RAVYN'S POV
"Haha," I laughed, letting the sound drip like honey from my lips. My black corseted top strained to keep my breasts contained, pushing them high and proud like bait on a hook. The stiff boning dug into my ribs, but I leaned closer anyway, pressing them to his chest, letting his drunk little werewolf brain short-circuit from proximity alone.
He didn't even blink. Just grinned.
Idiot.
My stomach churned like it had been lined with rot, but I kept the smile plastered across my face, even as bile flirted with the back of my throat. Gods, I hated this part—pretending to enjoy the leering stares, the sour ale on their breath, their calloused fingers brushing my waist like they owned it.
But I didn't flinch. No. I leaned in deeper, brushing aside the edge of his cloak, curling my fingers around the crisp fabric beneath, like some shy, interested thing. Watched as his dumb little eyes sparkled with delight. He thought he'd won something. That I was some prize that just fell into his lap.
Fool.
Of course he was foolish. Werewolves always were—brawn over brains, pride over instinct. And he wouldn't be the last. No. There'd be more. Dozens more. They were predictable, like moths to flame.
And none of them ever wondered why the flame was smiling.
He slouched lazily against the wide trunk of an ancient oak, its bark gnarled and damp from the evening dew. The moonlight kissed the left side of his face, sharpening the lines of his cheek and jaw. There was mud splattered on his boots, likely from the trek here. Sweat beaded along his temple, and he didn't even notice.
"You are so beautiful, lass," he murmured, words slurring at the edges. The stench of mead clung to his breath like mold on bread. His hand, warm and uninvited, slid around my waist, dragging me fully onto his lap. I didn't resist. Not even when the other hand found my white curls and began to play with them, tangling through them like some lovesick child.
"Mm," I hummed, leaning in like I didn't want the night to end. My palm brushed his chest—flat, broad, and unremarkable—before trailing up to rest lightly on his shoulder.
"For a moment," he said, smiling crookedly, "I almost thought you were a witch when I saw you in there."
He jerked his chin toward a carved stone structure at the far edge of the clearing. A cavern. Lit with torches. Loud with music. Overflowing with sweaty, growling, eager werewolves. His kind.
I tilted my head, only glancing over my shoulder. No need to look too long. I'd seen it enough. And more importantly, I'd seen them. My sisters—my coven—scattered among the drunken revelers, dressed in dark silk, leather, shadows, and smiles. Laughing. Teasing. Whispering. Touching. Luring.
Each of them following my rhythm like dancers in a spell.
They were waiting. Watching. Waiting for me to strike first.
And oh, how far we were from the others now. So far, tucked into the folds of the forest where no one would hear a grown man scream.
"Why? You don't like witches?" I asked sweetly, pouting as my fingers crept along the edge of his collar. My tone carried that teasing lilt they always liked—playful, soft, barely a threat.
He chuckled darkly. "Who likes witches?" he muttered, fingers tightening in my hair, the strands wrapping around his knuckles. "They're evil, disgusting... Always going around causing trouble. Sneaky little demons."
My smile froze, just slightly. My fingertips brushed his neck.
The skin there pulsed. Slow. Strong. Naïve.
I tightened my fingers around his throat, just for a second. A warning. A test. He didn't notice—or maybe he thought I was flirting. He grinned, his attention entirely on my breasts, which swayed with the motion as I shifted on his lap.
I forced my jaw to unclench, inhaled through my nose. Calm. Get what you came for. Don't kill him too fast. That little voice inside—the practical one—urged restraint. Rage was a luxury. Information was a currency.
And the closer I got, the easier it was to cloud his mind. Dull his senses. Open him up to suggestion. His core, once extracted, would become another charm on the bracelet hidden beneath my glove. Another piece of the puzzle.
He leaned in, trying for a kiss, but I drew back with a giggle, tapping his chest lightly with my gloved finger.
He laughed too, deep and guttural. "Do you plan on teasing me all night, beauty?"
His voice had dropped, rough and low. I felt the evidence of his arousal press against my thigh through the layers of his trousers. I swallowed the disgust crawling up my spine.
Gods, how much longer do I have to play this game?
But I didn't show it. I just laughed again. That soft, syrupy sound that always seemed to ring like a spell in their ears. The kind of laugh that made men believe they were wanted. Needed. Special.
They never realized it was the sound of a predator, amused by her prey.
I glanced down at him, narrowing my eyes slightly, shifting from seductress to assassin in the blink of an eye—internally. Externally, I was still the sweet little thing on his lap.
But my mind had already sharpened.
The real work was about to begin.
We hadn't picked these men at random. No, we were sent for them—specifically. Not just because they were werewolves. Not just because they were easy. But because they were connected. Important. They had secrets tucked behind their foolish grins and sloppy kisses.
Secrets I was here to bleed out of them.
I curled a strand of my hair around his finger, twisting it slowly, like it was some kind of game.
The forest pulsed with a strange sort of silence, the kind that only appeared when something unnatural was about to unfold.
Moonlight filtered through the towering trees in broken slivers, casting silver shadows over the mossy ground. Leaves rustled underfoot from somewhere deeper in the woods, but I didn't flinch. I stayed seated, legs straddled across the lap of a man who reeked of ale, sweat, and arrogance.
They were from the castle. That alone had changed everything.
The moment I'd seen their uniforms—dark blue under their cloaks, silver clasps bearing the crest of the crown—my blood had gone cold. Not from fear. From purpose. My coven elders had wasted no time. These weren't just any men out wandering drunk in the woods. They were royal guards. And the moment that realization settled in, I knew why I'd been summoned to lure them in personally.
The missing witches. Too many. Too often.
And not just novices or reckless blood-hungry fledglings—no, these were powerful witches. Gifted. Coveted. Women of high rank who knew how to hide their magic, who understood the ancient runes and cloaking wards and how to move through the world like whispers in the dark.
But they were vanishing.
No screams. No blood. No bones left behind. Just—gone.
The elders had grown restless. Magic was humming through the coven like a trapped storm, pressure building. Someone was behind it. And we all suspected the werewolves. We always suspected the wolves.
Because it wasn't their first time.
It wasn't the first time a girl was left to rot in the aftermath of their violence. Not the first time a father's throat was torn out, not the first time a mother was stolen in the night. Not the first time a child wandered barefoot and blood-smeared through the dirt roads until the coven found her and took her in.
That child had been me.
And this...this little moment of flirtation, of seduction, of death in disguise—it was just another link in the chain I was forging. One that would eventually choke every last one of their cursed bloodline.
But I couldn't kill them yet. Not until I found her.
Not until I found where they were keeping my mother.
I leaned in closer to the guard, my fingers brushing beneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the ridges of muscle flex beneath. He shuddered. I smiled.
"Heard you're from the castle," I purred, the words slipping from my lips like silk drenched in poison.
His chest swelled a little under my palm. "Oh yes, I am, beauty." He flashed a grin, the kind only men truly full of themselves gave. The kind that made me want to peel the skin off his face and see if he could still smile without it.
"A royal guard," he added with the same pompous pride, his hands now openly roaming my thighs, squeezing as though he had any claim to me. "From the castle."
I hummed sweetly. "Then why is such a strong man like you out here, and not guarding the king's chambers?" My voice dipped, sultry and low, and I let my eyes flicker from his to his lips—slow, deliberate, like a caress.
He swallowed. Good. He'd noticed. But he was still hungry enough to ignore it.
"Or just looking for a warm body to keep you company?" I added eyeing him seductively.
His pupils dilated. He blinked. My magic was already creeping in, sinking into the soft corners of his mind.
But I kept smiling, waiting for the truth to start spilling.