Anastasia thought she was simply showing mercy to a dying animal when she dragged a massive wounded wolf into her cabin during a blizzard.
She had no idea the creature bleeding on her floor was Dmitri, the ruthless alpha king, hunted by traitors from his own inner circle.
For 3 days, she tended his wounds, unaware her kindness was forging a bond that would shake the foundations of the werewolf world.
When the king reclaimed his throne, the people who’d treated Anastasia like dirt were about to learn a terrifying lesson.
The woman they’d bullied was the only one who owned the alpha’s heart.
Wind howled through the black forest, tearing the last autumn leaves from oaks and blanketing roots in thick white.
Anastasia pulled her threadbear coat tighter, boots crunching heavily through snow.
At 24, she’d grown accustomed to the piercing cold of the periphery.
As an omega born without the ability to shift, she was the lowest of the low in the silver pine pack, a servant at the whim of the elite, forced to live in a drafty cabin 3 mi from the main estate.
She wasn’t there for pleasure.
The pack’s gamma, a cruel man named Sergey, had demanded fresh winter route for his wife’s tea, and he didn’t care that a blizzard was coming.
Fetch it, Nastia.
Sergey had sneered that morning, tossing a single copper coin at her feet.
Or don’t bother returning to the kitchens.
Anastasia picked up the coin.
She had no choice.
She was kneeling by the frozen creek, chipping through ice to reach the roots when she caught the scent.
Not the clean, fresh aroma of pine or damp earth musk.
This was metallic, heavy, the smell of blood.
Yes, Anastasia froze.
Her survival instincts screamed.
In the black forest, blood usually meant territorial disputes or bears.
She stood slowly scanning the treeine.
And then she saw him.
A massive figure lay motionless beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient cedar.
It was a wolf, but unlike any she’d ever seen in the silver pineack.
He was gigantic, easily twice the size of a normal werewolf, with fur black as a moonless knight.
But the creature’s magnificence was marred by a terrible wound in his side.
A spear of dull, twisted metal was buried deep in the wolf’s flank.
Snow around the beast was stained shocking crimson.
Anastasia’s first thought was to run.
A wolf this size was an alpha, possibly even a rogue alpha.
If he woke, he could snap her neck with one bite.
But then the wolf whimpered.
It was a low, scuttle sound of pure agony, cutting through the wind’s howl.
Anastasia hesitated.
She looked back at the path leading home, then at the dying creature.
“You’re an idiot, Nastia,” she whispered to herself.
Abandoning her basket of roots, she moved toward the cedar.
As she approached, the wolf’s eyes snapped open.
They were golden, molten, terrifyingly golden, burning with such ferocity, her knees buckled.
A low growl built in his chest, vibrating through the ground.
“I won’t hurt you,” Anastasia said, keeping her voice steady despite trembling hands.
She raised her palms.
“You’re dying.
If I leave you here, Frost will finish what this spear started.
” The wolf watched her.
His breathing was shallow and labored.
He tried to rise.
His claws scraped frozen earth, but strength failed him.
He collapsed back with a heavy thud in golden eyes dimming.
Anastasia dropped to her knees beside him.
Up close, the damage was worse.
The spear wasn’t just steel.
It had runes engraved on it she didn’t recognize.
Flesh around the wound was black and blistered, smelling of sulfur.
“Wolf’s bane,” she murmured, recognizing the poison’s scent, though in a concentrated form she’d never encountered.
“They didn’t just want to kill you.
They wanted you to suffer.
” She placed her hand on his coarse fur.
He flinched, but didn’t bite.
The heat radiating from him was immense.
I can’t treat this here, she told him, though she wasn’t sure he was conscious enough to understand.
And I can’t carry you.
You have to help me.
She grabbed his scruff and pulled.
It was like trying to move a boulder.
The wolf exhaled sharply, gathered the last remnants of strength, wore, and pushed off with his hind legs.
Together, Anastasia pulling until her muscles burned, the wolf dragging his broken body.
