Third Person's POV When Bastien first went to the northern mountains, he only meant to clean up the aftermath of a family scandal. He did not expect to find a child-feral, half-starved, his clothes stiff with dried blood and sweat-clutching a dying wolf pup to his chest and drinking its blood to stay alive. The boy's eyes burned with a ferocity that sent a thrill down Bastien's spine. There was no fear in him, only raw instinct and the will to survive. Bastien laughed aloud then, the sound echoing through the trees. This one has the marrow of a true Sanchez wolf, he thought. He brought Magnus home, punished the reckless father Ulric and his venomous mate Ivy, and against the council's protests, raised the boy by his side. Soon he realized Magnus was no ordinary cub-his senses were too sharp, his mind too quick. Under Bastien's tutelage, the boy absorbed knowledge and power like a starving wolf devouring a kill. By the time he came of age, Magnus had begun to form his own dominion, gathering strays and warriors into what would become his Shadowbane faction. Bastien had been proud then. He had not foreseen that the day would come when the cub he nurtured would turn and bare his fangs at the very hand that fed him. Now the Shadowbane Pack was his-every den, every wolf, every acre of hunting ground. But Magnus was still unsatisfied. Bastien had long suspected the resentment simmering in him-the ghost of his mother, Raya, tortured and broken by the Pack's cruelty. But the old Alpha dismissed it as sentiment. Every pack is built on blood and bones, he had told himself. No wolf grows strong without scars. Magnus had remained cold but quiet for years-save for the incident four winters ago, when he shattered Ulric's legs and left him crippled. Bastien had believed that was the end of it. He was wrong. When Conor and his son Caleb were both destroyed-one left comatose, the other stripped of his wolf-the old Alpha finally understood. The revenge had only begun.Magnus wanted more than retribution; he wanted the entire bloodline to rot. He wanted every Sanchez to know the taste of fear, to sleep each night wondering when the sword would fall. And then came Aysel. The elders thought they could shackle Magnus through a mating bond-tie him to another main pack and anchor his wildness. Magnus, in turn, saw her as the perfect blade to twist back at them. Aysel was bold, reckless, sharp-edged. A creature of chaos. Even if her claws could not yet draw blood, she could still wound their pride. Just as they once drove Raya to madness through humiliation and slow torment, Magnus would carve their empire apart piece by piece-until every Sanchez trembled under the weight of his vengeance. Bastien watched him the evening, the firelight flickering across Magnus's face-handsome, unreadable, merciless. "You mean to carry this through to the end?" Bastien rasped, his once-commanding voice softened by age. "Don't forget, I still hold shares of the Pack's lands. I could raise another heir." Magnus's lips curved in a humorless smile. "You think that can threaten me, old wolf?" He spoke the truth. Every network, every trade route, every silver mine under the Shadowbane crest bent to his will. Beyond the mainland, his private armies thrived in the outer territories-feral packs loyal only to him. The Sanchez empire was no longer Bastien's legacy. It was Magnus's creation. Bastien saw it now-either surrender the pack to him, or watch it burn. The young Alpha had seized the pulse of the bloodline itself. Still, the old man tried one last time. "Your rage blinds you. Wolves who devour their kin never die clean. And that girl-Aysel Vale-do you truly think she can love a wolf drenched in blood?" Magnus rose, expression unreadable. "No need to concern yourself, Grand Alpha." He turned, leaving behind only the echo of his boots and the quiet hum of his power. --"I'm on Magnus's side, obviously!" The voice rang clear and defiant through the great hall. Magnus paused on the staircase, his dark gaze sliding toward the young woman seated on the couch below. Aysel looked radiant and unbothered, surrounded by a few of his cousins' pups trying, and failing, to bait her. One of the twins pressed, "But what if he's wrong? Wouldn't you stop him?" Aysel blinked, almost pitying. "What does right or wrong matter? He's Magnus Sanchez. That's enough reason for me." Her tone was fierce, loyal to the bone-illogical, wolf-hearted. Even the pups went silent, faces twitching with disbelief. She reminded them of a she-wolf who would bite the throat of anyone daring to challenge her mate. "Lady Vale." Magnus's voice rolled down the stairs, low and magnetic. He leaned lazily against the railing, a ghost of a smile touching his mouth as he extended his hand. "We're leaving." Aysel lit up instantly, bounding toward him with a laugh. "Finally! You took forever." Magnus's gaze swept over the pups-children of one of his uncles-eyes flickering with quiet amusement. He could smell their nervousness, the faint tang of deceit. Clearly, someone had sent them to fish for information from Aysel, hoping to use her innocence to pry into his plans. But Aysel Vale was no fool. She was iron wrapped in silk, and her loyalty was absolute. "Did they trouble you?" he asked softly, brushing a hand over her hair. She shook her head. The twins shrank back, sensing the dominance rolling off him. "Good," Magnus murmured, the edge of a laugh in his throat. "Let's go." No one in that hall dared speak as the two of them walked away-Alpha and Luna-to-be, shadows merging under the pale light of dusk. Outside, Aysel glanced back at the grand estate-the ancestral seat of the Shadowbane Pack. Beneath its beauty, she could smell the decay of old blood and buried guilt. In the car, Magnus turned to her, one brow arched. "What were you talking to them about?" "Spy infiltration tactics," she said solemnly. He laughed quietly. "Didn't you just say you'd always stand by me? Was that all talk?" Aysel shook her head, dead serious. "Of course not. I don't even know them. You're obviously more important. If there's a conflict, I'm on your side." "So," he drawled, amused, "if you knew someone better than me, you'd switch sides?" "In theory," she admitted. His eyes glinted. "And how well do you know me now?" Aysel hesitated. Logic said barely three-tenths-but after sharing a den, a bed, long nights under the same moon, and even facing his family together, perhaps it was closer to seven. She smiled faintly, meeting his gaze. "Enough to know I'm not afraid of the wolf you are."