Chapter 1 One
Mira
I stepped through the underbrush with careful, silent movements, my hood pulled low, my breath steady. My heart should have been racing. Returning to Arcanis after three years should have broken me in half.
Instead, I felt nothing.
Maybe that was the real sign of how much I had changed. The girl who once trembled at the thought of breaking a rule was long gone. The girl who believed the crown prince would protect her at all costs was buried somewhere in the ruins of the Shadowlands. I could still taste iron in my memories. I could still hear the screams of the Council chamber. I could still see Jason’s face as he handed me over.
The memory rose uninvited. I forced it down.
Tonight was not about the past. Tonight was my first strike.
Through the trees, the road came into view. A royal convoy, escorted by guards in silver armor, moved slowly through the darkness. They carried crates of Council artifacts, all glowing faintly with the magic I was born to wield. Magic they tried to slaughter me for. Magic they still feared.
I pulled my mask over my face. The Shadow Wolf stared back at me from the reflection of my blade. Cold. Ruthless. Unrecognizable.
Good.
A wolf’s growl rumbled low in my chest as I stepped into the path. The horses reared, the guards shouted, and for a heartbeat, I let them see exactly who was about to tear their quiet night apart.
“Enemy!” someone yelled.
But I was already moving. Shadows rose at my command. Darkness curled around my fingers and exploded outward, knocking soldiers off their feet. My blade flashed through the dim light. Wolves began to shift. Men screamed. Magic cracked through the air.
The first convoy fell in under three minutes.
I ripped open the crate. The artifact’s glow hit my face, cold and familiar. The Council thought hiding these items would keep them safe.
Let them learn fear.
I heard the second convoy rounding the bend. Reinforcements. More guards. More wolves.
Good. Let them come.
I stepped into the center of the road, darkness swirling around my boots, ready to meet them head-on. Then a scent hit me. Clean. Sharp. Dominant. A scent I tried to forget for years.
My pulse halted.
Jason.
I froze before I could stop myself.
He should have been in the capital. He should have been on his throne. He should have been far, far away from me.
Torchlight spilled across the road as riders approached. The scent grew stronger, more impossible, more real. My chest tightened with something I did not want to name. He was close. Too close. Close enough that my shadows trembled at the memory of him.
I forced air into my lungs. I forced hatred into my veins. I forced myself to stand tall.
If he saw me tonight, then fate was playing a cruel game.
A figure rode forward, armored in black steel. Tall. Broad-shouldered. A presence that commanded the entire forest. His wolf stirred the air around him with authority.
Jason dismounted slowly. His boots hit the ground. He lifted his head.
His eyes landed on me.
The world seemed to stop.
The mask hid my face completely. My shadows swallowed my shape. He should not have known me. He should not have recognized anything.
Yet something flickered in his gaze. A small frown. A familiarity he could not place.
He stepped closer.
“Who are you?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.
I said nothing.
I raised my blade.
His eyes narrowed. A single, quiet inhale. Then a whisper, too soft for anyone but me to hear.
“Why do you smell like her?”
My blood turned to fire.
I attacked first.
Jason
The shadow figure moved like smoke.
One heartbeat she stood in front of me. The next she was already swinging her blade, shadows wrapping around her arm like serpents. My wolf roared inside me, reacting before my mind could. I ducked under the strike and blocked the second attack with my forearm, sparks flying off my gauntlet.
Her power was cold and wrong. It crawled over my skin like frost. But beneath it was something familiar. Something that ripped open every scar I had spent three years trying to close.
Her scent.
Not identical. Not perfectly the same. Darker. Sharper. Twisted by magic. But beneath all that corruption, I could still feel it. The scent that haunted me. The scent that lived in my nightmares.
No. This was impossible.
I shoved her back. She landed lightly, barely making a sound, already preparing to strike again.
“Who trained you?” I demanded.
She said nothing. Not a word. Not a breath.
She came at me again, faster this time. I barely blocked the blade before shadows curled around my legs, dragging at my balance. I tore free and drove her back with a burst of strength. Her mask glinted in the torchlight.
She moved with lethal precision. Every strike meant to kill. Every step calculated. Whoever she was, she wanted me dead.
But why did she smell like Mira?
The question dug into my chest. That scent was impossible to forget. Sweet, wild, warm. I had memorized it long before I lost her. Long before the Council took her. Long before she died.
My wolf snarled with confusion.
She slashed at my throat. I caught her wrist and twisted. She hissed quietly, a sound too soft, too familiar.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
No. It could not be. I buried her. I saw the blood. I saw the body the Shadowlands left behind.
I tightened my grip on her wrist. “Who sent you?” I growled.
She tore free and slid backward into the shadows.
For a moment, our eyes locked.
Something in her gaze struck me like a blade to the chest. Pain. Fury. Loss. A storm of emotions I had once seen in Mira’s eyes whenever she felt hurt but refused to say it.
I stepped forward. “What are you?”
Her posture changed—just slightly—but enough for me to sense it.
She understood me.
She understood every word.
And then she vanished into the darkness, leaving only her scent behind.
My soldiers rushed to me. “Your Majesty, should we pursue?”
I stared at the place where she disappeared.
No answer came. Only the echo of a memory I could not bury.
The Shadow Wolf smelled like Mira.
And that truth was enough to break open every wound I thought time had closed.