They moved inch by agonizing inch through snow.
It took nearly an hour to cover a quarter mile to her cabin.
By the time they reached the door, Anastasia was drenched in sweat despite freezing temperatures, and the wolf had lost consciousness.
She managed to drag him onto the mat before her small stone stove.
She locked the door, heart pounding like a war drum.
She just brought a deadly predator into her home.
If Sergey or the pack alpha discovered she was harboring a strange wolf, she’d be executed for treason.
Anastasia stoked the fire, throwing in her last two logs.
Then she turned to the wolf.
“All right,” she exhaled, rolling up her sleeves.
“Let’s get that thing out of you.
” The extraction was brutal.
Anastasia knew she couldn’t pull the spear slowly.
The barbs would tear him apart.
It had to be done quickly.
She boiled water and prepared a pus from the winter root she’d gathered.
Ironically, the roots Sergey wanted were now saving a stranger’s life, mixed with silver leaf and honey to fight infection.
She knelt by his side.
The wolf was unconscious, breathing dangerously slow.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
“This will hurt.
” Anastasia gripped the spear shaft with both hands.
She braced her foot against the wolf’s hip for leverage.
Taking a deep breath, she yanked hard.
The sound that tore from the wolf’s throat wasn’t a whimper.
It was a roar that shook dust from the rafters.
His jaws snapped blindly, teeth clicking inches from Anastasia’s hand.
She didn’t flinch.
She threw the bloodied spear aside and immediately pressed the steaming pus to the gaping wound.
“Hush!” she soothed, pressing down with all her weight as he thrashed.
It’s out.
You’re safe.
The wolf struggled another moment, golden eyes rolling back before he collapsed in exhaustion.
The bleeding slowed.
The pus was doing its work, cauterizing poisoned flesh.
For the next two days, Anastasia didn’t sleep.
She sat by the fire, wiping feverish sweat from the wolf’s muzzle with a damp cloth.
She fed him broth spoonful by spoonful, carefully prying his jaws open to pour liquid down his throat.
She talked to him to stay awake.
“You must be someone important,” she murmured on the second night, ringing out the cloth.
“They don’t hunt ordinary wolves with runic spears.
” “Did you steal something?” A just anger the wrong person.
The wolf, though weak, constantly watched her.
His golden eyes tracked every movement around the small cabin.
There was intelligence in them that unnerved her.
He wasn’t just an animal.
He was a werewolf stuck in his form, probably due to the trauma of injury.
I know what it’s like, Anastasia continued, stirring stew in a pot over the fire.
To be stuck.
I can’t shift, you know.
That’s why I live here.
The Silver Pine Pack doesn’t like defects.
They tolerate me because I know which herbs cure fever and which induce labor.
But to them, I’m just a ghost.
She looked at the wolf.
A sad smile touched her lips.
I suppose we’re both ghosts now.
On the third morning, the blizzard subsided.
Sunlight broke through frozen windows, illuminating dust moes dancing in air.
Anastasia woke with a start.
Like she dozed off in the rocking chair.
Panic seized her when she looked at the mat.
The huge black wolf was gone.
No.
No, no,” she whispered, jumping up.
“If he left with that wound still healing, he’ll die.
” I didn’t leave.
The voice was deep, horsearo, resonating with power that raised the hair on Anastasia’s arms.
It came from the shadowed corner of the room.
Anastasia spun, grabbing the heavy iron poker from the stove as a weapon.
On her small wooden stool, wearing only a blanket draped over his lower body, sat a man.
He was massive, tall, and broad-shouldered with muscles that seemed carved from granite.
His hair was the same ink black as the wolf’s fur, falling carelessly across his forehead.
A jagged healing scar stretched across his side, pink and inflamed against olive skin.
As But it was the eyes that confirmed his identity.
burning, intense, golden.
He looked at the poker in her hand, then at her face.
He didn’t look frightened.
He looked assessing.
“Lower the iron, little wolf,” he said, voice rough from long silence.
