled for a reply—something clever, something neutral, something that wouldn’t cost her everything.
Play it smart, Lyra warned inside her head, cool and calm. Confess, but keep your secrets.
“I—” Celine began.
But Leon leaned back against the edge of the desk, almost relaxed. Almost.
“Don’t bother denying it,” he said. “Your accent gives you away.”
She blinked. Her accent?
That’s all it took?
His smirk deepened, as if he’d read her thoughts. “I’m Alpha for a reason, little wolf.”
Celine exhaled slowly. If that was all he’d figured out, she wasn’t going to correct him.
“Yes,” she said, keeping her tone careful. “I’m from Midnight Crest.”
Leon studied her for another long beat. His expression didn’t shift, didn’t press. Just that half-smile, like he was already two moves ahead.
But for now—he let it go.
Instead, he straightened and said, “Come.”
Celine hesitated. “Where?”
His eyes gleamed. “You’ll see.”
***
They stepped into the packhouse’s central hall, where nearly every member of Crimson Fang had gathered. The space, usually loud with laughter or sparring noise, was stiff with anticipation. Conversations dulled as heads turned, and Celine immediately felt the shift—eyes finding her, tracking her, trying to place her.
She didn’t belong here. Not yet.
The ranked wolves stood nearest the front—commanders, elders, she-wolves of prominent families. Behind them, warriors filled out the middle rows, their expressions neutral but watchful. The servants stood along the back wall, shoulder to shoulder, quiet and mostly ignored.
Until Leon walked in.
With her.
The room didn’t fall silent, but it thinned—like the air had drawn tighter.
Celine felt it in her chest.
Leon stood in the center of the room, and Celine joined Lucy and the other servants in the back.
Sasha’s gaze snapped to hers instantly—her mouth twitching downward as if she had just tasted something bitter.
Reese didn’t bother hiding his reaction. He stood with the warriors, arms crossed, eyes locked on Celine with something heavier than annoyance. As she passed, he leaned just close enough for her to hear.
“You’re lucky Leon’s watching.”