The first time Nyra Vale killed, she was thirteen.
It was raining.
The courtyard stones were slick with mud and fear, and the condemned wolf knelt in chains beneath the balcony of Nightfall Dominion. The pack had gathered in silence. No one spoke during an execution. Not here.
Mercy was weakness.
And Nyra had been raised without it.
"Look at me," her mentor had whispered behind her that night. "You are not a wolf. You are the Alpha's will."
So she had looked at the trembling traitor. She had ignored the way his eyes searched the crowd for someone who wasn't there. She had lifted the ceremonial blade—silver-edged, moon-etched—and brought it down cleanly.
One strike.
No hesitation.
The rain washed the blood away before it reached her boots.
She did not cry.
She never had.
Years later, the courtyard was dry.
And Nyra was no longer thirteen.
She stood now at the center of the same stone circle, dressed in black leather lined with silver thread. Her dark hair was braided tightly down her back, her expression carved from ice. Around her waist hung the executioner's blade—the same one she had wielded as a child.
Whispers followed her wherever she walked.
The Alpha's shadow.
The Silent Fang.
The Cold-Blooded Daughter of Nightfall.
No one called her by her real name anymore.
From the high balcony, Alpha Kaelen Draven observed the gathering wolves below. Tall. Unmoving. Crowned in quiet authority. His presence alone was enough to silence a room.
Nyra did not look at him.
Executioners did not look at the Alpha unless commanded.
A bound prisoner was dragged into the courtyard, forced to kneel before her. Accused of conspiring with a rival pack. Accused of betrayal.
Accused.
Nyra stepped forward.
The air felt wrong tonight.
Thick.
Heavy.
Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, restless in a way she didn't understand.
She ignored it.
She always ignored it.
The Beta announced the sentence. "By order of Alpha Kaelen Draven, for treason against Nightfall Dominion—death."
Nyra unsheathed her blade.
The silver caught the torchlight.
The prisoner began to beg.
She did not listen.
She never listened.
She raised the blade—
"Wait."
The voice cut through the courtyard like thunder.
Every wolf froze.
Nyra did not lower her weapon—but she turned.
Alpha Kaelen had risen from his throne.
And he was descending the steps.
He never interfered in executions.
Never.
A ripple of unease spread through the crowd.
Nyra's pulse remained steady. But her wolf—her wolf paced violently now.
Kaelen stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. Smell pine smoke and iron beneath his scent. Feel the weight of his presence like gravity pressing against her bones.
"Release him," the Alpha said calmly.
Gasps spread through the courtyard.
The Beta stiffened. "Alpha, the council has already—"
"I gave the order," Kaelen interrupted smoothly. "I now revoke it."
The prisoner sobbed in relief.
Nyra did not move.
Her blade was still raised.
Her eyes lifted slowly to meet the Alpha's.
That was the first mistake.
Because when their gazes locked—
Something snapped.
Not in the air.
Not in the crowd.
Inside her.
Her wolf surged forward violently, slamming against her ribs like it was trying to break free. A heat flooded her veins, sharp and disorienting. Her grip faltered for half a second.
Half a second.
That was all it took.
Kaelen's eyes darkened—not with anger.
With recognition.
He felt it too.
The air between them shifted.
Charged.
Alive.
Nyra staggered back one step, blade lowering slightly. Her breath caught in her throat.
Impossible.
Executioners did not feel.
Executioners did not react.
Executioners did not lose control.
And they certainly did not react to the Alpha.
But her wolf was no longer pacing.
It was howling.
The Alpha leaned in just enough that only she could hear him.
"Steady yourself, Nyra."
Her name.
He never used her name.
His voice was low. Dangerous. Controlled.
But beneath it—there was something else.
Awareness.
The moment stretched too long.
Too intimate.
Too exposed.
Nyra forced the blade down and stepped away, severing the invisible tension.
The prisoner was dragged away, spared.
The courtyard buzzed with confusion.
But Nyra heard none of it.
Because her wolf was still burning.
And as Kaelen returned to his throne, he did not look at the crowd.
He looked at her.
And in his eyes was something she had never seen before.
Not authority.
Not command.
Not distance.
Possession.
That night, Nyra could not sleep.
She stood alone on the battlements overlooking Nightfall Dominion, the wind whipping through her braids.
Her wolf was restless.
Unsettled.
Awake.
She pressed her palm to her chest, trying to steady the strange heat there.
"What is wrong with me?" she whispered into the dark.
A voice answered behind her.
"Nothing is wrong with you."
She turned.
Alpha Kaelen stood in the shadows.
Alone.
Unarmed.
And far too close.
The air thickened again.
Her wolf surged forward.
And this time—
It did not feel like fear.
It felt like the beginning of something dangerous.
Very dangerous.