“If I’d wanted to kill you, I would have done it while you slept.
” Anastasia didn’t lower the poker.
“Who are you?” The man winced, shifting weight and pressing a hand to his side.
My name is Dimmitri.
Anastasia’s breath caught.
Dimmitri.
She knew that name.
Everyone knew that name.
It was the name of the alpha king, ruler of all five territories.
But the king was supposed to be in the capital, safe in the Obsidian Palace, not bleeding out in a hvel in the middle of nowhere.
“You’re lying,” she said, voice trembling.
“Demitri is king.
” The man gave a dark, humorless laugh.
Oh, right.
Because the last thing I remember is my beta, the man I trusted like a brother driving a spear into my side and throwing me off a cliff into the river.
He looked at her, expression hardening.
I am Dimmitri, and I owe you my life.
Anastasia slowly lowered the poker.
The aura of power emanating from him was undeniable.
It pressed on her senses, heavy and authoritative.
This wasn’t just a rogue.
This was an alpha of alphas.
“If you’re the king,” Anastasia whispered, horror of realization gripping her.
“Then the people looking for you are still coming,” Dimmitri finished.
He stood, the blanket slipping slightly.
He gripped the table edge to steady himself.
“That’s why I have to leave now.
You can’t go, Anastasia objected, healer instincts overriding fear.
The poison isn’t fully out of your system.
Abood, you’ll collapse before you reach the treeine.
I have no choice, Dimmitri gritted out.
If they find me here, they’ll kill me, and they’ll kill you for helping.
I won’t let that happen.
He took a step toward the door and stumbled.
Anastasia dropped the poker and rushed forward, catching him before he hit the floor.
His arm landed on her shoulders, heavy and hot.
For a moment, they were close, intimately close.
She smelled storm and cedar on his skin.
He looked down at her, and the golden intensity of his gaze softened for a heartbeat.
“Do you have a name, Healer?” he asked quietly.
“Anastasia,” she answered breathless.
“Anastasia,” he repeated as if tasting the weight of the name on his tongue.
You’re too kind for this world, Anastasia.
He pulled away, using the wall for support.
Stay here.
Don’t follow me.
Burn the bloody rags.
Wash the floor with vinegar.
Leave no trace I was ever here.
Where will you go? She asked, pressing her hands to her chest.
To take back what belongs to me, Dimmitri growled, and a spark of the beast flashed in his eyes.
and to kill the traitor who thought a spear was enough to end me.
He opened the door.
Cold winter air rushed in.
He paused on the threshold, looking back at her one last time.
I don’t forget debts, Anastasia.
Remember that.
Then he stepped into the snow, shifting midstride into the huge black wolf, and vanished into the white expanse of forest.
Anastasia stood in the doorway, shivering, staring at the empty treeine.
She felt a strange emptiness in her chest, a void where his presence had been.
She didn’t know it then, but saving him had been the easy part.
The hard part was about to begin.
Two weeks passed.
Life in the silver pine pack returned to its dreary norm.
But for Anastasia, everything felt different.
Every shadow looked like a black wolf.
Every gust of wind sounded like his voice.
She did as he asked.
She scrubbed the floor until her knuckles bled.
She burned the bandages.
She even buried the spear deep in the forest far from her cabin.
But in the town of Zelatigrad, rumors began to spread.
Travelers from the capital spoke of chaos.
The king was missing.
A regency council had been formed, led by a man named Oleg, Dmitri’s beta.
The official story claimed King Dmitri had fallen ill and was in seclusion.
But whispers in cafes spoke of a coup.
Anastasia kept to the shadows.
She delivered herbs to the pack house, endured Sergey’s insults, and tried to be invisible.
But being invisible was hard when you harbored a secret that could overthrow a kingdom.
It was a Tuesday when black SUVs with tinted windows rolled onto Silver Pine territory.
They didn’t stop at the town square.
They drove straight up the winding road to the Alpha’s estate.
Anastasia was at the market buying flower when she saw them.
