Magnus's POV The dim light flickered above me, barely cutting through the shadows. I leaned back in the chair, relaxed, letting the darkness cloak me like an old friend. My tall frame cast a long silhouette across the blood-streaked floor, and between my fingers, a silver blade spun lazily. Its sharp edge glinted whenever it caught the light, like a wolf's fang glistening before the bite. "I heard you've been gathering a few old generals lately, Uncle Conor," I said lightly, my tone almost lazy. "Foreign funds, new alliances... It seems your long hibernation was only to prepare for this-your grand flight to the heavens. Truly, you age like fine blood." Conor Sanchez, my fourth uncle, was barely recognizable beneath the bruises and blood. His body trembled, sweat and tears staining his once-pristine suit. He had thought hiring Charles would finish me. He'd sent a dozen ranked killers after me, and yet here I stood. The scent of his fear was intoxicating, sharp as iron and salt. Now Charles's den was ash, his men scattered. Every piece of Conor's decades-long game board had been flipped, each pawn uprooted and burned. The man who once fancied himself the wolf of the capital now whimpered like prey caught in a snare. "Magnus," he rasped, voice raw, "I'm still your uncle. Kill me, and your grandfather-Alpha Bastien-will never forgive you." "Kill you?" I smiled, the sound low and dangerous. "Uncle, I'm not here to kill you. Wolves pay for what they do. You'll simply watch a show I prepared for you." His eyes widened, snapping toward the other side of the room. His son, Caleb Sanchez, sat bound and blindfolded in a steel chair, his body trembling violently. "What-what are you doing?!" Conor's voice cracked. I tilted my head. "Your son's been busy, hasn't he? Sleeping with another Alpha's fiancée a month ago, then playing sick games with underage girls two weeks later. Both times you shielded him with the Sanchez name." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "That kind of rot shouldn't be passed down, don't you think?" "No! Please! He's my only son-Magnus, please, I'm begging you!" I had seen that desperation before-in the eyes of men who thought blood could save them. It never could. I flicked my fingers, and one of my pack enforcers stepped forward. Masked, gloved, and silent, he approached Caleb. "Stay away! What are you doing?!" Caleb screamed, his voice cracking, the metallic scent of fear thickening the air.Crack. The sound was wet and final. Caleb's scream tore through the room, echoing off concrete and steel. "MAGNUS! YOU FUCKING MONSTER!" Conor's voice shattered. I said nothing. His son fainted, his body limp. Conor's face twisted with agony, hatred burning bright before breaking. "You... bastard," he spat, voice trembling. "You're avenging her, aren't you? That whore you called a mother! She was nothing-just a rutting bitch-and you're her spawn! You're both freaks! Cursed wolves! Everyone will always fear you! Hate you! No one will ever love you!" "Tch." I clicked my tongue, rubbing my ear as if brushing off his words. "Ugly talk. Cut his tongue." "Yes, Alpha." Conor's growl turned into a scream, then into silence. When it was over, both father and son were unconscious, sprawled like carcasses on the floor. They would live, though not as they were. Wolves could survive almost anything-sometimes, that was the real punishment. The stench of blood was heavy, filling my lungs, seeping into my skin. To me, it was as familiar as rain. My heart didn't even quicken. This was my territory, my law, my justice. Then, my phone buzzed. The room fell quiet as I checked the screen. My men, still cleaning the scene, glanced up cautiously. And then they froze-because the moment I saw the message, the monster in the shadows smiled. Warmth, of all things, flickered in my chest. I typed quickly, slipping off my black gloves and tossing them to Jackson. "Clean up. I'm heading out." "Uh, Alpha," Jackson called hesitantly, "you've got the Eastern Europe meeting in twenty minutes." "Postpone it. I need to water my little rose" "...Yes, sir." He sighed. "Our Alpha's getting softer these days." Kian walked in just as I was leaving, his brows lifting in surprise. "Where's he rushing off to? Isn't he supposed to-" Jackson gave a helpless shrug. "He said he's going home... to water his little rose." Kian blinked. "...What?" The legendary butcher of the Shadowbane Pack, the wolf who tore through three mafia clans and crushed his uncle's rebellion-leaving to water flowers? He'd think I'd gone mad if he knew the truth. Because the moment Aysel Vale's name appeared on my phone, every instinct in me shifted. The Alpha in me softened, the wolf in me stilled. Her messages came one after another, like soft nudges against the pack bond: "Then hurry, I'm starving." "What's for dinner? How about sour fish?" "We're out of green onions. Bring some back with the fish." "I want strawberries and yogurt. Pretty please?" "Emergency! Snacks running low! (≧▽≦)" Anyone reading them would think she was the Alpha, and I was the one paying her ten million to stay fed. But after weeks together, nothing about it felt wrong. It felt... natural. If Jackson or Kian ever saw her bossing me around like that, they'd probably faint on the spot. Fortunately for them, no one but me was allowed near her den.