The shadows at the far end of the cavern didn't just shift. They breathed.
Grim figures detached themselves from the gloom.
Nyzor's hunters.
They wore tactical gear that drank the light. No insignias. No faces. Just voids in the dark where men should be.
The air around them crackled with suppressed violence.
"Stay low," Asher growled against her ear.
His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, shoving her deeper behind the stalagmite.
"Silent-kill specialists. They don't announce themselves."
Ravenna's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
This wasn't Emin's hot dominance. It wasn't Damaris's cold control.
This was death. Plain and simple.
Her insides twisted. The Lycan side wanted to snarl and fight. The Witch side wanted to shrink and hide. The conflict made her limbs shake.
"Don't get in my way," Asher warned. His tone was flat. Professional.
He gripped a throwing dagger. The silver edge caught a glint of phosphorescent light from the cave roof.
"If you have any more little explosions planned, tell me before you light the fuse."
He didn't wait for an answer.
He melted into the darkness. Gone.
Ravenna peered around the wet stone. Her breath caught in her throat.
Three hunters. Moving in perfect sync. Fanning out.
They scanned the cavern with cold, careful eyes. Looking for a heat signature. A heartbeat.
My scent.
Ravenna forced herself to breathe. Quiet. Be a rock. Be nothing.
Asher moved.
He didn't run. He flowed like smoke between the boulders.
He wasn't attacking. He was dancing. Making himself the target.
One hunter—faster than the others—broke formation. He lunged, a dark blade flashing.
Asher didn't block. He twisted.
He ducked the strike, kicked the blade away, and shoved the hunter hard into a cavern wall.
Crash.
A cascade of small rocks fell.
It wasn't a kill. It was a diversion.
He's buying time, she realized. For me.
Her chaos was a beacon. But maybe... maybe it could be a shield.
She closed her eyes. She reached for that volatile, buzzing energy in her chest.
This time, she didn't try to explode. She focused on the sound.
Noise.
She grabbed the echo of the falling rocks and pushed.
It wasn't a spell. It was a sonic shove.
The sound slammed into the cavern walls, amplifying the crash into a deafening roar.
BOOM.
The hunters flinched. Their heads snapped toward the echo, confused by the acoustics.
Asher seized the split second.
He lunged. A flash of silver.
The disarmed hunter went down. Silent. Limp.
Asher didn't kill him. He just carved a small, crude mark into the man's tactical vest. A rogue symbol.
"Smart," Asher's voice hissed from the dark. "You learn fast, little witch."
He moved again. Drawing the remaining two hunters away.
He was the distraction. She was the bait.
But Nyzor's hunters were pros.
One of them—a massive hulk of a man—sniffed the air.
He ignored Asher. He bypassed the misdirection.
He turned his head. His eyes locked onto the stalagmite.
He was coming for her.
The hunter burst out from behind the rock. Hands reaching. Claws extending.
Ravenna didn't think.
Instinct took the wheel.
A raw, deep snarl ripped from her human throat. Her eyes flashed silver.
Her hands, still tingling from the diner, flared.
She didn't weave a spell. She just released the pressure valve.
BAM.
A searing blast of heat and force erupted from her palms. It slammed into the hunter's chest like a cannonball.
He flew backward.
He hit the cavern wall with a sickening thud and crumpled. Out cold.
Ravenna stood there. Panting.
Her hands were smoking. Literally smoking.
She stared at them, eyes wide with terror and a sick sort of exhilaration.
I did that.
Asher reappeared instantly.
He looked at the unconscious heap of muscle against the wall. Then he looked at her.
A flicker of something crossed his face. Respect? Fear?
"Okay," he muttered, sheathing a blade. "So you're not just chaos. You're a damn wrecking ball."
He grabbed her hand. Rough urgency.
"Come on. We need to move before his friends realize he's just napping."
He pulled her deeper into the labyrinth.
High above.
In the clean, sterile center of the Shadowed Spires.
The air was thick enough to choke on.
Emin Fernwhistle stood facing Damaris the Black.
The Warlock's lab was a mess. Tables overturned. Glass shattered. A testament to a Lycan tantrum.
"She escaped," Emin snarled. His golden eyes were slits of pure rage. "Your cage leaked."
Damaris stood amidst the wreckage. He looked calm, but his jaw was tight. He was tweaking the dials on a backup scrying orb.
"And your dominance was ineffective, Alpha," Damaris countered smoothly. "She slipped your grasp first."
The orb flared to life.
A grainy, distorted image of the tunnels appeared.
A small, flashing dot: Ravenna.
And right next to her, a faster, erratic red dot: Asher.
"His scent is unmistakable now," Emin grated out. "The rogue. Asher Vervent. I should have known."
Damaris scoffed.
"Forget the rogue. Think about the assassination. The Lycan Elder."
Damaris looked up from the orb.
"Nyzor is escalating. And Ravenna, with her little power burst, just painted a giant bullseye on her back."
"A bullseye that carries my mark!" Emin roared. He pounded a fist onto a steel table, denting it. "She is mine, Warlock! You will not turn her into your weapon!"
"And you will not reduce her to a mindless Luna!" Damaris snapped. His calm finally cracked.
"She is the key to the prophecy! Your primitive instincts will destroy her!"
They stood nose-to-nose.
Two powerful lords. Two natural enemies.
The Mate Bond thrummed between them—an agonizing, contradictory force connecting them to the same woman.
They hated each other. But they needed the same thing.
"Nyzor's forces are sweeping the lower tunnels," Damaris said. His voice went flat. Logical.
"If we do not move, he will have her. Or the rogue will disappear with her, and we will lose the key forever."
Emin's golden eyes burned.
He looked at the orb. At the tiny dot that was his Mate. Running from him. With a man he hated. Toward an enemy he vowed to kill.
He swallowed his pride. It tasted like ash.
"We move together," Emin bit out. "For now."
Damaris gave a thin, humorless smile.
"An unholy alliance, Alpha. How perfectly... chaotic."
He gestured to a portal swirling open in the corner.
"This way. If we want the Hybrid, we need the rogue. He knows the tunnels best."
Emin glared at the portal.
He had no choice.
He marched through.
The hunt for Ravenna—the Hybrid's Fated Crown—had truly begun.