On the sides of the vehicles was the crest of the royal guard, a golden dragon coiled around a sword.
Royal enforcers, the old baker whispered beside her.
Looking for fugitives, they say.
Blood froze in Anastasia’s veins.
They were searching for him or for someone who’d helped him.
She hurried home, heart pounding.
She needed to pack.
If they had trackers, they could follow his scent to her cabin within hours.
She reached her cabin as the sun was setting.
when she threw her few belongings into a worn duffel bag, a spare sweater, her mother’s locket, herb journal, she was just reaching for her coat when the door burst open.
Wooden splinters flew inward.
Anastasia screamed, dropping the bag.
In the doorway stood Sergey, but he wasn’t alone.
Beside him were two men in dark gray tactical uniforms of the Royal Guard.
Well, Sergey sneered, entering her refuge.
He looked too pleased.
A predatory smirk stretched across his thin face.
“Going somewhere, mud blood.
” “I just wanted to visit my aunt in the next town,” Anastasia stammered, backing up until her legs hit the stove hearth.
“Liar!” spat one of the guards, a hulking man with a shaved head.
He stepped forward, sniffing the air.
I smell it.
Faint, but it’s here.
Royal blood and sickness.
Sergey laughed.
A cruel piercing sound.
I told you, commander.
She lives in the woods.
She’s a healer.
If the usurper crawled anywhere, it would be to a hole like this.
The commander approached Anastasia, towering over her, radiating alpha intimidation.
“Where is he?” I don’t know who you’re talking about, Anastasia said, lifting her chin.
She was terrified, but she wouldn’t betray Dmitri.
Not after seeing the pain in his eyes.
The commander struck her backhanded.
The force knocked Anastasia off her feet.
Her lip split.
Blood filled her mouth.
Don’t play games with me, girl.
The commander snarled.
We found a blood trail leading here.
We know he was here.
He left.
Anastasia gasped, spitting blood onto the floorboards.
He left weeks ago.
I don’t know where he went.
Sergey stepped forward, kicking Anastasia’s bag aside.
She’s protecting him.
The defect is protecting the fallen king.
Pathetic.
He looked at the commander.
What do we do with her? Kill her? The commander looked at Anastasia with cold, calculating eyes.
No.
If Dmitri is still alive, he’s vulnerable.
He needs allies.
If he cares enough about this mouse to let her live, maybe he’ll come back for her.
He grabbed Anastasia by the hair, hauling her to her feet.
She cried out in pain.
“Take her,” the commander ordered.
“We’re bringing her to the capital.
Oleg will want to interrogate her personally.
” “And if she doesn’t talk,” Sergey asked, eager for violence.
Then we’ll peel the skin from her bones until she does,” the commander said simply.
They dragged Anastasia out into the icy night.
As they shoved her into the back of an armored SUV, she looked back at her home, the only place she’d ever known.
She saw smoke rising from her chimney, disappearing into the dark sky.
“Run, Dimmitri,” she thought.
Tears froze on her cheeks.
“Don’t come back.
Stay away.
The engine roared and the convoy sped off, carrying Anastasia into the lion’s den, unaware that her capture was the spark that would ignite a war.
The journey to the capital was a blur of asphalt and suffering.
When they finally arrived at the Obsidian Palace, Anastasia had no time to admire the architecture.
A fortress of black glass and steel piercing the sky like a jagged tooth.
They dragged her through service tunnels into the bowels of the earth where sunlight never penetrated.
The dungeons weren’t medieval stone cells, but something far more sterile and terrifying.
Rooms lined with white tile, soundproofed glass walls, brightly lit by humming fluorescent lamps that never turned off.
Psychological torture designed to break the mind before a hand was laid on the body.
They threw Anastasia into cell 412.
The heavy magnetic lock slammed with a thud that echoed in her bones.
For the first 24 hours, no one came.
No food, no water, only the constant hum of lamps and white walls closing in.
On the second day, the door hissed open.
A man entered impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit, hair neatly sllicked back.
