Maximus's POV
The scent hit before the alarm sounded—burnt wood, sweat, and blood carried on the wind.
Rogues.
I shifted mid-stride, claws ripping through my skin as Caelum roared inside me. By the time I made it to the outer wall, the palace guards were already engaged. It was chaos—wolves clashing in the moonlight, snarls echoing through the stone walls.
They had broken through the southern perimeter.
Five of them.
Smart, fast, coordinated.
Too coordinated.
I tore into the nearest one without hesitation. Caelum's rage surged through my limbs, and the world turned red. Two went down under Lucien's blade. One managed to flee. And one—just one—was caught alive.
We dragged him into the stone cells beneath the palace. He was half-mad, bones cracking from his failed shift, skin singed like he'd run through fire. But there was something in his eyes. Not feral. Not wild.
Intent.
Lucien paced in front of the bars. "Tell us who sent you."
The rogue spat blood and grinned, teeth cracked. "You already know."
"Speak his name."
He just laughed.
We didn't ask politely after that.
Hours passed. The scent of burnt flesh hung in the air. His bones healed too fast. His tongue refused to give us anything but riddles and curses.
But then—just when Lucien snapped his jaw in frustration and turned to walk away—the rogue spoke.
"It doesn't matter. He's already here."
Lucien spun back. "Who?"
The rogue's smile twisted. "He's inside your gates."
And then… he screamed.
Not in pain—but in something darker. His eyes rolled back. His body convulsed.
And before we could stop it, he turned to ash.
No blood. No final breath.
Just ash.
I stood over the empty cell, my fists clenched so hard blood dripped from my palms. The torchlight flickered over the pile of dust and scorched leather that used to be a man.
Lucien exhaled. "That wasn't natural."
"No," I growled. "It was magic."
My wolf was pacing, snarling, demanding release. Everything in me wanted to run, to hunt, to kill whatever force was behind this. But there was no enemy here. No one to fight.
Only ash.
"I need air," I muttered.
Lucien caught my arm. "You need Althea."
I tensed.
"She calms you," he added simply. "Let her."
When I returned to the main level, I found her in the hallway already—Kaelani must've sent word. She was barefoot, wrapped in one of her lighter robes, her silver eyes wide with worry as she rushed to me.
"Maximus—what happened?"
I couldn't speak. I just pulled her into me.
Her arms came around my back without hesitation. No questions. No fear.
Just warmth.
I buried my face in the curve of her neck. Her scent—moonlight and something softer—wrapped around me, and for the first time in hours, I could breathe again.
"Talk to me," she whispered.
"They got through. Five of them. One survived… until he didn't."
She pulled back enough to look me in the eyes. "What do you mean?"
"He disintegrated. As if someone triggered it from afar. He said… 'He's already inside your gates.' Then he turned to ash."
Her lips parted. "That's dark magic."
"Yes."
I touched her face, brushing my thumb beneath her eye. "I don't want you out there without guards anymore."
"You won't cage me."
"I'll protect you."
"You can do both," she said gently, cupping my jaw. "But don't close yourself off."
I leaned into her hand, the fire in me cooling under her touch.
"You came at the right time," I whispered.
"I'll always come."
I kissed her then—slow, searching, like I needed to prove I could still feel. She responded with soft insistence, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressed to mine like a promise.
She didn't try to fix me. She just stayed.
That was everything.
Later, after I'd calmed and cleaned the blood from my hands, I found her again in her room—folding clothes into a small satchel.
I leaned against the doorway. "Planning a trip?"
She turned, surprised. "You said I couldn't go anywhere without guards."
I smirked. "Then maybe you need to go somewhere safer."
"Like where?"
I pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us. "My room."
Her eyes sparkled. "Your bed is warmer."
"Bigger, too."
She arched a brow. "You sure you want me taking up half your closet?"
"I want you taking up everything."
She stepped closer, placing her palm against my chest. "Then help me carry this."
I lifted the bag effortlessly and slung it over my shoulder. "You're home now, Althea. I'll remind you every day if I have to."
And when we left the room, hand in hand, I felt something shift in the air—like we'd crossed a threshold. Into war, yes. Into danger.
But also… into something unstoppable.