The boathouse creaked with age, but it held. Tucked deep into the cove's shadows, it was invisible from the sea. A place forgotten by time and by those who hunted her.
Luna stood in silence, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin, as Damien secured the boat and lit the fireplace with practiced ease. The glow cast flickering gold across the wooden walls, illuminating dust motes and relics of an older war weapons in crates, maps with faded bloodstains, and a wall lined with photographs of men long dead or long disappeared.
"This place belonged to my father," Damien said, tossing her a dry towel. "He built it when he suspected his allies would one day become enemies."
"How poetic," Luna muttered, dabbing at her face. "A vault of secrets built by a man who kept so many."
He paused. "That's how the game is played. Keep your hand hidden. Keep your enemies closer."
"And your bride tied to a blood pact she never asked for?" Her words were sharper than she meant, but she didn't take them back.
Damien looked at her then really looked. "You're not a pawn, Luna. You were never meant to be."
"Then tell me what I am," she demanded.
He walked to one of the crates, pulled out a folded sheet of parchment, and handed it to her.
Her blood ran cold as her eyes scanned the contents.
It was a page from the original Virelli-Wolf alliance contract. Her name was inked in bold at the bottom signed with her father's seal.
Beneath it, something else.
A prophecy.
"When the blood of the Cross burns in fire and shadow, she will rise not as a bride, but as a blade. The house reborn. The blood redeemed."
Luna lowered the page. "A prophecy? You believe in this?"
"I didn't," Damien said, voice low. "Not until I saw you walk out of that fire."
A chill passed through her that had nothing to do with the cold.
She had thought she was being hunted. Used. Dragged into a game beyond her understanding.
But what if she was more than a target?
What if she was the storm?
She moved toward the map wall, fingers tracing the points marked in red locations tied to both her family's past and Serafina's recent movements.
"Then it's time I stop waiting for enemies to find me," she said, voice steady. "It's time I find them first."
Damien nodded. "There's one place we start. The Raven Club. Serafina runs her ghost operations out of there."
"And the people loyal to my father?" she asked.
His eyes met hers. "They're waiting for a sign. For someone to wear the Cross name without shame. Without fear."
Luna turned back to the fire, the flames now warm, not threatening.
She wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was reclaiming.
Tomorrow, she'd return to the city.
Not as Luna Cross.
But as Luna Virelli heir to the syndicate, bride to the Wolf, and queen of the ashes.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows along the aged wooden walls. Luna sat beside the crate of old documents, her fingers tracing the faded ink of the prophecy over and over as if the act alone would reveal something more. The silence between her and Damien stretched not awkward, but loaded. Thick with decisions unspoken and pasts not yet fully unearthed.
"You think they'll follow me?" she asked without looking up.
Damien stood by the window, watching the sea rage against the rocks. "Not because of your name. Because of what you've done. Walking out of that fire was more than survival it was a declaration."
She turned to him then, her eyes sharper, colder. "And what exactly did I declare?"
"That you're not afraid to burn," he said.
Luna rose slowly, pushing the contract aside. "Then let's give them something to believe in."
Damien approached, holding out a small velvet box. "Then wear this. Not because it binds you to me but because it announces you to them."
Inside the box was a ring. Gold. Engraved with the intertwined sigils of the Wolf and the Cross families. The heirloom of a dynasty built on blood.
She slipped it onto her finger without hesitation.
The moment it touched her skin, something shifted.
No longer the girl who ran from shadows.
She was the one who would drag them into the light.
Damien stepped closer. "From this point on, there's no turning back."
She looked him dead in the eye. "I don't want to turn back."
There was a flicker of pride, of respect in Damien's gaze.
"Then tomorrow," he said, "we go to war."
The following morning broke like a whisper—quiet, gray, heavy with anticipation.
The estate was no longer a place of stillness. It pulsed with movement. Men in black suits lined the halls. Maps were pinned across the dining room table, red threads connecting names and faces Luna barely recognized. Conversations were clipped, tactical.
Yet all eyes shifted when she entered.
No longer hidden in the shadows or confined to Damien's presence, Luna now walked with purpose. The heir had stepped out of obscurity, and the wolves could smell it.
"She doesn't look like a Cross," someone muttered near the armory.
She stopped walking.
"And what do Crosses look like?" she asked, her voice cool and clear.
The room fell silent.
Damien smirked from across the room. "Like that."
She joined him at the map, eyes scanning routes, danger zones, marked territories.
"This," Damien said, pointing to a blinking dot near the docks, "is where Serafina operates now. She's mobilizing."
Luna's eyes narrowed at the name. "Then we move first."
"You're not ready for a strike."
"I don't need to be ready," she said. "I need to be feared."
He tilted his head, studying her. "You're beginning to sound like one of us."
She met his gaze. "I was born one of you. I just forgot."
Behind them, one of Damien's men entered the room hurriedly. "A message just came in encrypted. From someone claiming to be a survivor of the Virelli massacre. They want to meet."
Luna's blood ran cold.
"A survivor?"
"Yes. And they said something else." The man handed Damien a piece of paper.
Damien read it aloud.
"She doesn't know the real reason they wanted her dead. But I do."
Silence.
Then Luna stepped forward, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper.
"Set the meeting," she said.
Damien nodded. "And if it's a trap?"
"Then let them try," she whispered. "This time, I won't run."