He was handsome with a sharp reptilian beauty, a smile that didn’t reach his cold blue eyes.
Anastasia, he said, voice smooth as velvet over gravel.
I’m Oleg.
I apologize for the conditions.
My subordinates can be overzealous.
Anastasia backed against the cold wall.
This was the man who’ driven the spear into the king.
This was the traitor.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Anastasia said, voice from dehydration.
Oleg tisked, circling the small cell, examining her as if checking into a hotel.
Come now, let’s not pretend.
We know Dimmitri was with you.
The blood trail was convincing.
What I need to know is simple.
What did he tell you? And where was he headed? He told me nothing.
Anastasia lied.
He was a wounded animal.
I healed him.
He left.
That’s all.
Oleg stopped walking.
He turned to her, expression darkening.
Do you know why I removed him, Anastasia? Dimmitri was weak.
He wanted peace treaties with humans.
He wanted to abolish the cast system.
He was going to destroy our heritage.
I did what was necessary to save our species.
He stepped closer, arenving her personal space.
Tell me where he is, and I’ll set you up in an apartment in the city.
You’ll never have to dig roots in frozen ground again.
You’ll be rich.
You’ll be safe.
Anastasia looked at him.
She saw desperation behind his arrogance.
He was afraid.
He knew that until Dmitri’s body was found, his claim to the throne was illegitimate.
“He told me one thing,” Anastasia whispered.
Oleg leaned in, eyes hungry.
“Yes? What was it?” Anastasia met his gaze with all the defiance she could muster.
He said he doesn’t forget debts and that he’s coming for you.
Oleg’s face twitched.
The mask of politeness slipped, revealing the snarling wolf within.
He struck her harder than the commander had.
Anastasia collapsed to the floor, metallic taste of blood returning to her mouth.
“He’s dead,” Oleg roared.
Her composure shattered.
“He died in that river.
And if he’s not dead, he’s broken beyond repair.
He straightened his suit, catching his breath.
He looked at her with pure contempt.
Enjoy the darkness, Anastasia.
Tomorrow, we’ll move you to the common cell.
If you won’t talk to me privately, perhaps you’ll be more talkative when we put you on display.
The door slammed shut again.
Anastasia curled into a ball, clutching her ribs.
Tears welled, but she didn’t let them fall.
You’ve got fire, girl.
I’ll give you that.
The voice came from a ventilation grade in the floor.
Faint, muffled, but distinct.
Anastasia crawled to the vent.
Who’s there? Just another ghost, the voice answered, sounding old and raspy.
Name’s male.
I was the royal archist until Oleg decided history needed rewriting.
I’d been in the cell next door for 3 months.
Male? Anastasia whispered.
Have you heard anything about Dimmitri? Is there hope? There’s always hope while an alpha breathes, male rasped.
But Oleg’s planning a coronation.
He’s crowning himself king in 3 days.
He needs a scapegoat to distract the masses.
That’s you, my dear.
Me? Anastasia asked with horror.
He’ll present you as a witch, male explained.
A seductress who poisoned the king’s mind.
He’ll execute you to solidify his power.
Unless, he paused grimly, unless Dimmitri returns.
But the palace is a fortress.
Even an alpha king can’t break through these walls alone.
Three days passed in a fog of interrogations and darkness.
On the morning of the coronation, guards came for her.
They didn’t let her wash.
They dressed her in a rough gray burlap dress, the uniform of a traitor.
They chained her hands and feet in heavy iron.
“Move,” the commander barked, proddding her forward with a rifle butt.
They led her up through the palace labyrinth, up endless flights of stairs until the sterile dungeon air gave way to fresh, cold wind of the surface.
They emerged onto a grand balcony of the Obsidian Palace.
The sight took Anastasia’s breath away.
Below the balcony was the great square, a vast expanse paved in granite, packed with thousands of werewolves.
The crowd was a sea of moving bodies waiting, watching.
Giant screens mounted on palace walls broadcast the scene to all the kingdoms.
