Third Person's POV Kian had been there from the start. He hadn't planned to intervene-only to watch, maybe to step in if Aysel Vale truly lost control. But as the chaos unfolded at the Moonfang Bar, he realized the infamous daughter of Moonvale Pack didn't need anyone's rescue. "Not a rose," he muttered under his breath, watching her command Ironhowl wolves into debasing submission. "More like a fire pepper straight from the Shadowlands." His lips curved in an amused whistle. The Frostfang female, Skylar, stood nearby, egging Aysel on while taking photos like an artist painting a battlefield. It was brutal. It was glorious. Somewhere across the ocean, Magnus was bound to see this. And Kian was right. At that very moment, a message appeared on his comms-clean, direct, sharp as a claw: Magnus:"You're letting my wife handle my enemies? Are you useless?" Kian nearly choked on his drink. Wife? Since when had Aysel Vale become that? He scrolled back, reading again to make sure he hadn't hallucinated. Wife. So that was what the great Magnus Sanchez was calling his supposed "ally" now. "Man, you wolves are unbelievable," Kian muttered, tossing his device aside with a low laugh. "Didn't you say she was just your partner? A sword in your hand, a deal in your ledger?" He shook his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Heh. Men." Still, the amusement didn't leave his face. He'd seen enough tonight to know that when Magnus returned from Shadowbane's overseas campaign, someone was going to eat a serious helping of humble pie. And Kian, as always, would be there to watch the show. --- When Aysel finally escorted Skylar home and returned to her apartment, her phone began to vibrate. Incoming video call: Magnus Sanchez. The image that filled her screen was almost indecent-Magnus in a black robe, chest bare, dark hair mussed like he'd just rolled out of bed. His eyes, however, were sharp as ever, molten gold flickering under the dim light."You should be asleep," Aysel said, brows raised. "It's past midnight in your side." Magnus didn't answer. His gaze swept across her through the screen, pausing on the slash along her arm. She was still in her red dress from the bar-short, fitted, showing a scandalous amount of pale skin and wolf-marked curves. Her hair was loose, dark as the night, her lips still painted like blood. Magnus's jaw tightened. He hadn't seen her dress like this before-hadn't needed her to. They'd spent their days buried in strategy, both half feral and half civilized, but this? This was different. He blinked once, forcing the thought away. "Sit back. Let me see your arm." Aysel frowned. "What?" He didn't repeat himself, only fixed her with that commanding look that always made her wolf bristle. Reluctantly, she leaned back, holding her phone farther away. "What are you doing?" she asked. "You realize how weird this looks, right? Middle of the night, asking to see a woman's arm?" But then she followed his gaze, saw the dried blood along her skin, and froze. "Wait-how did you know?" Magnus tilted his head. "So you *are* hurt." She glared. "You put a tracker on me?" He actually considered it. "Not yet. But it's not a bad idea." "Absolutely not." She made an X over her chest. "Personal privacy, Alpha." A low chuckle rumbled from him. "Relax. Someone sent me the video-your little performance at the bar. You looked... spirited." Then, more quietly: "I saw one of them swing a bottle at you." His tone darkened, fangs just beneath the surface. "You blocked it." "It's just a scratch," she said, waving him off. Magnus's eyes glowed faintly. "I leave for one night, and you start bleeding? You're impossible, Aysel." "Hey," she shot back, "maybe start with blaming the ones who attacked me, not me. I didn't exactly invite those feral idiots." His expression didn't soften. He looked like he wanted to reach through the screen and rip throats open. "Fine. Then I'll avenge you. How's that, mate?"The last word came out smooth, dark, and threaded with power. Aysel's cheeks flamed. She covered the camera with her hand. "Magnus, stop calling me that!" Her voice was soft, nearly a whisper, the kind that made him smile. "Just getting you used to what it sounds like," he said, lips curving. "You'll thank me later, Luna Vale." Her wolf stirred-irritated and confused in equal measure. When he noticed her arm shift against the sofa, Magnus's tone sharpened again. "Don't press on the wound. Clean it properly before it scars." "Yeah, yeah," she mumbled. "I'll put some ointment on after a shower." "No need. I already called someone." Her eyes narrowed. "You what?" "She should be there now." And right on cue, the doorbell rang. Aysel's jaw dropped. "You summoned a doctor before I even got home?" "Calculated the timing," Magnus said simply. She opened the door to find a kind-looking woman in a white coat and loungewear. "Miss Vale? I'm Dr. Sia. Sent by Alpha Sanchez." Inside, the doctor worked efficiently, tending to the cut on Aysel's arm and checking every bruise the brawl had left. She left bandages, scar cream, and a handwritten list of instructions before heading for the door. Magnus had kept the video call open the whole time-watching. Silent. Protective. Possessive. Aysel finally muttered, half teasing, half shy, "You're spoiling me, Magnus. That's corruption." His laugh was low and sinful. "If that's all it takes to make you mine, I'll corrupt you every night." Even Dr. Sia's hand trembled at that voice. She hurriedly packed her kit. "Doctor, you can stay the night if it's too late to drive back," Aysel offered, flustered. Sia shook her head with a quick smile. "Thank you, Miss Vale, but Alpha Sanchez already sent a driver." Aysel walked her to the elevator. The doctor exhaled in relief the moment the door closed, whispering to herself, "Moon goddess, I thought that man was going to tear through the screen." As the elevator descended, she shivered-remembering the glint in Magnus's eyes when he saw Aysel's wounds. Pity the fools who had dared touch his Luna tonight. They wouldn't see another moonrise.