CHAPTER 35 — Raevan’s Breaking Point

POV: Raevan

By the time the shout reaches me—“Alpha! At the gate!”—my wolf is already clawing at my skin.

I stride into the courtyard, ready to tear apart whichever fool decided to drag me from the war room, and then I see her.

A monster stands in the center of the stone.

Huge. Silver-black fur matted with blood. Eyes burning Zehrael-blue, too bright, too wrong. Claws sunk deep into the sandstone. Breath sawing out in ragged growls. Wolves ring the space in a loose half-circle, some snarling, some backing away, some half-bowed in confused fear.

And beneath all that terror and power, beneath the demon everyone is seeing—

I feel the bond.

“Soraya,” I breathe.

The beast’s head snaps toward me. That blue locks onto mine, wild and feral and lost, and my wolf surges, howling recognition.

Vienne stands a few feet away, cloak half-draped over the creature’s back, eyes wide, face streaked with dust and blood. “She shifted,” she gasps when I reach her. “They came for her in the market. She—Raevan, she tore them apart.”

My heart is hammering. Rage, pride, terror—all tangled. “How many?”

“Most,” Vienne says. “One got away. Maybe two. But this—” She gestures at the wolf. “She can’t shift back. I tried to talk her down. I think she’s stuck.”

The demon-wolf growls low, shoulders bunched, as if ready to launch again. Wolves edge farther away, muttering.

“Cursed,” someone whispers.

“Not natural—”

“Zehrael beast—”

“Shut up,” I snarl without turning. The courtyard goes still.

She’s power given teeth.

And she’s mine.

Slowly, I step forward.

“Alpha,” Kaide warns from somewhere to my right. “Careful. She’s not fully—”

“I know,” I say. “Stand by.”

The wolf’s lips peel back when I move closer, exposing fangs slick with blood. A low, dangerous rumble shakes her chest. Her claws dig deeper into the stone. Every instinct in a sane man would scream to keep distance.

I’ve never been accused of being sane.

I stop a few paces away, hands open at my sides. “Soraya,” I say again, louder. “It’s Raevan.”

Her ears flick. The rumble shifts—a question, not a threat.

“You’re not in the market anymore,” I tell her softly. “You’re home. With Ashra. With me.”

The word home feels fragile on my tongue. True anyway.

Her breathing spikes. For a moment, I feel it—panic, hot and choking, not mine.

Our eyes lock. My wolf surges up, desperate to meet her, to nudge, to press, to howl. I let him rise just enough, allowing my own eyes to glow, letting that ancient recognition flow between us.

“You are not a monster,” I tell her quietly. “You’re mine.”

Her huge body shudders.

I take the last step, closing the distance. Vienne swears under her breath. Several warriors tense as if ready to drag my corpse away when this goes wrong.

I lift a hand—slow, so slow—and press my palm to the side of her massive head.

Heat burns through my skin. Her fur is coarse and damp. Beneath it, her muscles tremble.

“Come back,” I whisper. “Come back to me, Soraya.”

For a heartbeat, nothing changes.

Then the light in her eyes flares.

Power rushes along my arm like lightning, searing through my chest, crackling down the bond. My knees almost buckle. Images slam into me—memories that aren’t mine. Her mother’s face. Darron’s hand around her throat. Zarek’s cold smile. Sand stained red in the market today.

I hold on.

“Breathe,” I murmur, echoing Kaide’s words from earlier. “In. Out. You’re not trapped. You’re not theirs. You’re here.”

Her body arches, a strangled sound ripping from her throat. Bones shift under my hand. Fur shrinks, twisting back into skin. The world blurs around us, air rippling with the force of the change.

Then suddenly I’m holding a human, not a beast.

Soraya collapses against me, naked, shaking, skin hot with fever and smeared with blood that isn’t all hers. I catch her before she hits the stone, hauling her tight against my chest. Her fingers curl weakly into my tunic.

“Raevan,” she rasps, voice raw.

“I’ve got you,” I say, throat too tight. “You’re safe.”

The courtyard explodes into whispers.

“She shifted—”

“Did you see—?”

“That wasn’t a normal wolf—”

Vienne jolts into motion, tearing off her cloak and wrapping it around Soraya’s shoulders. “Move,” she barks at the gawkers. “Clear a path to the healers. Now.”

No one argues with her tone.

I lower Soraya gently to her feet. She sways; I keep an arm around her until Vienne slides in to take her weight. Soraya’s eyes flutter, unfocused, but she looks up at me once—just once.

There’s fear there.

And something else. Something that feels like apology and accusation tangled together.

“We’ll talk when you’re stable,” I say softly.

She huffs something that might be a bitter laugh, then lets Vienne guide her away. Kaide falls in at their side automatically, scanning for threats, jaw hard.

Only when they’re almost through the archway do I feel it—

A scent I don’t recognize. Close. Wrong.

I turn.

A man stands near the edge of the courtyard, half-hidden behind a pillar. Clothes too fine for a commoner. Hands too soft for a soldier. His eyes flick from Soraya’s retreating form to mine.

Then he bolts.

“Stop him!” someone yells.

He doesn’t make it far. Two guards grab him, but he fights with a desperation that screams trained, not panicked. A knife flashes; one guard cries out, clutching his side.

My vision goes red.

I’m moving before I think. I cross the space in heartbeats, grabbing the man by the front of his tunic and slamming him into the wall. Stone cracks behind his head.

“Who sent you?” I snarl.

He spits blood into my face. “Saren belongs to Zarek. She belongs to—”

I don’t let him finish.

My hand closes around his throat. Bones crunch under my fingers. The crowd gasps—too late, too soft, too distant. All I hear is my own pulse pounding, my wolf howling for the threat to disappear, to never touch her again.

He claws at my wrists, heels scraping the stone as he tries to find footing.

“Zarek doesn’t own a grain of sand here,” I growl. “And he will never own her.”

I squeeze.

Silence crashes over the courtyard.

Dozens of eyes stare at me—their Alpha, their dread wolf—standing over a corpse with blood on my hands and murder still ringing in the air.

No one speaks.

But I hear it already, in the way they breathe. In the way some take a step back instead of forward.

The dread wolf is losing control.

Good, my wolf whispers, still pacing inside my ribs. Let them remember what happens to anyone who reaches for what’s mine.

I wipe my hand on the dead man’s tunic and look up, daring anyone to meet my eyes.

“Clean this up,” I say coldly. “And send word to the elders.”

“Wh-what should we tell them?” a guard stammers.

I bare my teeth in something that isn’t a smile.

“Tell them,” I say, “Zarek has made his first move.”

And Ashra is ready to answer.