The sunlight slipped through embroidered curtains, weaving golden lines across the wide oak floor. Sebastian Thorne woke with a start, the kind of sudden jolt that left his pulse sprinting before his mind caught up. For a long moment, he lay still, staring at the carved canopy above him, a structure of mahogany polished to a dark shine, etched with roses and twisting vines.
His room was a world of wealth and quiet menace. The Persian rug at the foot of the bed was handwoven, deep crimson threaded with gold, and the air smelled faintly of sandalwood from the incense that burned the night before.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the eastern wall, filled with leather-bound tomes Sebastian rarely had the patience to read but liked to display. Across from the bed, a fireplace still held the charred ghosts of last night's flames, the embers long since died, leaving only the faint gray perfume of ash.
The sheets beside him were a tangled mess. And there, tangled within them, was Elizabeth.
She lay on her side naked, hair fanned out across the pillow like a silken halo, her breathing slow and even. Sebastian's gaze softened. Even in sleep, she radiated a beauty that belonged to another era, delicate but fierce, her body marked not only by grace but by the life they had shared.
He thought of the wild sex they had indulged in just hours earlier, how her laughter and gasps had drowned the night, and for a rare moment, he felt at peace.
He brushed a stray lock from her face, resisting the temptation to wake her. Instead, he slid from the bed and padded into the adjoining bathroom.
Steam rose as he stepped out of the shower minutes later, droplets sliding across his lean, built frame. The mirror caught his reflection: waves of matte black hair clung to his forehead until he pushed them back with one hand.
His almond-shaped eyes stared back at him, intense and calculating, their dark depths rarely betraying his thoughts. His jaw was a sculptor's envy, sharp and defined, his physique balanced between grace and power. If Elizabeth were awake to see him now, she might have teased him, called him a vain bastard, even as her eyes betrayed admiration.
The steam from the shower still clung to the air as Sebastian Thorne stepped out, a towel wrapped low around his waist. His muscular frame, accentuated by the dampness of his skin, moved with a quiet confidence.
The bathroom door creaked open, and he emerged into the dimly lit bedroom, the morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. His brown eyes scanned the room, landing on the figure sitting on the edge of the bed. Elizabeth, his wife, was awake, her posture rigid, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and guilt.
"Elizabeth," he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. She flinched, as if startled by the sound of her own name, and began to rise, her movements hurried. "I—I'm so sorry, Sebastian. I must've overslept. I didn't mean to—"
Before she could finish, he closed the distance between them in three long strides. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She stiffened for a moment, her apology dying on her lips, before she relaxed into him, her hands resting tentatively on his chest.
He felt her heartbeat quicken against his, a rhythm that mirrored his own. "Shh," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. "It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong."
He tilted her chin up with a gentle finger, his gaze locking with hers. Her eyes, usually so vibrant, were clouded with worry, and he felt a pang of guilt for the weight he knew he'd been placing on her shoulders. Without a word, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her lips.
It was soft, a promise of reassurance, and she melted into it, her hands sliding up to grip the back of his neck. He deepened the kiss, pouring all the unspoken words into the touch, before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against hers.
"You've been working so hard," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "You deserve to rest. Let me take care of you."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with another kiss, this one fleeting but no less intense. "Please," he added, his voice a low rumble. "For me."
Reluctantly, she nodded, her shoulders sagging as if a weight had been lifted. He guided her back onto the bed, the softness of the sheets enveloping her as she lay down. He followed, his body hovering over hers, the towel around his waist the only barrier between them. The air crackled with tension, the intimacy of the moment palpable.
His hands moved to her shoulders, kneading the muscles gently as he leaned down to press kisses along her jawline, her neck. She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she surrendered to his touch. His fingers traced the curve of her collarbone, dipping lower to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. She gasped, her hands tightening on his shoulders, her body arching into his touch.
"Sebastian," she breathed, her voice thick with desire.
He smiled against her skin, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breast. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his words punctuated by a kiss. His hands squeezed gently, his touch firm yet reverent, as if he were worshipping her. She moaned softly, her head tilting back, her body responding to his every movement.
