POV: Soraya
The desert market inside the Ashra capital always buzzed at sunset. Silk banners snapped in the warm wind, incense smoke curled above stalls, and merchants shouted prices over the clamor. Usually, the noise made it easy to blend in. Today, it prickled against my skin like sand in a wound.
Kaide had released me early from training so I could “walk, breathe, not explode anything.” Vienne walked beside me, weaving through the crowd with a hand resting casually on the hilt of her blade.
“Try to relax,” she said. “You look like you’re ready to set the date vendor on fire.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
My hands still tingled with phantom light. Every heartbeat felt like it echoed inside my ribs. My powers hadn’t settled since the surge, and I kept waiting for something—anything—to set them off again.
Vienne paused at a spice stall. “Smell this. It’s calming.”
I leaned in. The merchant—an older man with ink-black eyes—smiled politely. “Welcome, desert sisters. A pinch of this in tea clears the mind.”
I opened my mouth to respond.
Then the world snapped wrong.
His scent shifted. Not spice. Not desert dust. Not Ashra wolf. Saren.
My stomach dropped.
Before I could speak, two more “merchants” stepped out from behind a rug display, too close, their smiles too wide, their eyes dead.
Vienne sensed it too. She moved, shoving me back. “Soraya—run.”
The first assassin struck. Vienne blocked with her blade, sparks flying. I stumbled between baskets of dates, gripping the edge of a stall.
“Get her,” the first man hissed.
People screamed as the assassins moved—too fast, too coordinated. One lunged, cloth wrapping around my wrist like a snare. I yanked back, but his strength jolted through me.
“Your lord wants you back, Zehrael,” he breathed.
Zarek.
Ice tore through me. The crowd scattered. The merchants were assassins—trained, silent, deadly. They dragged me toward the alley.
“Let go!” I screamed.
The nearest man slammed his palm into my stomach, knocking the breath from my lungs. I collapsed against the wall. The cloth binding tightened, glowing faintly—enchanted.
Vienne slashed down one assassin, but another hit her from behind. She crashed into a pottery stall, shattering clay jars.
“Vienne!”
Hands grabbed me—arms like iron bands—and I felt the drag of being lifted. Panic exploded.
Not again. Not taken. Not like Mother.
My breath hitched. My heartbeat roared in my ears. Something inside me twisted, tore, snapped.
Then everything went black. Not darkness—Shadow. Heat. A roar that wasn’t mine.
My body broke apart. Bones twisted. Skin tore and reshaped. My scream turned into a guttural, monstrous howl that shook the alley walls. The assassins stumbled back, eyes widening in horror.
“Gods—what is—?”
I lunged. My wolf hit the ground in a burst of force. Not sleek. Not elegant. A beast. Massive, silver-black, eyes burning bright blue like twin moons cracked open.
A Zehrael wolf, a demon in fur.
The assassins froze—but only for a heartbeat. Then they ran.
I didn’t let them get far.
Instinct swallowed thought. Rage burned hotter than sun-scorched sand. My claws raked across the first man’s back, tearing through fabric and skin. He screamed, falling to the ground. I sank fangs into his shoulder, feeling bone crunch.
Blood tasted like metal and threat.
I didn’t stop.
Another man threw a knife. My wolf twisted mid-air, the blade grazing my flank. Pain flared—fuel. I barreled into him, jaws locking around his throat. His scream cut short.
Two remained. They split, trying to surround me.
Predictable.
I feinted left, then launched right, knocking one into a wall. The other slashed with a curved dagger—enchanted, humming against the air. My wolf dodged narrowly, claws cutting across his arm. The dagger fell, ringing against stone.
“Retreat!” he shouted. “We weren’t told she was—”
I didn’t let him finish.
I leapt, weight crushing him to the ground. My fangs sank deep. His body went limp.
Four down.
One sprinted into the crowd—the only survivor.
I would have chased him.
I wanted to chase him.
But my wolf stumbled.
Heat surged under my skin. Muscles spasmed. The shadows around my vision pulsed. I staggered to the wall, claws scraping stone. My breath heaved out in monstrous growls.
Shift back. Shift back. SHIFT—
Nothing.
I couldn’t find the line between wolf and human. Couldn’t feel the thread that tugged me home. My mind pulsed with instincts—kill, hunt, run, hide. Human thought struggled to rise.
Vienne emerged limping from the wreckage of shattered pottery, eyes wide and terrified—but not of me. Of what had just happened.
“Soraya?” she whispered.
I growled softly—not at her, but because I couldn’t form words.
She stepped closer slowly. “It’s you,” she murmured. “You’re… gods, you’re beautiful and terrifying—Raevan needs to see this. Come. We need to get you home.”
Home. Pack. Raevan. His name grounded me—but didn’t pull me back.
Vienne approached with caution, draping her cloak over my back. “Easy. Follow me. The others will help.”
I lowered my head, breathing rough. The world sharpened into scents—blood, fear, sand, her familiar warmth.
I followed.
Each step back toward the Ashra compound felt heavier. Wolves spotted us and froze. Some snarled. Others bowed instinctively.
“A Zehrael wolf…” someone whispered.
“Demonic…”
“Is she dangerous?”
“She killed assassins—alone—”
Vienne snapped, “CLEAR THE PATH!”
They obeyed, parting like a river cut through stone.
I staggered through the courtyard. My paws left dark prints of blood. My breath rasped, too hot, too wild.
Where is Raevan?
Where is—
The fortress doors opened. And Raevan stepped out. His eyes widened, not with fear—but with recognition.
“Soraya,” he breathed.