Sanathiel, now proclaimed Alpha of the Nevri, led his group out of the tunnel and into the safety of the forest. The sprawling green—once their first refuge—breathed life and freedom into their tired bones.
They moved swiftly until they reached an abandoned camp, where the remnants of a recent battle greeted them: lifeless bodies, and the metallic stench of blood thick in the air.
One of the Nevri retrieved a radio from the cold hands of the fallen and handed it to Sanathiel.
"No survivors… just this," he said, tension tightening his voice.
Sanathiel sensed the uncertainty rippling through his pack. He stood tall.
"Search everything. Take whatever we can use. Stay sharp. Even if there's meat—eat."
Skiller wrinkled his nose, covering his face.
"This place reeks… I don't even want to guess what those bodies taste like."
"Then try something else, Snova," Sanathiel replied with cool sarcasm.
The atmosphere was grim, but what truly unsettled Sanathiel wasn't the death scattered around them—it was Aisha. Since her transformation in the tunnel, her scent had become intoxicating. And dangerous.
Skiller, noticing his Alpha's distraction, took the radio and stepped away to find a better signal. Sanathiel took the chance. He approached Aisha—still unconscious, lying across a dusty bench. The silence of the camp spoke volumes: something inside him had changed.
He sat beside her, hesitant.
"Aisha… you shouldn't have risked yourself for me," he said in a low voice."You don't understand what you awaken. My true self... wants you."
He carefully wiped a smear of blood from her face. Aisha stirred, her lashes fluttering slightly. She saw Sanathiel—gentler than usual—but something within her urged her back to sleep.
The White Wolf couldn't resist. He kissed her softly, tasting a moment he knew wouldn't last. Then, brushing his lips against her neck, he left a mark. A seal of restrained desire.
From a distance, Skiller returned, eyes narrowing in disbelief.
"Well, well… I didn't know you had that side, Sanathiel. But that's enough, don't you think?"
Aisha remained asleep, her body still. Skiller grew serious again.
"They're coming for us, White Wolf. Are you ready?"
Sanathiel nodded, his eyes dark with resolve."I am. But my debt isn't paid."
A mechanical roar filled the air. A helicopter descended in front of them. A young member of the pack cried out in excitement:
"Sanathiel—we're going home!"
He smiled faintly, but inside, a storm raged. He knew he had to keep his distance from Aisha. Their bond awakened something in him—something he couldn't afford to lose control over.
When the helicopter landed, a private jet awaited. Sanathiel carried Aisha's unconscious body and placed her into Skiller Snova's arms. As he turned to leave, Skiller's voice stopped him:
"You're just going to leave her like this?"
Sanathiel closed his eyes. A memory of Aisha flashed in his mind—her laughter during a rainy afternoon when she made him dance in the downpour. He had surrendered to that moment, just to see her happy.
"What will I do without that light?" he wondered, the pain deepening with every step.
He finally answered, voice grave:
"Because she means everything to me… I must keep my promise."
"Do you love her, Sanathiel?"
He turned slightly, allowing a rare shadow of emotion to cross his face.
"I'm deeply in love. Isn't it obvious? But I'll return."
Skiller gave a sad smile."Let's hope it won't be too late by then, White Wolf. Safe travels with your family, Nevri."
The plane lifted off. From his seat, Sanathiel watched as flames consumed the camp below. It was a symbol of everything he had to leave behind—though the ashes still burned in his soul.
—
Hours later, they landed at the domain of the Thirteen. But their arrival was met with hostility.
"Mr. Sanathiel, we ask that you leave… or we'll be forced to act."
Sanathiel stepped forward, unshaken.One word, laced with authority, broke the tension:
"Taci." ("Silence.")
The guards fell under the Nevri's influence. The way was clear.
Inside the great hall, the doors slammed shut. The family representatives turned, tense—aware that Sanathiel's presence meant judgment had arrived.
"Închide ușile și așteaptă apelul meu." ("Shut the doors and await my call.")
The air thickened with unspoken threats. Sanathiel's gaze scanned the room like a predator studying prey. When one leader tried to slip away, Sanathiel—without moving—spoke with a chill that froze the room:
"Who are you to give orders here?" the man snapped, burly and scarred.
Sanathiel answered with a cold calm, eyes gleaming with threat.
"I'm the one keeping your fragile kingdom standing," he said, holding up a folder of documents."And I'm the one who decides if it falls."
"You humiliate us today, Sanathiel," someone hissed. "But the council won't forget."
The man froze as Sanathiel stepped toward another high-ranking member, whose guilt trembled in every motion. He tossed documents at his feet—proof of betrayal.
"Your stupidity nearly destroyed this community," he said icily, pointing to the piled bodies outside."This is what awaits traitors."
The man stammered, begging for mercy.Sanathiel showed none.
"You'll face the consequences."
He had the man escorted out and returned to comb through the files. There, among the documents, he found it: a paternity certificate connected to Cristal. His expression darkened. That piece of paper would change everything.
Outside, his men waited, their eyes full of questions.
"You're letting him go?" one of them asked.
"Don't worry. He's a forced ally now," Sanathiel replied, boarding the plane with his pack.
—
During the flight, he opened a video that stole his breath. His former tutor, Darían, spoke of human experiments and military contracts. But it was the symbol in the corner that chilled him—a precisely carved "V." The same mark he'd seen before.
His heart pounded.This wasn't a coincidence.
Varek was closer than he'd thought.
"Varek Golmish of Ruanda… the Immortal."
That name wasn't just a title—it was a reminder of everything his brother had sacrificed for power.
Sanathiel remembered the last time he saw Varek. They had fought—like always—but that time had felt final.
"You don't understand true power," Varek had said, his gaze burning into Sanathiel's soul.
"Power without control is just destruction," Sanathiel had answered—before they parted ways.
Or so he had believed.
Now, staring at the moon, he felt the weight of every choice. Each step toward this new war pulled him further from Aisha… from a life he might never have.
Could he protect her by staying away? Or was he leaving her defenseless?
The wolf inside him growled, furious over the loss. But his rational mind knew: the sacrifice was necessary.
Back in his room, Sanathiel pulled out the document. His fingers traced a seal in the corner—a lotus flower encircled by wolves. He hadn't seen it in years, but recognized it immediately.
His mother's mark.
"This can't be a coincidence," he whispered, as the weight of past and present collided in his mind.
In that moment, he understood: his lost brother was behind it all.
Elsewhere in the sky, Varek stared out the window with calculated calm. A strategist watching every piece on the board.
He slowly shut off his tablet, muttering with a cold smile:
"The game has begun, brother."
Sanathiel clenched his fists, eyes locked on the moon.
The battle with Varek wouldn't just decide his fate—but the fate of everything that remained of the Thirteen.
The hunt had begun.And this time—there would be no mercy.