Their passion escalated, the air thick with the sounds of their breathing, the soft rustle of fabric, and the occasional whisper of skin against skin. Elizabeth's hands roamed his back, her nails digging into his muscles as she held him close, as if afraid to let him go. He kissed her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers, their bodies pressing together in a rhythm that felt both urgent and timeless.
But just as their connection deepened, as their breaths synchronized and their hearts raced in unison, Sebastian's mind wandered. It wasn't a deliberate shift, but a subtle drift, like a cloud passing over the sun. His hands paused, his lips stilled, and for a moment, he was elsewhere. The room, the bed, Elizabeth's body beneath his, it all seemed to fade into the background as his thoughts carried him away.
Elizabeth felt the change immediately, her eyes fluttering open to find him staring into the distance, his expression unreadable. She reached up, her fingers brushing his cheek, but he didn't respond, his gaze fixed on something she couldn't see. The moment, once so intense, now hung suspended, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension
She propped herself up on her elbow, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Sebastian?" she asked softly, her voice cutting through the silence. "What is it?"
He blinked, as if waking from a trance, and turned to look at her. His eyes, usually so warm and commanding, were distant, his mind clearly elsewhere. "I—" he began, but the words caught in his throat. He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing," he said finally, his voice gentle but distant. "Just thinking."
She studied him, her heart sinking as she sensed the shift in his demeanor. The intimacy they had shared moments ago felt like a distant memory, replaced by a quiet unease. "About what?" she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't answer, his gaze drifting back to the space beyond her. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, as if the weight of unspoken futures pressed down on them. Elizabeth's hand fell away from his cheek, her body stiffening as she pulled away, creating a space between them that hadn't been there before.
The memory of the message from last night crawled back: a faceless number, a single demand. Meet me at the abandoned industrial district at noon. Or else…
The words had burrowed into his thoughts, and no amount of Elizabeth's passion could burn them away. He had felt her body arch beneath his touch, heard the faint hitch of her breath, saw her lips reddened and eyes hazy with desire, yet the thought of poison in his veins, of threats waiting in the shadows, kept him distant.
"I—" she began.
Sebastian pressed a finger to her lips. His gaze softened, but his voice carried the weight of command.
"Thank you. For loving me. For staying loyal to me above all others. That's more than I deserve." He kissed her forehead and stood, forcing distance between them. "Rest, Elizabeth. That's an order."
Her face burned crimson, but she nodded. "As you wish…"
He dressed quickly, abandoning his usual tailored suits for something plain: a gray tee stretched across his shoulders, fitted jeans, and worn boots. Elizabeth frowned.
"You're never casual," she said softly. "Where are you going?"
"Hiking," he lied smoothly. "I need to clear my head."
Her eyes lingered on him, suspicious yet too tired to pry. She sank back into the bed, clutching the sheets, still dazed from the moments before.
Sebastian stepped into the hall, where a servant waited, head bowed.
"Good morning, sir."
"No one is to disturb Elizabeth until she wakes of her own accord," Sebastian said firmly. "Not with errands, not with questions, not with news. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." The servant hurried away.
Sebastian exhaled once, steadying himself. Then he moved down the corridor, toward the wing where his daughters slept.
The east wing of the mansion was quiet, too quiet for Sebastian's liking. He moved through the corridor at an unhurried pace, pausing before each of his daughters' doors.
The brass handles were polished to a mirror sheen, the frames carved with intricate floral designs Elizabeth had personally chosen. They were small things, but each reflected the lives growing behind them.
The triplets. Abigail, Anissa, Amber. Identical in face, yet worlds apart in soul.
Sebastian stood in the doorway of Amber's room first. The curtains were half drawn, pale pink with a scatter of embroidered daisies. Posters of musicians were tacked haphazardly to the walls, their corners curling from neglect.
A violin rested against its stand by the window, strings slightly out of tune. The bed was made. Not neatly, but with enough care to suggest she had tried.
Amber was the dreamer, the one who wandered in her head more often than in the halls of this house. He could still remember the way her eyes lit up when she first touched the violin, how she had begged him for lessons.
