[POV: Dominic]
The ink flowed smoothly beneath my hand, each curve of the pen a perfect stroke of artistry and venom, each word carefully chosen for maximum effect.
To Alpha Draven of Crimson Fang,
I write to you not with accusation, but with concern. My elder brother, Atlas, went missing some time ago. Our family feared the worst. We searched, grieved, hoped—spent countless nights wondering if he was alive or dead, if he'd been taken by rogues or simply lost to the wilderness.
Imagine our surprise when we discovered he had not only survived—but had taken refuge within your territory.
We are, of course, relieved to know he is safe. And yet, questions remain. Why did he leave? What has he told you? And what does he seek to gain within your ranks?
Atlas has always been fragile, prone to confusion… even delusion. His past, I fear, may one day catch up to him. I write only to ask that you remain cautious. Atlas is still our blood. And blood must be returned.
Dominic Nightshade, Future Alpha of the Midnight Crest pack.
I smiled as I sealed the letter with wax, pressing our family crest into the dark red seal with deliberate precision.
Draven would read those words and feel the weight of them. The polite tone, the brotherly worry, the veiled warnings—he'd know something was off. He was too sharp not to, too experienced not to sense the manipulation beneath the concern.
And that was the beauty of it. It would begin quietly. Slowly. A seed of doubt planted in fertile soil. But it would begin. The wheels were already turning. My plan was in motion.
And Evan had walked into it so perfectly, so predictably, like a puppet dancing on strings he couldn't even see. Poor fool.
He had always been easy to sway with guilt and nostalgia—such a soft heart beneath that would-be warrior exterior, always wanting to believe the best in people, always hoping for redemption. I hadn't even needed to twist him that hard.
Just a few carefully placed words, a faint tremble in my voice when I spoke of Atlas, a well-timed kiss to remind him of what we'd shared… and he folded like a flower starved of sunlight.
He thought he was protecting Atlas. Thought he was being noble, being a good friend, making up for past wrongs. He had no idea he was delivering him straight into my hands.
The thought made me hum with satisfaction as I stood by the window of my chambers, watching the moonlight wash over the pines below, silver light painting everything in shades of grey. Everything looked so calm. So still. So peaceful.
But underneath, chaos was stirred. And I would be the one to unleash it, to watch it tear through their perfect little world.
Atlas never deserved anything he had. Not the strength he discovered so late. Not the wolf that finally woke after years of dormancy. Not the friends he'd made, the marks he'd earned, the place he now called home, the respect he'd somehow garnered despite being nothing.
He was born weak. Shaking and silent. A child of moonlight and shame, an embarrassment to our bloodline.
And I was the fire. The chosen one. The Future Alpha who had been groomed from birth for greatness.
Yet here I stood, still clawing at the edge of the role I'd been promised—while he played the underdog, the survivor, the sympathetic little warrior who rose from the ashes and captured hearts like it cost him nothing, like he hadn't stolen what should have been mine.
I had given everything to become what I am. Every glance, every lie, every manipulation, every drop of blood spilled in secret. Every sacrifice made in the name of power and position.
And still, it had not been enough—not while he lived. Not while he breathed. Because my happiness… had always depended on his suffering.
That balance, cruel and unspoken, had kept our world in place since we were children. When he hurt, I thrived. When he failed, I succeeded. When he was nothing, I was everything. And now I would tip the scale forever. Permanently. Irrevocably. He would die.
Not quietly. Not instantly. No, I wanted to watch him break. To see his eyes when he realized the truth, when the full weight of betrayal crashed down on him.
That Evan—his only refuge, his only tether to the past, the one person he'd always believed in—was part of his end. That he, whether knowingly or not, had led the wolf straight to the lamb, had delivered his best friend to his doom.
The betrayal would shatter him. It would snap that fragile new confidence he'd built on sand and lies. And when his voice finally cracked, when the fear finally overtook his eyes, when he understood there was no escape, I would be there.
And I would whisper, "This is the fate you ran from. This is what you always were—nothing."
My fingers drummed against the windowsill, the excitement rising in me like a fever, like anticipation before a feast. The thought of his face, his realization, his despair—it made my pulse quicken.The plan was clean. Elegant in its simplicity.
Evan would distract him, keep him hopeful, keep him meeting at the border like they'd been doing. All I needed was the right moment. A signal. A sliver of vulnerability. The perfect opening.
He trusted Evan. Still. Even now, after everything. And trust is the sweetest poison, the sharpest blade.
Let him imagine that he could still hold Evan's heart. Let him cling to it, believing their bond would save him, believing friendship meant something, believing love could overcome all obstacles.
Because the moment he realized it wouldn't—that Evan couldn't stop what was coming, that no one could save him—that was the moment I would savor most of all.
His face when the truth struck home. His tears when he understood the depths of his betrayal. His silence when he had nothing left to say. Yes. It was coming. Soon.
The prophecy would be fulfilled. The weak twin would fall. And I would rise as I was always meant to, stepping over his corpse to claim everything that should have been mine from the beginning.
Father would see. Mother would see. They would all see that I had been right all along. Atlas was the problem. He had always been the problem. And soon, he would be nothing but a memory.
I turned from the window, moving to my desk where maps of the territory lay spread out, marked with careful notations. Border patrol routes. Weak points. Timing. Every detail accounted for.
Everything was falling into place. Each piece of the puzzle sliding into position with satisfying precision.
Let him have his moment of happiness in Crimson Fang. Let him believe he'd found safety, found home, found purpose. Let him think he'd escaped the shadows of his past.
It would make the fall so much sweeter. The higher he climbed, the further he had to fall. And I would be there to watch every moment of his descent.