[POV: Evan]
I moved silently through the darkness, shadows coiling around my paws like living things, hiding my scent, my presence—everything.
The powers I'd taken from the ritual with Dominic blended seamlessly with my own, allowing me to slip unnoticed into Crimson Fang territory.
My steps were undetected even by the sharpest guards posted along the border, their ears pricked and nostrils flared but catching nothing. The dark magic masked me completely. I was a ghost with teeth.
Inside me, Rau surged.
His bloodlust burned hot, drowning out every shred of hesitation the old Evan might have clung to. There was no longer a battle between us.
Rau had fully taken control, our minds fused, his fury indistinguishable from the grief that had been rotting in my chest since Atlas pulled his hand from mine and walked away.
But tonight wasn't about rage. Not entirely.
Dominic's instructions echoed in my mind, cold and precise: "Get close enough to touch him. Bite him here—"
He'd pressed two fingers against my lower ribs, where the flesh was thin over bone, "—and hold. The mark will do the rest. You don't need to kill him. You don't need to win. You just need to brand him."
The obsidian sigil Maren had carved into the roof of my mouth still burned: a curse etched in blood magic, waiting to be delivered through my teeth and into Atlas's skin.
One bite and one mark. That was all Dominic needed.
I stayed hidden near the training grounds, patient, controlled. The moon hung high but partially obscured by heavy clouds that rolled across the sky like bruises. Silence settled as the last warriors finished their drills and left, voices fading toward the packhouse.
Finally, Atlas emerged, alone. He walked slowly through the clearing, lost in thought, and something in Rau's chest twisted with violent recognition.
I sprang forward. Atlas spun instantly, eyes wide with shock.
"Evan?" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"
I bared my teeth. "Taking back what belongs to me."
His expression shifted—confusion, worry, the desperate softness I remembered from years ago. "Evan, listen—this isn't you. You need to stop—"
"You left me, Atlas. You betrayed everything we had. For him."
"You chose Dominic's side first," he shot back, voice shaking. "I tried to move on—"
The words burned through me. Rau roared inside my chest, and I let him—let the fury look real, let Atlas believe this was nothing more than a broken wolf lashing out.
The angrier I seemed, the less he'd think. The less he'd suspect.
I lunged. Atlas dodged, deflecting my blows with movements sharper than I remembered—faster, more precise. His fists connected with my ribs, and I snarled through the pain.
"Evan, please!" he shouted. "This isn't you!"
"Stop pretending you care."
With a frustrated growl, Atlas shifted, becoming the luminous white wolf I'd only heard rumors of. Hyde, fully realized. Silver-white fur blazing, eyes pale and fierce, radiating the silver wolf power that Dominic coveted more than breath itself.
I shifted instantly, my wolf form larger, empowered by Dominic's borrowed magic. Dark energy crackled along my coat like static.
We clashed violently, snarls echoing through the forest. He was agile, using shadow-stepping to vanish and reappear unpredictably, flickering between patches of moonlight like a phantom.
Then the clouds swallowed the moon. His powers dimmed and the shadow-stepping faltered.
Now.
I pounced, driving him sideways, and we rolled through the underbrush in a tangle of snapping jaws and claws. Atlas fought hard—harder than I'd expected—but I wasn't trying to overpower him. I was maneuvering and positioning.
My jaws found his left side—low, just beneath the last rib, where the flesh was thinnest. I bit down and held.
Atlas yelped, thrashing, claws raking across my face, but I locked my jaw and pressed the sigil home.
I felt it leave me: a pulse of dark heat that traveled from the roof of my mouth through my teeth and into his skin, burrowing deep beneath muscle and bone like a burning coal sinking into snow.
The magic latched, fused, and sealed itself in the span of a single heartbeat.
Done.
Atlas threw me off with a desperate surge of strength, sending me skidding across the clearing. He scrambled upright, favoring his left side, blood matting his white fur—but already the wound was beginning to close, his body healing what it thought was just a bite.
He couldn't feel it. Not yet.
The curse was designed to hide, to nest quietly inside him like a parasite, feeding on his connection to the moon. By the time he noticed anything wrong, it would be far too late.
I could have run then. The mission was complete. But Rau wanted more, wanted Atlas to hurt, wanted him afraid, and I needed the performance to be convincing.
A wolf who fled immediately after a single bite would raise questions. A wolf consumed by rage, driven off by the Alpha—that was a story they'd believe.
So I lunged again, snarling, making it look desperate and unhinged. Atlas met me halfway, and we crashed together in a fury of teeth and shadow.
Then the roar came.
It shook the leaves from the branches and sent every creature within a mile scrambling for cover. Draven burst from the tree line—his massive black wolf form barreling toward me with lethal intent, eyes blazing like coals in the dark.
He slammed into me with the force of a landslide, two hundred pounds of Alpha fury driving me into the earth. His jaws found my side and tore.
Pain exploded through me—real, savage, blinding. Blood filled my mouth, vision dimming as his teeth ripped through muscle and grazed bone. I fell heavily, gasping.
Draven towered over me, bristling, ready to end it. But Atlas whimpered from where he lay, and Draven's head snapped around.
He rushed to his mate's side instantly, shifting back, cradling Atlas, whispering reassurances while brushing silver-white hair from his face with trembling hands.
The tenderness between them sent jealousy searing through me even now—but beneath it, satisfaction pulsed steady and dark.
They were so consumed with each other that neither noticed my wounds knitting shut, the regeneration surging through me at impossible speed.
I stayed motionless, playing dead, counting heartbeats. Then I surged to my feet and sprinted into the darkness.
I ran until Crimson Fang territory was far behind me, lungs burning, muscles screaming, Draven's claw marks still closing along my flank.
The forest blurred past in shades of black and deeper black, and the only sound was my own ragged breathing and the drumbeat of my paws on frozen ground.
Dominic was waiting at the border of Midnight Crest, leaning against a birch tree with his arms folded, the obsidian dagger glinting at his hip. His eyes found mine the moment I emerged from the tree line, and I shifted back, dropping to one knee, chest heaving.
"It's done," I panted. "The mark is set. He thinks it's just a wound."
Dominic's expression didn't change. He studied me for a long, silent moment—then a smile spread across his face. Slow. Cold. The kind of smile that never reached his eyes.
"Good." He pushed off the tree, turning away, the shadows at his feet curling around him like faithful hounds. "Now we wait."
He walked into the dark without looking back, and I knelt there in the dirt, blood still drying on my skin, and told myself this was what I wanted.
Rau purred in agreement. Neither of us believed it.