The mate he failed to kill

The blade was three inches from Nyxara Thorne's heart when her mate gave the order.

"Proceed."

One word. That was all Alpha King Draven Vaelor gave her.

No hesitation. No explanation. Not even a glance.

The executioner froze. "Your Majesty, the charges have not been read."

"Then read them," Severax Dorne called from beside the platform. "The packs should hear why their Luna dies."

The execution ground was packed with wolves from every territory. Some had come for justice. Others had come to watch.

"She isn't even crying," a she-wolf whispered behind the guards.

"She should be," a male muttered.

"She was our Luna," someone else said, so softly the words were swallowed at once.

Severax stepped forward in solemn black. Anyone who didn't know him would have called it grief.

"Nyxara Thorne conspired against the crown," he announced. "She betrayed her mate and endangered every pack under the king's protection."

"Traitor!" a voice screamed from the crowd.

"Let her speak!" another shouted.

"Silence," Severax said. The ground obeyed him.

He raised a bundle of letters above his head. "Her own words condemn her."

Nyxara stared at the pages. Her handwriting. Her private confessions, written to Draven in the dark.

But the sentences had been cut apart and stitched together until her fears sounded like threats.

"Those letters are mine," she said. Her voice cracked across the silence. "That is not what they say."

"They are in your handwriting," Severax replied gently, like a sire correcting a pup.

"The handwriting is mine. The meaning isn't."

"Is that so?" He turned a page and read slowly. "'I am afraid of what happens if I am right.' 'I do not know who I can trust.' 'If anyone finds out, everything will burn.'" He let the last line hang. "Tell the court what you meant, Nyxara."

"I meant I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of exactly this."

A few wolves laughed. The sound turned her stomach.

"Those are questions," she said, louder now. "You cut off the ends."

"Questions," Severax repeated, turning to the crowd. "Does a loyal mate write that everything will burn?"

"No!"

"Burn her!"

Her hands shook inside the chains. She forced them still.

Then she looked at the only wolf who could stop this.

"You know those letters were private," she said.

Draven's jaw tightened.

"You know that isn't what I meant."

Nothing.

"Draven." Her voice dropped until only he could hear it. "Look at me."

His eyes stayed on the stone. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

"Tell them you know me," she whispered.

For one terrible heartbeat, she thought he would. His lips parted.

Then he turned to the executioner.

"Complete the sentence."

Nyxara's heart did not break. It stopped, then restarted in a shape that no longer belonged to her.

Three nights ago, he had held her and sworn that nothing would ever come between them. He had carried her through a snowstorm. He had told her the crown would be worthless if keeping it meant losing her.

She had believed him.

"Three nights ago," she said, and her voice shook, "you said the crown meant nothing."

"Stand back from the prisoner!" a guard barked.

"Did you ever love me?"

The crowd went quiet.

His eyes finally met hers. Pain, maybe. Regret. Neither could save her.

"Once," she said. "Answer me once."

He said nothing.

"Your Majesty?" the executioner murmured.

Nothing.

The executioner raised the dagger.

Ancient symbols were carved into its silver blade. As it came down toward her chest, the markings began to glow.

Severax's mask slipped.

"Hold her still," he snapped.

"She isn't moving, my lord," a guard said.

"Then hold her tighter!"

Fingers dug into her arms until her shoulders screamed.

"What is that?" Nyxara demanded. "What is on that blade?"

"Finish it," Severax hissed.

"My lord, the markings are-"

"I said finish it!"

Nobody answered her.

The dagger struck.

Silver fire tore through her body.

She screamed, and the chains around her wrists shattered. The execution ground shook. Wolves dropped to their knees, clutching their skulls. Royal banners ripped loose in a howling wind.

"Get down!"

"What is she doing?"

"It's the blade! The blade is burning!"

Across the platform, Draven staggered.

A silver mark burned into his chest.

"Nyxara-" he gasped.

For one instant, she felt him reach for her through the bond. The part of him that had always known the part of her.

Then the connection twisted.

A voice that belonged to no living wolf whispered through the fire.

TRANSFER INCOMPLETE. SOURCE SURVIVED.

Severax went white.

"She was supposed to die."

"My lord?" a guard whispered. "What does that mean?"

"Seize her!" Severax roared. "Now!"

The guards rushed her.

Nyxara didn't know what had woken inside her. She only knew the wolves who had held her down were suddenly afraid to touch her.

"Don't let her put a hand on you!" one cried.

"Back away," she warned.

One seized her arm anyway.

She threw him across the platform.

"Get the sword!" another shouted, raising his blade.

She twisted, ripped the weapon from his grip, and ran.

"NYXARA!"

Draven's voice thundered behind her. The mate bond yanked at her bones, demanding obedience.

"Stop!"

The command hit like a chain around her throat. She dropped to one knee.

For years, that voice had been her refuge. Now it was a leash.

"Stop running," he ordered, rougher this time. "Come back to me."

She dug her fingers into the dirt and fought until blood welled beneath her nails.

"I am not," she gasped, "your possession."

The bond shuddered.

Then it snapped.

"Nyxara!"

She didn't look back.

She hit the lower gate and tore into the forest, silver fire still burning in her chest. Branches shredded her dress. Stones split her feet. Behind her, war horns screamed through the trees.

"This way! She went through the gate!"

"Spread out! Find her!"

She ran.

The memories chased her anyway. Draven's laugh. His hands wrapped around hers. Quiet nights when she had believed his arms were the safest place in the kingdom.

She hated herself for missing him.

She hated him more for making her miss a male who had never existed.

She stumbled into a clearing and collapsed against a fallen tree.

Three black wolves slid out of the shadows.

They didn't move like animals. They moved like hunters with orders, eyes locked on the mark glowing beneath her torn clothes.

"No," she breathed. "Not now."

A scarred male followed them out of the dark. A silver symbol, nearly identical to the one on the dagger, was branded into his wrist.

"Nyxara Thorne."

She pushed herself up, shaking. "Stay away from me."

"If I wanted you dead, I'd have left you on that platform."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you're bleeding silver, and every wolf in the capital can smell it."

"Who are you?"

"Thornev Rusk. And I know why they tried to kill you."

She stared at him. "Everyone back there thinks I'm a traitor."

"Everyone back there was told what to think."

A howl rose in the distance. Closer than before.

Thornev's face hardened. "They're coming."

"Then help me fight."

"You don't understand. They aren't hunting you for treason." His gaze dropped to her chest. "They're hunting you because the ritual failed."

"What ritual?" Her voice cracked. "What did they do to me?"

"There's no time-"

Silver-eyed wolves burst between the trees. At their head walked a male wearing the collar of a court witness, one of the very wolves who had sworn against her.

He lifted a scroll.

"By order of Alpha King Draven Vaelor, Nyxara Thorne is to be taken alive."

Her stomach turned.

"Alive?" she said. "An hour ago he ordered me killed."

"The king's orders are not yours to question."

"Read it again," Thornev said flatly.

The witness unrolled the decree. "His Majesty has changed his mind."

The wolves charged.

Nyxara gripped Thornev's knife and bared her teeth.

Let them come.

If her mate wanted her alive, he would learn what it cost to keep a she-wolf alive after teaching her how to die.

And if she ever returned to his kingdom, it would not be to beg for his love.

It would be to make him regret the day he chose her execution.