The sun rose like a dull coin over the Blood Moon Rogues' camp, painting the sky in ash gray light. Smoke from the dying fires curled into the air, and the sound of morning stirred slowly to life, boots against gravel, grunts from warriors stretching sore muscles, the rhythmic clang of steel against steel.
Inside the small hut she shared with Elira, Liora sat at the edge of her straw bed, staring out through the open flap. She hadn't slept much. The conversation with Dante last night, the quiet walk, the talk of strategy, the strange calm that existed between them kept replaying in her mind.
There had been something almost unsettling about it.
He had listened to her. Not as a commander humoring a soldier, not as a man indulging a woman but as an equal. That was something Gonzalo never did.
She rubbed her wrists absentmindedly, remembering the chain marks that still lingered faintly on her skin.
Behind her, Elira stirred. The girl groaned softly, rolling over before sitting up, her hair a tangled halo around her pale face.
"Morning," Liora said softly.
Elira blinked sleep from her eyes. "You didn't sleep," she murmured. "You were gone when I woke last night… Where did you go, Liora?"
Liora turned slightly, her face expressionless. "Nowhere important."
Elira frowned. "Don't lie. You went with him, didn't you? I wasn't dreaming last night, I saw him with him…Dante. What were you doing with a rogue late at night?"
There was no accusation in her tone, only curiosity mixed with concern.
Liora didn't answer immediately. She reached for her cloak and fastened it around her shoulders, her movements slow and deliberate. "He wanted to talk," she said at last.
Elira's brows rose. "Talk? In the middle of the night?"
Liora shrugged, as if it meant nothing. "Leaders don't sleep much when war is near."
Elira studied her carefully, then sighed. "What did you talk about?"
"War," Liora said simply. "Tactics. He asked if I thought we should attack Gonzalo. I told him no."
Elira's lips parted slightly. "No? But why? Isn't that what the rogues want? To destroy Gonzalo's kingdom?"
"They do," Liora replied, her voice calm and low. "But that's exactly what Gonzalo expects. He's spent his life anticipating war. He's ready for an attack before it happens. That's how he wins, by knowing the rhythm of his enemies. So this time…" She glanced out the window, her eyes sharp as steel. "We change the rhythm. We make him wait. We let him burn in his own anticipation."
Elira's eyes widened. "Wait? For how long?"
"As long as it takes," Liora said. "When they finally believe peace has come, when their guards fall asleep and their weapons rust then we strike. And we don't stop until nothing remains."
The words fell heavy in the air. For a moment, Elira only stared at her, at the cold determination that had replaced the Luna she once knew.
"You've changed," the girl whispered.
Liora gave a small, humorless smile. "Change keeps you alive."
They sat in silence for a while, the quiet filled with the hum of the camp outside. Warriors trained. Fires crackled. Somewhere, a wolf howled.
Finally, Elira broke the silence again, voice soft but careful. "Liora… can I ask you something?"
Liora hummed in response, not looking up.
"Do you think Dante likes you?"
That made Liora look at her. One brow arched slightly. "Likes me?"
Elira nodded quickly, fidgeting with her fingers. "He looks at you differently. He talks to you differently. I see the way the other rogues respect him, no one questions him, no one even meets his eyes. But you… he listens to you. And last night, he came to you. That's not normal, is it?"
Liora leaned back on her hands, regarding the girl with quiet amusement. "What are you implying?"
Elira blushed faintly. "Just… that maybe he wants something more than advice on war."
Liora tilted her head, a sly glint passing through her eyes. "And if he does?"
Elira froze. "Liora!"
"What?" Liora asked, feigning innocence.
"You're not serious."
"I might be."
Elira gaped. "You'd— you'd mate with him?"
Liora's tone turned deliberate, thoughtful. "If it benefits me, yes. I don't plan to sleep in this slave hut forever. A little power never hurt anyone." She looked toward the open door where rogue women passed carrying buckets of water and meat. "Here, power decides whether you live like prey or rule like predator. And if Dante's interest gives us a safer place to breathe, I won't pretend to be a saint."
Elira shook her head vehemently. "You can't do that, Liora. You don't even like him."
Liora smiled faintly. "You think liking someone ever mattered in this world?" The memories of Gonzalo flashed, she closed her eyes in hurt then opened them briefly.
Her voice held no bitterness, only truth. Cold, lived truth.
Elira looked down at her lap, biting her lip. "Still… I don't want you to get hurt again. Men like him… they're dangerous."
Liora stood, tightening her cloak. "So am I."
***
The day passed in a haze of noise and heat. Rogues trained from dawn to dusk, their weapons glinting in the light, their bodies moving in rough synchrony. Liora sparred with two warriors at once, her strikes sharp and unrelenting. Every move she made was calculated, not just to prove her worth, but to remind them who she was.
By the time night fell, the camp had quieted. Fires burned low, shadows grew long, and laughter echoed from the ale tents. The scent of roasted meat hung in the air, mixed with smoke and sweat.
In his chamber, Alpha Dante lay awake.
His quarters were larger than the rest, but not luxurious. A long table stood by the window, scattered with maps, blades, and parchments. The moonlight spilled through the cracks in the wall, tracing his face as he leaned back in his chair, restless.
He had tried to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.
Liora's sharp eyes, unyielding gaze. The way she spoke to him without fear. The way her voice held both command and defiance. It stirred something in him he hadn't felt in years.
He was a man of war, of instinct. But she made him think.
A soft sound at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Come in," he said, voice low.
The door creaked open, and there she was, Liora, framed by the pale silver of the moon. She stepped inside without hesitation, the light catching the curve of her jaw, the fall of her hair.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Her lips curved faintly. "Sleep's for those without a war to win."
He chuckled, motioning to the chair across from him. "Then we're both cursed."
She didn't sit. Instead, she walked toward the window, her movements smooth and quiet. "You think too much, Dante."
He tilted his head. "And what do you think too little about?"
"Regret."
The word hung in the air. She turned to face him, eyes glinting. "Regret is for people who still believe in mercy."
Something in her tone made his chest tighten.
They stood in silence for a long moment, the moonlight between them like a fragile thread.
Then, slowly, she stepped closer.
He didn't move, didn't speak. Only watched as she stopped before him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin.
"Tell me," she said softly. "What happens when two predators stop pretending to be afraid of each other?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The air changed, it became heavier, electric.
Liora's eyes stared at his lips, then back to his eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe I don't want to sleep in the slave hut anymore."
Dante's breath hitched, not out of surprise, but out of understanding.
Because he had been waiting for this moment since the night she walked into his camp.
When their lips finally met, it wasn't romance. It was power. It was defiance. It was two wolves testing which one would bite first.
The candles burned low. The fire cracked.
"You're beautiful," Dante said, kissing her passionately.