Rain still dripped from my cloak as I stumbled through the iron gates of the Sanctuary. Light from the lanterns cut through the shadows, revealing guards in wet leather uniforms, bayonets glinting dully as they presented arms, their boots grating on the gravel. The air I breathed was thick with mud and smoke, my side burning like a hot iron as I inhaled, the pain throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
A guard barked, "Halt! State your business." His lantern beam danced across my soaked form, settling on the silver crescent blazing on my wrist. His eyes widened, and he stumbled back, lantern swinging.
"Wolf‑blood…" another guard muttered, voice tight. "Heiress… CEO's pawn."
The first guard recovered, muzzle tightening. "Let her through," he ordered, glancing at the glowing mark. "She's expected."
I forced my legs onward, each step a battle against pain and the storm. The gates slammed shut behind me, and I fell to one knee. Moonlight pooled in my hand, satiating the hunger of the mark. My wolf growled in the back of my mind—territory marked, blood debts owed.
A battered sedan sat under a cluster of oaks. Rowan's face popped up in the rear seat, his temple bruised, a smudge of blood faint on his collar. Relief and terror battled inside me.
"Maris," he rasped. He opened the door with a crash and stumbled forward. "You came."
I swallowed against the ache in my throat. "Rowan… you—"
He cut me off, shoving a secret file into my hand. The leather cover crackled. "Read it. Now."
I wrenched it open, water spattering onto damp pages filled with ledger lines and seal-stamped contracts. Columns of names—wolves, councilors, executives—each with price tags: "Asset," "Liability," "Collateral." My pack's name gleamed in ink as "Asset: High Return—Wolf Blood Serum."
My chest tightened. The Council had betrayed us to Blackwood Enterprises. Our sanctuary was not a refuge—it was a staging ground for experiments and black-market bioweapons.
Rowan's voice cut through the thunder. "They plan to auction your blood at the next shareholder meeting. They'll harvest every drop and sell it to the highest bidder." His fingers trembled as he withdrew a small slip of paper from the dossier—a coded map, its lines twisting across the page like a serpent. "This leads to the old silver mine. It's the source of the mark's power."
I traced the map's winding course with a trembling finger. "My mother stole these plans from the Council archives," I whispered. "She knew. She was trying to warn us."
A lantern beam combed the courtyard. There were figures in the shadows—council members in tailored cloaks, exchanging weighty ledgers with pinstriped financiers. They laughed softly, lifting goblets of dark liquid as if they toasted a hunt well run.
My wolf growled inside me at their indifference. "Let's go," I grated. "We need to stop them."
Rowan hesitated. "We're outnumbered."
I scowled at the map juncture where "Mine Entrance" spread out in tiny letters. "We have to cut them off at the source.".
He nodded, leaning against me as we dodged between the oaks' trunks. The guards—distracted by their greed-blinded masters—did not notice our escape. Rainhead lanterns bobbed behind us, receding into the storm.
We moved fast through the compound, hearts racing. The map led us to a rusted service door embedded in moss-grown stone. Rowan fumbled the lock with trembling hands; the catch snapped. A blast of musty, metallic air blew out.
Inside, a tunnel yawned at our feet—rail tracks distorted by time. Water dripped from serrated stones, echoing like distant gunfire. Every drop felt a tick toward catastrophe.
"Listen," I whispered, my ear to the damp wall. A distant rumble—machinery in action, steel arteries grinding ore and bone.
Rowan's hand took mine, fingers closing over mine like a lifeline. "Stay close."
Torchlight flickered ahead as we went deeper. Steel‑toed boots clanged on metal grates. A guard's whistle shrieked through the tunnel—two figures materialized, side by side, rifles at the ready.
My fist tightened on the dossier. "We can't go back," I said to him. "We have to fight."
The rival werewolf lieutenant stepped forward, muzzle lifted in a snarl. His eyes glowed amber in the lamplight, fangs bared. "Maris," he hissed, voice thick with betrayal. "You'll pay for this treachery."
His companions raised their weapons.
Rowan's hand flashed to his satchel—pinpricks of moonlight glinted on scalpels and broken vials. "We're not your enemies," he said quietly.
The lieutenant's lips curled. "You insult me." He lunged, claws extended.
I flung myself between Rowan and the steel. Pain blossomed in my ribs as metal sighed by my flank. The wolf within shrieked—and I reacted.
Muscles coiled beneath rain‑slick skin. Senses heightened: the metallic tang of blood mingle with the old dust of the mine, the heat of the lieutenant's breath, the dull thud of my own heartbeat in my ears.
I spun, talons shredding the lieutenant's leather jacket. He stumbled, snarling, claws scraping sparks from stone floor. Rowan leaped forward, scalpels whirling—silver and lethal. He slashed at the second guard's wrist, snapping rifle from his hand.
The tunnel exploded into motion. Shadows danced as shots echoed—lamplight ricocheted from wet stone. Sparks hovered like fireflies in the dark.
I lashed out with a clawed hand, striking the lieutenant under the jaw. His snarling resistance collapsed, eyes widening in shock. He dropped, plummeting beside the rails.
Rowan wrestled the second guard into the tunnel wall. "Keep moving!" he cried, voice strained.
I thrust the dossier into my cloak and sprinted past them. The end of the map shone on a rusted beam overhead: "Silver Mine Entrance.".
I seized Rowan's elbow and ran for the light at the tunnel entrance. Rain lashed our faces as we burst into the moonlight of the night.
Its opening disintegrating in a mortar blast behind us, council mercenaries poured in, rifles scything the courtyard. There were cries—as pack and corporate met in violent conflict.
I skidded to a halt in front of the gate to the mine, my heart pounding. The coded map tore from my grasp, landing at my feet. I stooped to retrieve it, but Rowan grasped my wrist, yanking me back.
"Go!" he shouted over the chaos. "Find the Council records room—incinerate those ledgers. Burn their collateral."
My jaw set. "And you?"
He pressed his lips to my palm—a promise sealed in blood and moonlight. "I'll provide cover for our retreat.".
Before I could protest, he was gone—blending into the fray like an avenging specter. I rested my back against the gate, breathing hard. The energy of the mine thrummed beneath my feet, prophecy and blood coursing through my veins.
A howl rose through the storm—savage, triumphant, and terrible.
I closed my eyes, rain and smoke on my tongue. Betrayal had finally caught up with us in the middle of our sanctuary. Now the only path forward was through fire and anger.
My fingers brushed against the mine map—our only lifeline—and I knew that the real battle had only just begun.