He bought her the best instructors, the finest instruments, but what stayed with him was not the sound of her music, it was the look on her face when she played, that unguarded joy.
And yet, he had hardly told her. Hardly told any of them. His approval had always come in nods, in grunts, in material gifts that filled their rooms but not their hearts.
He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. 'I should have said it. Should have told her.'
Anissa's room was next. The middle child, though triplets technically had no order. Her walls were decorated with photos from hunts, framed certificates, trophies glinting under the light. Her boots were lined in a perfect row by the dresser, her weapons carefully displayed on a rack. The discipline here was unmistakable.
Sebastian's chest tightened. Of the three, Anissa had inherited most of his steel. When she was younger, she would follow him everywhere, mimicking his stance, his words, his scowl.
She was the first to complete the trials he set for them, the first to kill in their ceremonial hunts. He had been so proud that day he thought his chest would burst, but he hadn't embraced her. He had simply nodded, handed her a new blade, and told her to keep sharpening it.
She had smiled through it, but he had caught the flicker of longing. She wanted her father's arms, not his steel.
Abigail's door was last. He stepped inside slowly, almost reverently. The room was darker, its palette of deep blues and silvers starkly different from her sisters'.
Canvases leaned against the walls, some unfinished, some covered in bold strokes of color. Sketchbooks were scattered across the desk, their pages spilling with half-drawn figures and shadowy landscapes.
Abigail was the quiet one, the observer. She saw things the others didn't, painted truths no one asked for. She had always been the hardest for him to understand, and because of that, the one he had pressed hardest.
He remembered standing over her years ago, demanding discipline, telling her to stop wasting time with art and focus on her training. Her eyes had filled with tears, but she'd swallowed them down, nodded, and obeyed.
Now he wished he had taken the canvas from her hands and told her to paint the world as she saw it.
He moved back into the hall, the weight of memory pressing down. For a moment, he wasn't the mayor, the Alpha, the strategist. He was just a man who had tried to outpace his father's failures and, in the process, repeated them.
Material things cannot bridge what words never built.
He remembered his own childhood, the way his father's shadow had loomed larger than any roof. How discipline had been delivered through fists, how silence had been mistaken for strength.
He had promised himself he would be different. Better. Yet here he was, standing outside his daughters' empty rooms, wondering if they truly knew the love that lived, unspoken, in his chest.
He drew a breath, sharp and steadying, then turned on his heel and left the east wing.
Minutes later, Sebastian was outside. The morning air tasted clean, sharp, a contrast to the storm inside him. His car waited in the drive, a sleek black machine that purred when the engine came alive.
He drove.
Past the manicured edges of the Thorne estate, past the bustle of town where the day was beginning to stir, and past Moonstone Academy.
His grip on the wheel tightened when the school gates came into view. For a fleeting heartbeat, he considered stopping. To walk into the halls, find his daughters, and tell them everything he had never said. To put aside pride and tradition and simply be their father.
But noon was approaching. And the message from the poisoner still burned in his mind.
He pressed his foot harder on the accelerator.
The city fell away behind him, replaced by stretches of abandoned land. Rusted warehouses rose like skeletons against the sky, their windows shattered, their walls tattooed with graffiti. Mills loomed in silence, machines long dead, shadows swallowing whole stretches of earth.
Sebastian had once promised this place renewal. Had spoken of jobs, of restoration, of industry reborn under his name. That was before poison crept into his blood, before anonymous threats dictated his steps. Now, the irony was bitter on his tongue.
He turned off the main road, following the faint tang in the air. His senses, sharper than any human's, locked onto the trail like a predator. The scent was there, acrid, laced with intent. It pulled him like a wire, threading him through the maze of decay until he reached the chosen warehouse.
The building loomed before him, a carcass of steel and rust. He stepped inside, boots crunching against gravel and glass.
Shadows shifted. Men lined the interior, weapons in hand, their faces unreadable beneath masks.
But it wasn't them that stopped him cold.
It was the figure across the room, bathed in the fractured light from the broken ceiling.
