Page 27 of The Cursed Wolf King

Blood pooled around Damian’s lifeless wolf, soaking into the dark wood of the floorboards. I stood over him, back in my human form, the silence in the café settling like a shroud. Patrons began to move, quietly and efficiently, setting chairs back upright and gathering scattered glassware. The air held a different tension, like the moment after a storm passes and everything’s left drenched.

A tall elf with iridescent skin moved forward, kneeling beside Damian’s body. Elves could always be counted on to step in when blood was shed—they were more in tune with the Shadow Moon’s ways than other supernaturals, given their connection to lunar cycles and earth magic. With a grim look, he began the traditional preparation for Damian’s return to the Heraclid pack. He pushed the dead wolf’s limbs together and murmured words under his breath, calling on old rites. I felt the weight of it, the reminder thatno matter how vile Damian had been, the bonds of pack still mattered in death.

“You did what was needed.” The silver-eyed elf pulled me out of my thoughts. He stood at my side, examining Damian’s body. “It’s best you don’t linger, Alpha. Heraclid grudges don’t settle easily, and there will be those who’ll remember this.”

I nodded. Leaving made sense; Damian’s allies wouldn’t take long to catch the scent of this. But I became abruptly aware I was still bare, sweat and blood drying on my skin.

The elf’s lips curved, just barely. “Perhaps clothes would help.”

Before I could answer, Victory, the server, approached, her expression serious as she held out a folded shirt and pants. “We keep a few sets in the back,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen that wolf before, but I could tell he was trouble. And…” She hesitated, glancing at the elf who was wrapping Damian’s paws with a length of cloth. “I know you had to do it.”

“Thank you,” I managed, taking the clothes from her.

She nodded, retreating back into the shadows of the café. Around us, the café’s patrons continued putting chairs and tables back in place, casting sidelong glances, some in approval, others in horror. I pulled on the clothes.

The elf stood up again. “Go,” he said softly, a hand raised in quiet respect. “There’s nothing more for you to do here tonight.”

I exhaled sharply, attempting to reorient myself, but the sight of Eve’s disappearing form lingered in my mind. Had she fled from the violence? From the potential fallout?

Or had shefled fromme?

I stepped out of the café, the fresh air hitting me like a splash of water, grounding me as I tried to clear my head. Eve’s scent lingered faintly in the air, elusive but still there, a thread of warmth and spice amidst the chill of the streets. I homed in on it, letting it guide me down one block, then another, weaving through the streets. Reality was starting to settle in—a cold, hard assessment of what I’d done, and the storm it was bound to bring.

The Heraclids would come. There was no question about that.

The challenge had been formal, the fight fair and with no rules broken, but none of that would matter to Grayson. I’d taken his son’s life, left Damian’s blood in the middle of a supernatural establishment. There would be hell to pay.

Grayson was the kind to throw everything he had at a problem until he saw it bow before him. And now, he’d be coming for Orion, one way or another. My wolf pushed against me, steadying me with his certainty, his unshakable resolve to defend what was ours. He’d gone to the mat tonight for Eve, had torn Damian apart to make sure she’d be safe. And now it was my job to make sure my people were protected in turn.

I needed to mobilize the pack quickly. My enforcers could bolster defenses at the borders, start preparing for the kind of threats only Grayson could devise. Additional scouts would be needed, too, ones who could track any signs of advance before they reached our lands. And Rhys… My jaw tightened at the thought of him in the line of fire, my beta, who would throw himself in front of any threat without hesitation. Rhys was loyal to the core, but I’d do everything I could to keep him away from the worst of this. His steadiness, his ability to strategize, would be more vital than ever.

I turned a corner. This street was quieter, the hum of city life faded to a low murmur. Eve’s scent drifted in and out, as though she were a ghost in the wind. My wolf bristled with impatience, urging me forward. But there was more I had to consider before I found her.

The alliance—the networks I’d been working for years to build, securing resources that would bolster Orion’s position among the Shadow Moon packs—all of that was now at risk. The moment word of Damian’s death spread, the delicate balance of power would begin to shift. Allies would be forced to take sides. Some might stand with Orion; others would see an advantage in aligning with Grayson’s rage.

And in the middle of it all, my people would be forced to hold our ground, without flinching.

As I moved, the city blurring past me, another thought crept in, one darker and more pressing than anything else.

The curse.

The old woman who’d sat across from me in the café—her words unraveled everything I’d thought I’d known. I shook my head, because the woman also asked to become Orion’s oracle, and claim of a curse would be a great way to maneuver her way in. It could be nothing than a trick, a desperate attempt to sow fear and chaos.

But something about it rang true.

If it were true, the danger wasn’t only from Grayson. It was in the words of the curse, in the power they might hold over my pack’s very survival.

The weight of it all settled heavy in my bones. There was no question now that I had to find her—Eve. Hername swung through my mind like a wrecking ball, destroying every other thought.

Eve, who was both a key to my fate and a threat wrapped in shadow. I’d take the time I needed to understand what she was, why our paths had crossed. And if she was linked to the curse, to the unraveling of everything I’d fought to keep together, then I’d find a way to stop it.

The wind shifted, bringing her scent back to me, stronger this time, guiding me.

She was close.

I could feel it in every beat of my heart. Then, another scent intercepted—a familiar, unwelcome whiff of Heraclid. I turned, my senses sharpening as a figure moved out from the shadows and stepped into my path.

It was the woman from the café, the one who’d lurked behind Damian like a ghost. Her expression was taut as she approached. I took in the mark on her arm, the same telltale stain that branded her a Heraclid, and a low growl rose in my throat.

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