Chapter 50

Raven

My lips parted, my heart pounding so loudly I thought Hannah might hear it, but I forced out a shaky laugh instead.

“Werewolves? Oh, come on, Hannah. It’s just an inside joke between me and Ember.” I reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face, willing my hand not to tremble as I moved.

Slowly, casually, I let it drift toward my knife, my fingers itching to grip the hilt.

Hannah didn’t buy it. Her narrowed eyes flicked over me, her sneer deepening.

“You think I am stupid, don’t you?” she hissed, stepping closer. Her knife gleamed in the dim light as she moved. “You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”

“Hannah, seriously, you’re being paranoid,” I said, inching back toward my desk, my hand brushing the edge of my knife’s sheath. “What would I even gain by—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, bitch!” she snapped, rushing forward and slamming her free hand against the wall beside my head. I flinched, having nowhere to go now that she had me caged in, and her malicious grin widened.

“I have known something was off about you from the beginning,” she cooed, tracing the tip of her knife across my cheekbone. “You are no Lycan. Your scent—your… your everything—screams fraud.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said evenly, trying to buy time, my fingers finally curling around the knife behind my back. “I’ve been nothing but loyal to Neil and—”

“Shut up,” she spat out, her words like venom. Her knife pressed harder against my cheek, and I stiffened. “You think I don’t know what you are doing? You are a spy, a Werewolf bitch sent here to destroy us from the inside out. Admit it.”

I tightened my grip on my knife. “You’re delusional, Hannah. Go ahead—take me to the King again. Let him laugh in your face for a second time.”

But she clearly had no intention of taking me to the King. Not alive, at least. Her nostrils flared as her eyes glinted with a dangerous light. “Oh, I will take you to the King,” she said, her voice low and cold. “I will throw your head at his feet, and then I will receive my reward.”

I swallowed hard. “And what do you expect your reward to be?”

Hannah just smirked at me in response. She didn’t need to say it—we both knew what she thought she would get out of throwing a supposed traitor’s head at the King’s feet. Or rather, who.

Neil.

And then she lunged.

Instinct kicked in. I sidestepped just in time, her knife slashing through the air where my throat had been. My own blade was in my hand before I even realized it, and I swung upward, forcing her to stagger back.

“You really want to do this?” I growled, my heart racing as I fell into a defensive stance. “Because I guarantee you won’t like how it ends.”

Hannah’s laugh was chilling. She circled me like a predator, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Let’s see what a little Werewolf is really made of.”

She lunged again, her knife glinting. I blocked her strike with my blade, the clash of metal ringing in my ears. Every movement, every instinct from my weeks of training surged forward as we clashed, the room turning into a blur.

But Hannah was fast. Too fast. She moved like a shadow, her strikes calculated and precise from years of training as opposed to my mere weeks.

I parried and dodged, but she was relentless, forcing me to retreat with each slash. My back hit the edge of the bed, and I ducked just in time to avoid a cut aimed at my face.

And yet somehow I retaliated, driving my knife toward her side. She twisted away, her blade slashing across my eyebrow. Pain exploded in my head as warm blood dripped down into my eye, blurring my vision.

She grinned. “That is going to leave a mark,” she taunted.

And it would, too. The type of scar that might very well ruin my modeling career back in the Werewolf world. But I didn’t care about that. All I cared about was survival.

I ignored the pain, focusing on her movements instead. During my training, Ember and Eric had drilled one lesson into me above all else: never stop fighting. Never. Not even when blood was soaking into your eyes and you just wanted to give up.

I lunged forward, my blade catching her shoulder this time. She let out a hiss of pain, but it only seemed to fuel her. She lashed out, and the force of her blow knocked my knife from my hand. It clattered to the stone floor, and my stomach dropped.

Hannah’s grin widened as she pointed her blade at my throat. “Looks like the big, bad Werewolf is all bark after all.”

Her knife slashed downward, and I threw myself to the side, the blade grazing my shoulder instead of piercing my heart. I didn’t have time to think—I grabbed the edge of the desk and swung my legs upward, kicking her square in the chest with both feet.

She staggered back, giving me just enough time to grab the chair and hurl it at her.

It wasn’t exactly an elegant maneuver, but it worked. She stumbled back, her own knife slipping from her grasp.

I didn’t let up. I charged her, slamming into her with everything I had. We hit the ground hard, and I clawed at her face, my nails scraping against her skin. She retaliated, landing a punch that sent stars exploding across my vision.

We rolled, grappling for control, but I refused to let her win. Pain radiated through my body—her claws raked across my arms, her knee driving into my ribs—but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

Survival was the only thing that mattered.

She broke free, scrambling to her feet. Blood dripped from her mouth as she bared her fangs, her eyes wild with fury. “You’re dead, bitch,” she snarled, sounding rather like a feral animal. “Dead.”

She lunged at me one last time, her fangs glinting in the light. But I was ready.

My wolf’s strength surged through me, stronger than ever, a final stand.

When she slammed into me, the air was knocked from my lungs, but the sharp gasp that escaped her lips was worse.

Hannah staggered back, her hands clutching at the knife protruding from her chest. Her eyes widened in shock, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for words.

“You… fucking… Werewolf… bitch,” she rasped, blood bubbling from her lips as she crumpled to the floor.

She was dead almost instantly.

I stared at her body, my chest heaving. The room was silent save for the ragged sound of my breathing. Blood was everywhere—on my hands, on the floor, on her lifeless form.

I didn’t even realize I was shaking until I felt my knees hit the ground. My bloody hands flew to my mouth, trying to suppress the scream that was clawing its way up my throat. Tears blurred my vision as the reality of what I had just done hit me like a freight train.

I had killed her. Hannah. The seneschal’s daughter. I had fucking killed her.

It was self-defense, I told myself. She was going to kill me. She had left me no choice.

But that didn’t change the fact that her lifeless body was now sprawled across the floor of my bedroom, blood pooling beneath her. The scent of iron was suffocating.

What have I done?

I pressed my blood-soaked hands to my face, choking back sobs as my body shook uncontrollably. I had never killed anyone before. I never wanted to kill anyone, and yet… I wasn’t even disgusted with myself.

If anything, I was… proud. And relieved. And alive.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“You are beginning to sound more and more like a Lycan every day,” Neil had said that night at the tavern.

Maybe he was right.

Suddenly, the sound of the door unlocking snapped me out of my spiral. My head shot up just as the door creaked open, revealing Ember with a tray of food in her hands.

Her eyes landed on the scene in front of her—on me, covered in blood, on Hannah’s lifeless body—and the tray slipped from her grasp.