Sebastian's heart lurched. His eyes widened. The name tore itself from his lips in disbelief.
"Elaine Rivera…"
The sound of it echoed off the hollow walls, carrying disbelief, anger, and something dangerously close to fear.
Even from a distance, her presence struck like a blade slipped between ribs. Her long silver hair, tied neatly in a bun, shimmered faintly in the light, giving her the air of someone untouched by time.
Her grey eyes were deep, storm-tossed oceans, cold, but alive with a sharp cunning that was more dangerous than any weapon. The crop top and sweatpants she wore gave her the guise of a woman stepping out from training, casual, even unbothered. But Sebastian knew better. Outfits didn't dull fangs.
Her voice reached him before her steps did, smooth, rasped at the edges like silk dragged over stone. "If you're going to glare like that, Thorne, perhaps you should save it for your coffin."
Sebastian's jaw tightened. "If you wanted me dead, poisoning me in the dark wasn't the way. You know that. It was dishonorable. Cowardly." His voice carried across the warehouse, measured, heavy. "That isn't the way of our code."
Elaine's lips curled into a smirk, one corner lifting like a dagger unsheathed. "Code?" she scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. "According to that same code, I should've never inherited my pack at all. A woman, an Alpha? They would've slit my throat the moment I ascended if the old ways still ruled. Yet, here I am."
Her men shifted uneasily behind her, silent pillars of loyalty.
Elaine's gaze sharpened. "A couple of decades ago, my existence would've been erased. But I endured. I clawed, I killed, and I bled my way here. The code is nothing but peer pressure from dead men, Sebastian. Yet I honor it more than most because I had to bend it, break it, just to survive it."
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. His tone was flat, steady. "So, you admit you're a hypocrite."
A flicker. A tightening of her jaw. But Elaine only inhaled slowly, steadying herself, her smirk never leaving though he had struck a nerve.
"Do you know what it's like," she said, voice lower, almost a whisper, "to work twice as hard for half as much? To grind your body to pieces, knowing you will never match the brute strength of men who take their birthright for granted? Biology is a cruel god, Thorne.
I could never outmatch a male's raw size. I knew that. I am not a fool. So I invested elsewhere. I sharpened every other edge. My patience. My cunning. My discipline. And that is why I am standing here. Why you are poisoned. Why you came when I called."
Sebastian let out a dry chuckle, stepping closer until the light hit his face in sharp relief. "For a doll, you talk too much."
The word landed like a slap. Elaine's eyes hardened, her composure faltering for half a heartbeat. Sebastian noticed. He always noticed.
But she only exhaled, smoothing her expression into calm waters again. "You're observant," she murmured. "But that won't save you."
Her gaze flicked down to her clothes, to the old, worn training outfit clinging to her form. "Do you see this?" she asked, stretching her arms languidly, like a serpent uncoiling.
"I wore this when I was still learning to fight, back when the world sneered at me, back when I thought I might burn it all down just to be seen. I kept it as a reminder of what I've endured. I thought of throwing it away. But perhaps… my transformation will tear it apart for me."
The meaning hung in the air, heavy.
Sebastian's nostrils flared. "So you want a fight."
Elaine tilted her head, lips curving into something sharp, dangerous. "The poison was only to get your attention. What I want, Thorne, is a duel."
Sebastian's silence stretched. His mind moved fast, calculating, replaying every consequence. A duel was more than combat, it was covenant. If she won, she would inherit his pack, his name, his wife and daughters… the thought nearly made his chest split with rage.
Elaine's eyes glinted as if she could read his thoughts. "Don't worry," she said smoothly, "if I win, I don't want your pack. Only your life."
"You don't get to decide that," Sebastian snapped, the growl in his throat rising. "You know as well as I do, the power, the bond, the blood, it passes automatically."
"I know the rules," Elaine cut in sharply, her tone colder than steel. She leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow louder than a shout. "And I have a way around them."
For the first time, Sebastian's expression faltered. "What are you planning?"
Elaine only smiled, predatory, her grey eyes gleaming. "You'll see soon enough."