At the center of the balcony stood a podium.
There was Oleg dressed in ceremonial black and gold robes of the king.
He looked regal, powerful, ye utterly triumphant.
He raised his hands and the crowd fell silent.
“My brothers and sisters,” Oleg’s voice boomed over speakers.
“Today we enter a new era of strength.
For too long, we were led by a king who was soft, a king poisoned by the lies of the weak.
” He gestured to guards who dragged Anastasia to the front of the balcony.
The crowd roared.
a mixture of anger and confusion.
Anastasia flinched as the sound hit her like a physical wave.
This Oleg shouted, pointing at Anastasia, the woman who harbored sickness.
This omega filth conspired with enemies of the state to hide the truth of Dimmitri’s madness.
She represents everything that weakens our bloodline.
Anastasia looked at the sea of faces.
She saw hatred.
She saw fear.
But she also saw something else.
In the back rows, people weren’t cheering.
What they were looking around with unease.
Wind picked up, whipping banners furiously.
For her crime against the crown, Oleg roared, drawing a ceremonial silver sword.
I sentence her to death.
Her blood will cleanse this palace.
Two guards forced Anastasia to her knees.
She felt cold stone bite into her skin.
She looked at the sky, gray and overcast.
Forgive me, Dimmitri, she thought.
I tried.
Oleg raised the sword.
The crowd held its breath.
Cameras zoomed in on Anastasia’s terrified face.
And then the sky split open.
It wasn’t thunder.
It was a howl.
But not just any howl.
It was a sound that vibrated deep in the chest of every werewolf present.
a command, a declaration of war.
It was so powerful that glass windows of the palace trembled in their frames.
Oleg froze.
The sword hung in air, eyes widening.
From the southern edge of the square, the crowd began to part.
It wasn’t voluntary.
People scrambled over each other to get out of the way.
Through the center of the panicking crowd walked a man.
He wore no armor, no robes, just simple black tactical clothing that hugged his muscular frame tight.
His face was grim, jaw set in a line of pure fury.
But it was his energy that cleared the path.
Waves of raw, undiluted alpha power radiated from him, forcing wolves to drop to their knees in submission as he passed.
It was Dimmitri.
He didn’t look at the crowd.
He didn’t look at the cameras.
His eyes, burning molten gold, were locked on the balcony, locked on Oleg, locked on Anastasia.
“He’s alive!” Someone screamed in the crowd.
“The true king!” Oleg panicked.
“Kill him!” he shrieked into the microphone, s abandoning all pretense of trial.
“Guards! Kill the usurper!” Royal enforcers on the ground floor raised their weapons, but before they could fire, shadows detached from the crowd.
Dozens of wolves who’d been camouflaged in hooded cloaks threw them off.
These weren’t random citizens.
They were warriors of the Northern Guard, loyal to the old traditions, led by a massive gray wolf.
Chaos erupted.
The Northern Guard clashed with Oleg’s enforcers.
Gunshots rang out.
The sound of breaking bones filled the air.
Dimmitri didn’t stop.
He moved through the battle like a god of war.
One enforcer rushed him.
Dimmitri didn’t even shift.
He simply grabbed the man by the throat and hurled him 20 ft into a stone pillar.
He reached the base of the palace wall, looked up at the balcony 50 ft above.
Ah, Oleg.
Dimmitri’s voice needed no microphone.
It carried over screams in combat.
You’re sitting in my chair.
Oleg, trembling with rage, grabbed Anastasia by the hair and yanked her up, pressing the swordblade to her throat.
Take another step and I’ll cut her throat.
Oleg screamed, voice cracking.
I’ll kill her, Dimmitri.
I swear it.
Combat in the square slowed.
All eyes turned to the balcony.
Dimmitri stopped.
The golden fire in his eyes dimmed, transforming into something colder, more terrifying.
“If you spill one drop of her blood,” Dimmitri said, voice dropping to a deadly whisper that somehow carried on the wind.
