The Alpha's Throne
The moon was full again.
And Liora had waited long enough.
The war with the Nightclaws was over.
Gonzalo had won. The ground was still soaked with the blood of fallen warriors, but the pack was calm again, lulled by the scent of victory and the warmth of shared triumph. Songs echoed through the den halls. Fires burned high and proud.
Wolves danced, drank, and embraced under the silver gaze of the moon.
And Gonzalo, Alpha, beloved, deceived was pleased. He laughed louder, smiled longer. He touched Liora now without caution, as though she were his salvation rather than the blade pressed to his throat. As though the ghosts of betrayal and exile had been buried beneath the rubble of conquest.
But she had not forgotten.
Victory had made him careless.
And she was ready.
He slept deeply after the feast, his body sprawled across their bed, his breath slow and even. A bottle of darkroot wine lay half-drained on the stone table. The room was cloaked in silence and the faint scent of musk, spice, and smoke. Outside, the wind howled low through the trees. Inside, the fire crackled and cast faint shadows across his face.
Liora moved like mist through the chamber. Silent. Measured. Her ceremonial gown whispered across the stone as her hand found the dagger hidden in its folds. The blade, forged under a blood moon, kissed by an elder's curse, pulsed with a hunger she felt in her bones. It thrummed beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.
She stood over him again, as she had in dreams.
His chest rose and fell. His face, flushed from drink and peace, looked almost boyish in the firelight. It would be so easy. So final. No more games. No more pretending. No more waking beside the man who had banished her, broken her, betrayed her.
She raised the dagger.
"This is the end," she whispered, voice a thread of wind.
Her heart did not race.
Her hand did not shake.
But just as the blade came down
"Mama?"
A small voice.
A small hand.
Liora froze.
The child, Gonzalo's daughter. Vanya's legacy. The last piece of the woman Liora had burned away, stood in the doorway, half-asleep, cradling a carved wolf doll to her chest. Her nightgown hung loose on her thin frame. Her eyes were wide and full of quiet confusion, not yet fear.
"Mama? What are you doing?"
Liora turned, the dagger still poised in her hand, her heart slamming once, twice, against her ribs. The girl was blinking at her, dream-drunk and innocent.
"I... I was checking on him," Liora murmured. "He had a bad dream."
The child didn't question her. She padded silently into the room, feet bare on the cold stone. She climbed onto the bed and nestled herself beside her father, resting her head on his arm. Her small fingers curled around the fabric of his tunic.
Gonzalo didn't stir.
"Can I sleep here?" the child whispered.
Liora's grip faltered. Her breath caught. The dagger trembled.
"Of course," she said.
She stood there for a long time, watching them. The girl, safe. Gonzalo, unaware. Her vengeance, paused, not by mercy, but by something more dangerous. Something older.
Then she stepped back.
Back into the shadows.
Back into silence.
She did not sleep that night.
Instead, she sat alone beneath the stars, the cold wind teasing the hem of her robe. The dagger lay across her lap, its glow muted now. As though even it was uncertain.
Nyssa found her at dawn.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, settling beside her.
"Not a ghost," Liora replied. "A child."
Nyssa tilted her head. "Ah."
"She called me mama."
"She's young. She sees what she wants to see."
"She saw me holding a dagger over her father's heart."
Nyssa's eyes darkened. "Then it's good she came in when she did."
"Do you think I'm losing my edge?" Liora asked quietly.
"No. But maybe you're still human enough to feel. That's not weakness."
"It's delay. And delay kills."
"So does rushing."
Liora looked back toward the den, toward the place where Gonzalo still slept, unaware.
"She looked at me like I was something safe. Something sacred. And for a moment, I... I didn't want to break that."
"Then you're not lost," Nyssa said.
"Not yet."
Later that day, Gonzalo kissed her forehead.
"You were gone when I woke."
"I couldn't sleep," she replied.
"She told me you comforted her. That you let her stay in the bed."
He smiled, his eyes warm. "You're good with her."
Liora forced a smile. "She reminds me of someone."
"Who?"
"Me. Before all this."
He kissed her again, his lips lingering. "You've always been strong."
She said nothing.
She watched him leave the room.
And when the door closed behind him, she turned to the folds of her gown and withdrew the dagger once more. Its edge gleamed like moonlight. Cold. Hungry. Certain.
"Next time," she said softly.
"No witnesses."