The room pulsed with tension. Finally, she straightened, her tone almost casual. "If you win, you'll get the antidote. And my pack, when I'm dead. Seems fair, doesn't it?"
Sebastian's chest rose and fell. He thought of Elizabeth. Of his daughters. Of the mansion, the laughter he'd only ever half-allowed himself to hear. His fists tightened.
"Fine," he growled. "Let's end this."
Elaine raised her hand, and her men stepped back immediately, giving the warehouse floor to their leaders.
Sebastian pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His torso gleamed under the fractured light, every scar a story, every ripple of muscle forged through decades of war. In their culture, stripping before a duel was a declaration: I expect to return for these clothes. I expect to live.
Elaine didn't bother. Her body snapped and reshaped in an instant, bones stretching, skin tearing into fur. Within seconds, where she had stood now towered a creature eight feet tall, her snow-white fur glistening, her feminine frame lean but defined. Her eyes, once grey, now burned with molten crimson.
Sebastian's bones cracked as he transformed, his frame surging into a towering nine-foot beast of ash-grey muscle and power. His tail flicked once, controlled, a predator's precision. He stood a full foot taller, broader, heavier, a storm to her frost.
For a long, breathless moment, they circled each other, predators of equal resolve though not equal build.
Sebastian's growl rumbled low, crimson eyes locking with hers. "Shall we begin?"
Elaine's muzzle curled into something like a smirk. Her voice, distorted but still unmistakably hers, slithered through the air.
"We shall."
***
The warehouse quaked under the weight of beasts.
Sebastian Thorne's roar shook the rafters, rattling the broken panes of glass still clinging to the windows. His nine-foot frame lunged, claws cutting through the dust-heavy air. Elaine darted aside, her snowy pelt flashing as she twisted with inhuman grace, her tail whipping against the ground for balance. Her bare paws barely touched the cracked concrete as she spun out of reach.
Thorne's claws split the floor where she had stood a heartbeat earlier. Shards of stone scattered, dust clouding, his raw power undeniable. He snarled, rising to his full height, his crimson-gold eyes blazing like suns.
She didn't meet him head-on. She never would. Elaine circled him, always moving, always watching. She was lighter, faster, sharper, a phantom of silver darting in and out of reach, her strikes calculated, never wasted. She slashed his ribs and rolled away before he could retaliate. She leapt onto a rusted beam, her tail curling around the metal to anchor her body, before springing off in a spiraling arc.
Thorne anticipated her this time. He shifted, turning into her path mid-air, and his fist, a hammer of muscle and claw collided with her side.
The sound cracked through the warehouse. Elaine grunted, blood spraying from her maw as she slammed into a support column, bending the steel inward with the impact.
Sebastian advanced, relentless. "You're not fighting me, Rivera," he growled, voice deep and guttural through his wolf form. "You're running."
Elaine staggered back to her feet, panting, blood dripping from her side. She smirked despite it, wiping her muzzle with the back of her paw. "I'm surviving."
He charged. The ground buckled beneath his steps. Elaine danced back, twisting, rolling, tail sweeping the floor to redirect momentum. She clawed at him, nicking flesh, then disappeared before his counterblow could land. But Thorne adapted. He learned. Every dodge of hers narrowed his timing, every feint of hers read like a page in a book.
Then came the moment.
Elaine darted left, Sebastian feinted right, and his massive paw struck across her chest, rending through fur, flesh, and bone. Blood poured in crimson sheets. She staggered, gasped, and in that single hesitation he was upon her.
His claws dug into her mane. With one arm, he lifted her limp body off the ground, their eyes meeting at level.
Elaine's chest heaved, her breath ragged, her silver fur marred by the pulsing, gaping wound across her torso. Blood spilled down her abdomen, dripping onto the concrete. She spat crimson onto his muzzle, but her voice wavered with pain.
Sebastian's grip tightened. His voice thundered, every syllable venom. "Do you see now? There's a reason women aren't meant to lead. You're weak. You couldn't even defeat me poisoned. And you think you have what it takes to kill Sebastian Thorne?"