“I won’t kill you, I’ll keep you alive and make you beg for death every day for a century.
” The standoff on the balcony was tense.
Wind whipped Anastasia’s hair across her face, stinging her eyes.
is.
But she didn’t dare blink.
She felt the cold metal blade pressed against her jugular.
Oleg’s hand trembled, not from strength, but from terror.
You have no power here, Oleg shouted, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
The council is with me.
The army is with me.
“Look around, Oleg,” Dmitri called from the square below.
Oleg risked a glance.
On the square, his enforcers were faltering.
Ordinary citizens seeing their true king alive and fighting were turning to his side.
They were taking down guards, disarming them.
The tide had turned in seconds.
Pack loyalty always belonged to the strongest.
Oleg crumbled.
It’s over.
Dimmitri said.
Let her go.
Never.
Oleg spat.
If I fall, I’m taking your weakness with me.
He tensed his arm to draw the blade across Anastasia’s throat.
Anastasia knew she had a split second.
She wasn’t a warrior.
She wasn’t a shifter.
But she was a healer.
She knew anatomy.
She knew where nerves lay.
When Oleg tensed, Anastasia didn’t pull back.
She dropped her weight sharply, throwing him off balance, and with all the force she could muster, drove her elbow backward.
She aimed not for his stomach, but for the nerve cluster just below the floating rib.
the solar plexus.
It was a desperate move that shouldn’t have worked against an alpha.
But Oleg was distracted, frightened, focused on Dimmitri.
Her elbow hit the target.
Oleg gasped.
His diaphragm spasmed.
The sword wavered, leaving a shallow cut on her shoulder instead of her throat.
“Now, Dimmitri!” Anastasia screamed, dropping to the stone floor and rolling aside.
Dmitri didn’t need to be told twice, for he didn’t take the stairs.
He crouched and leaped upward, caught decorative stonework halfway up the wall, muscles straining, and vaulted onto the balcony with inhuman agility.
Oleg was just recovering when a black shadow slammed into him.
Dimmitri tackled him, and momentum carried them both through the glass balcony door, crashing into the throne room inside.
Anastasia scrambled to her feet, clutching her bleeding shoulder.
She ran inside, following the path of destruction.
The throne room was in ruins of shattered glass and splintered wood.
Dimmitri and Oleg were a tangle of limbs and teeth.
They hadn’t fully shifted.
They were in that terrifying half state, claws extended, eyes glowing, fighting with the primal fury of men who wanted to tear each other apart with bare hands.
Oleg was strong, fueled by desperation.
He landed a vicious hook into Dimmitri’s healing side, the place where the spear had been.
Dmitri roared in pain, staggering back.
You’re still wounded.
Oleg laughed, teeth bloody.
You came back too soon, fool.
Oleg grabbed a heavy ceremonial staff from the wall and swung it.
He struck Dimmitri across the head with a sickening crack.
Dmitri dropped to one knee, stunned, Oleg raised the staff for a killing blow.
Goodbye, your majesty.
No.
Anastasia grabbed a shard of glass from the broken door, jagged, sharp, pathetic, against a beta wolf.
But she didn’t care.
She lunged at Oleg.
Oleg saw her.
He backhanded her without looking, sending her flying across the room.
She hit the base of the throne.
The world spun, but the distraction was enough.
When Oleg turned to finish what he’d started, his King Dmitri was already moving.
The strike to Anastasia had broken something inside him.
The gold in his eyes turned to a black abyss.
He caught the staff mid swing with one hand.
Wood groaned and splintered in his grip.
“You touched her,” Dimmitri snarled.
“It wasn’t a voice.
It was an avalanche.
You touched my mate.
The word hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
Mate.
Oleg’s face went pale.
No.
Impossible.
She’s Omega.
She’s nothing.
Dmitri stood towering over the traitor.
He wrenched the staff from Oleg’s hands and snapped it over his knee.
She’s my queen, Dmitri said.
He grabbed Oleg by the throat, lifted him into the air, and slammed him to the floor.
