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I didn’t need to ask who he was. One breath was enough. The scent hit me like fire on old parchment.Crescent Moon. Faint, but unmistakable. The same sharpness Arlen carried, the same bitter pride that had soaked his dying breath.

The last son. The final flickering ember of a legacy I had reduced to ash.

He looked up when I approached. Face bruised, blood caking one brow. Young—too young to have been dragged into a war of blood and dominance. But that fire in his eyes… that damned fire—it was the same. His father’s. His brothers’. Their whole cursed line, believing nobility would save them from the teeth of the world.

It hadn’t.

I drew my sword with deliberate grace. The steel slid free with a hiss, the edge gleaming even under the gray morning sky. It sang for blood. For finality.

“The Crescent Moon bloodline ends here,” I said, my voiceas flat and cold as the snow underfoot.

He didn’t beg. He simply raised his chin, jaw clenched, eyes still burning. I almost respected him for it. Almost.

Then I swung. One clean motion. The blade whispered through air, bone, sinew—truth.

His head dropped from his shoulders and tumbled into the snow with a heavy, wet thump, blood steaming in the cold, staining the white in thick, arterial splashes. It rolled once, twice, before settling at the base of a broken fence post. His body remained upright for a moment, then crumpled like cloth.

Final. Absolute. The end of a line. The last howl of a dying house. I had gutted a dynasty and bled its future into the dirt.

Around me, my men exhaled. Some nodded, grim and satisfied. Others stared, pale with awe. But I didn’t look at them.

I didn’t need their approval. Behind me, Ifelther. Her gaze. Still. Burning holes into my spine. I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her from the corner of my eye.

“Take them,” I growled.

Two soldiers stepped forward, their boots crunching over ice and blood.

“No!” she snapped, planting herself in front of the boy like a shield of flesh and bone. Her arms spread wide, trembling—but not from fear. From fury. “Please… just listen. We’ve done nothing. I’m not Crescent Moon. I’ve never served them. If our presence offends your territory, we’ll leave. Now. No questions asked.”

I laughed, slow and sharp.

“Leave?”I echoed, tilting my head. My smirk was cold, teeth bared beneath it. “Is that what you think this is?”

I stepped closer, slow and deliberate, the heat of my body meeting the frost of hers in the narrow space between us. Her scent hit me again—strange, shifting, wrapped in something that didn’t belong. Like death pretending to be life.

“No. You’re some kind ofstray,” I murmured. “A wolf trying to rot in the shadow of men. But here’s the thing—strays don’t survive long in my lands. The only question iswhyyou’re hiding. And fromwhom.”

I leaned in until my breath danced along her throat. Her pulse thudded against my senses—fast, sharp, defiant.

“Who do you serve?” I whispered. “What is that wretchedfilththat masks your true scent? You stink of sorcery, of broken chains and borrowed names.”

She said nothing. My smile widened.

“But you won’t give up the truth, will you?” I straightened, letting my voice boom again, letting the beast surface. “So the only place you’re going now is my dungeon. And the boy—he comes with you.”

That did it. The fear in her eyes vanished. Burned away. What took its place wasn’t submission. It was rage—raw, blistering, and sharp enough to cut stone.

“That’s what you wolves do,” she spat. “You prey on the weak. You take. You conquer. You destroy.”

The words hit like claws to the face. I paused.

“You wolves?” I repeated, softly now. Too softly. “You speak like you aren’t one of us.”

I stepped in close again, so close our breath mingled. Mine like smoke and blood, hers like frost and desperation.

“Tell me,” I murmured, reaching up—slow, intimate—and brushing a strand of her wet, tangled hair behind her ear, “do you fancy yourself human?”

She glared at me, lip curled, green eyes burning with contempt.