He bared his fangs, his words cutting sharper than his claws. "For a smart girl, you're so damn dumb."
Elaine's eyes flared, hatred igniting where pain had dulled her resolve. With a guttural snarl, she twisted, kicking upward with both legs. Her claws raked across his chest and neck, tearing fur and flesh in a violent spray. Sebastian roared, staggering back as she ripped free from his grip, leaving clumps of her mane in his fist.
Before he could recover, she was already moving.
Like lightning, she slid low beneath him, claws carving across his Achilles tendons. Pain ripped through his legs, his knees buckling as he collapsed forward. She didn't waste a second, her body flipped upward, her tail slamming the ground for balance, and her clawed fist drove into his jaw with a brutal uppercut. His neck snapped back, throat exposed.
Her next strike was merciless. Her claws slashed across his jugular, a spray of blood gushing out as Sebastian's roar turned into a choking gasp.
He collapsed onto his back, clutching at the wound, his chest rising and falling desperately as he tried to regenerate. His body shuddered, his breaths ragged, blood pouring faster than his healing could keep up.
Elaine didn't let him recover.
With a snarl, she plunged her claws into his stomach, ripping him open in one savage motion. Sebastian howled in agony, his cries echoing through the skeletal warehouse. She leaned down, her muzzle pressing into the wound, and with teeth and claw she tore free his intestines, the wet sound of tearing flesh and snapping sinew echoing like some unholy music.
Sebastian writhed, his massive form shaking the ground as he screamed. His voice, Alpha, commander, father, husband, was reduced to raw animal suffering.
Elaine rose, blood dripping from her maw, her snowy fur now painted crimson. She shook herself violently, the spray pattering the walls, then licked her claws slowly, deliberately.
From Sebastian's blurred perspective, she was no longer a rival Alpha. She was a death maiden, an angel of slaughter cloaked in white and red. Her eyes glowed, molten and merciless. Her aura screamed death.
He tried to speak. Words caught in his throat. For the first time in decades, Sebastian Thorne felt fear.
Elaine's voice broke the silence, calm, raspy, terrifying in its composure. "Don't take this the wrong way, Thorne. It isn't personal. I don't hate you. I don't hold grudges. But I have a natural disdain for misogynists… and you fit the description perfectly."
She stepped closer, crouching so her golden-red eyes bored into his fading ones. "Destroying your pack afterward? That's just a bonus."
She raised her claw, signaling. One of her men, a human, not a wolf, stepped forward, rifle in hand.
Sebastian's body tensed, realization dawning. If Elaine delivered the killing blow, her pack would inherit his. But if a human killed him… the bond would shatter.
Elaine's smirk widened. "Don't worry. I won't inherit your power. Someone else will. And when they do…" she leaned closer, her voice a whisper dripping with venom, "…I'll kill them next."
The rifleman took aim at Sebastian's head.
A single silver gunshot cracked through the warehouse.
Then silence.
Sebastian's body fell limp. His chest no longer rose.
The fight was over.
Around them, the warehouse bore scars of their clash, walls caved in, steel beams bent, the floor cracked and gouged from claws and fists. The battlefield was a testament to the scale of their duel, now eerily still.
Elaine stood above him, her blood-soaked fur gleaming in the fractured sunlight. Slowly, she shifted back into human form, her pale skin marred by fresh scars, her body glistening with sweat and blood. Servants rushed to her side, wrapping a towel around her shoulders, but her eyes never left Sebastian's corpse.
Victory had a face. And it was hers.
Meanwhile, Far away, in her office at the Thorne estate, Elizabeth sat at her desk, shuffling through financial documents. The weight of numbers and debts and promises pressed against her temples. Then, suddenly, she froze.
Something in the air shifted.
Her pen slipped from her hand. A cold shiver crawled up her spine as the world seemed to quiet, pressing in. She turned toward the large monitor at the far wall. It was off, dark, its reflective surface acting like a mirror.
In it, she saw her own face, her almond eyes now glowing crimson.
Her lips parted. A tremor left her throat.
"Oh no…" she whispered.
The monitor's reflection burned with her eyes' unnatural light.