Marble cracked.
Oleg tried to shift, transform into his wolf form to escape, but Dmitri was too fast.
He pinned Oleg down, hand clamping over Oleg’s muzzle.
Grew preventing transformation.
For treason, Dimmitri growled, tightening his grip.
For poison, for the spear, he leaned closer.
And for making her bleed.
Dmitri didn’t just kill him.
He dominated him.
He forced Oleg into submission to bear his throat completely, stripping him of rank and dignity before the assembled enforcers now crowding the doorways.
Oleg went limp, unconscious from lack of air, defeated not by death, but by total subjugation.
Dimmitri stood, chest heaving, he spat blood onto the floor beside the fallen traitor.
The room was silent.
The northern guard secured the perimeter.
Enforcers dropped their weapons, falling to their knees, heads bowed.
But Dmitri didn’t look at them.
He turned to the throne where Anastasia was trying to sit up.
He crossed the room in three strides.
The monster vanished, us replaced by the man who’ sat by her fire, wrapped in a blanket.
He dropped to his knees before her, ignoring the crowd, ignoring cameras that were probably still filming.
His hands hovered over her shoulder, trembling slightly.
Anastasia, he exhaled.
Forgive me.
I’m so sorry.
Anastasia reached out with her hand stained with blood and dust and touched his cheek.
He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“I told you,” Dimmitri said, opening his eyes to look at her with searing intensity.
I don’t forget debts and I don’t abandon my heart.
He lifted her into his arms effortlessly.
She winced, but his warmth was a balm to her frozen bones.
Clear the way, Dmitri commanded the guards at the door.
Summon the royal physician immediately.
As he carried her from the throne room onto the balcony, the crowd below saw them.
The king, battered but unbroken, carrying the woman for whom he’d waged war.
One cheer rose, then another, and then a roar that shook the city.
Long live the king.
Long live the queen.
Anastasia rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart.
She’d saved a wolf in the snow, and in return, he’d given her a kingdom.
Later that night, the palace was quiet.
Guests had left.
The mess was cleaned.
Dimmitri found Anastasia on the balcony, watching snow fall over the city.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her head.
“You saved my kingdom again today.
” “I just know my herbs,” Anastasia said gently, leaning back against him.
“Shh, you know more than that,” Dimmitri said.
He turned her to face him.
Moonlight reflected in the gold of his eyes.
They respect you now, he said.
But for me, that’s not enough.
What do you want, Dimmitri? Dimmitri reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
He opened it.
Inside wasn’t a diamond.
It was a ring of twisted black iron and gold.
Iron represented pack strength.
Gold, alpha blood.
But at the center was set a small polished piece of raw amber, the color of Anastasia’s eyes.
I don’t want a queen who sits on a throne in waves, Dimmitri said.
I want a partner who watches my back, who sees poisons I can’t smell, who pulls me out of the snow when I fall.
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
It fit perfectly.
Anastasia, will you rule with me? Not as a wolf or but as my heart.
Anastasia looked at the ring, then at the man who just weeks ago had been a dying beast on her floor.
She thought of the cabin, the loneliness, and then looked at the city below, the city that was now safe because they were together.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I will.
” Dimmitri kissed her, and for the first time in the history of the Lyan Kingdoms, an alpha didn’t howl at the moon to claim his mate.
He silently held her, listening to the steady human rhythm of her heart.
The only sound that mattered.
The blizzard had brought them together.
War had forged them.
But it was love, impossible, defiant love that would keep them.
And this is the incredible story of Anastasia and King Dmitri.
From a lonely cabin in the frozen forests to the throne of the most powerful kingdom on earth, Anastasia proved you don’t need claws or fangs to be strong.
She showed us that true strength comes from compassion, intelligence, and the courage to do what’s right, even when the world tells you you’re nothing.
Dimmitri found his queen not in a palace, but in the heart of a healer who saved him when he was at his lowest.
Their love story forever changed the laws of the werewolf world.
