Chapter 3: The Edge of a Knife

Chapter 3: The Edge of a Knife

The world narrowed to the sound of footsteps on gravel and the frantic hammering of Lyra’s heart. The wolf—Orion—was a coiled spring of tension on her floor, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent, deadly snarl. His message was clear, even without words. *Danger.*

A sharp, authoritative knock rattled the cabin’s front door.

Lyra stood frozen, caught between the beast on her floor and the unknown outside. Every fairytale warning screamed at her to not open the door. But this was reality. This was her home. And she was a woman alone, with a mythical creature bleeding on her rug.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” a man’s voice called out. It was deep, smooth, but it carried an unnatural resonance that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. It was the kind of voice used to giving commands.

Orion let out a low, guttural growl, so quiet it was almost a vibration. A warning. A plea.

*Think, Lyra, think.*

Her eyes darted around the room. The fire poker was still outside. The kitchen knife block was on the counter, ten feet away. Useless.

The knock came again, harder this time. “We know you’re in there. We’re… park rangers. We’ve had reports of a dangerous animal in the area.”

Park rangers. A wave of relief so potent it made her knees weak washed over her. Of course. That made sense. They must have been tracking the wounded wolf. They could help. They could take him to a wildlife sanctuary, to a vet. They could handle this.

She took a step toward the door.

Orion moved with shocking speed. Despite his injury, he lunged, not at her, but to block her path to the door. He collapsed almost immediately with a pained whine, but his body was a solid, immovable barrier between her and the exit. His silver eyes burned into hers, wide with a frantic, desperate intensity. He shook his massive head, a clear, vehement *no*.

The voice outside changed. The false politeness evaporated, replaced by a cold, impatient edge. “We can smell the blood, female. And we can smell *him*. Open the door. Now. Or we will break it down.”

*Female.* The word was a slap. It wasn’t a term a ranger would use. And the way he said it was possessive, degrading. The relief curdled into ice in her veins. Orion was right. These weren’t rescuers.

They were the monsters who had done this to him.

Her breath came in short, sharp pants. She was trapped. She looked at Orion, at the raw plea in his eyes. He was a king, brought to his knees, trying to protect her. The absurdity of it, the sheer, terrifying reality of it, crystallized her fear into a single, sharp point of action.

She couldn’t fight them. She couldn’t hide him.

But she could lie.

“Just a minute!” she called out, her voice impressively steady. She forced a note of frailty into it. “I… I’m not dressed! I was just tending to my dog. He got in a fight with something last night.”

She looked down at Orion, trying to convey a plan she didn’t fully have. *Play along.* She grabbed the spare blanket from her armchair and threw it over him, covering most of his body and head, leaving only his muzzle exposed. In the dim firelight, from a distance, he might, *might*, pass for a very large, dark-furred dog.

She took a deep breath, unbolted the lock, and opened the door just a crack, the chain still engaged.

Three men stood on her porch. They were not park rangers.

They were tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in dark, tactical-looking clothing. The one in front, the one who had spoken, had cold, pale blue eyes and a scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. His smile was a thin, predatory slash.

“Your… dog,” he said, his gaze sliding past her, into the cabin, sniffing the air almost imperceptibly. His eyes lingered on the blanket-covered form by the fire. “A big one.”

“He’s a Mastiff mix,” Lyra said, her voice tight. “He’s hurt. I was about to take him to the vet in the morning.”

The lead man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re looking for a wolf. A very specific wolf. You wouldn’t have seen it, would you? Black as pitch. Eyes like silver.”

“No,” Lyra said, too quickly. “I haven’t seen any wolves. Just my dog.”

The man’s gaze was like a physical weight. He was looking at her, through her. He knew. He took a step closer, his boot hitting the door. “It’s a funny thing. Our wolf was injured. Stuck with a piece of silver. The trail of blood led right to this cabin.” His voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “Right to your doorstep.”

Lyra’s blood ran cold. She had nothing left. No more lies.

From under the blanket, a sound emerged. Not a growl. Not a whine. A low, resonant hum, a vibration of pure, defiant power that made the floorboards tremble. It was the sound she’d felt when she touched him. The sound of a king refusing to bow.

The lead man’s eyes lit up with a vicious triumph. “There you are,” he purred.

He slammed his shoulder into the door. The flimsy chain lock snapped like a twig, and the door flew open, crashing against the inner wall.

Lyra stumbled back with a cry as the three men poured into her cabin, their presence instantly making the space feel claustrophobic and deadly. The air filled with the scent of musk and aggression.

The lead man, ignoring Lyra completely, strode toward Orion. “Look at you, Blackwood. Hiding under a blanket, protected by a human. How the mighty have fallen.”

Orion threw off the blanket with a furious jerk of his head. He was magnificent and terrible in the firelight, his weakness forgotten in the face of his enemy. He bared his fangs, a true snarl ripping from his throat now, promising violence.

“Don’t struggle,” the man sneered, pulling a long, wicked-looking knife from his belt. The blade gleamed, a dull, sickly grey. Silver. “This will be easier if you don’t struggle.”

He raised the knife.

“No!” Lyra screamed.

Without thinking, acting on pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct, she grabbed the only thing within reach—the heavy, cast-iron kettle from the stovetop, still half-full of water. She swung it with all her might.

It connected with the lead man’s head with a sickening, metallic *thwack*.

He grunted, stumbling to the side, the silver knife clattering to the floor. He turned toward her, his face a mask of stunned, incredulous rage. A trickle of blood welled from his temple.

“You little bitch,” he snarled, his pale eyes glowing with a feral, yellow light.

For a single, suspended second, there was only the sound of the crackling fire and Lyra’s ragged breaths. She had just declared war on a monster.

And then, from the open doorway, a new voice cut through the tension, cold as winter granite and twice as hard.

“I believe you’re on the wrong side of the border, Rylan.”

Everyone froze.

A new figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the night. He was even larger than the intruders, with a quiet, contained power that made the others seem like rowdy children. His gaze swept the room, taking in the scene—the downed Alpha, the terrified human, the three Bloodfang hunters—with chilling calm.

His eyes, a warm, steady amber, finally landed on Orion. A flicker of relief and fury passed through them.

“Cassian,” Orion’s voice was a ragged whisper, but it was filled with the authority of his title.

The newcomer, Cassian, gave a slight, respectful nod. Then his amber eyes locked on the lead hunter, Rylan.

“The Alpha,” Cassian said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “is under my protection. And you have threatened our future Luna.”

He took a single step into the cabin, and the night itself seemed to lean in with him, ready to devour.

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