Aurora’s POV

​I sat on the edge of my bed, the silence of my apartment ringing in my ears. My phone was a heavy weight in my palm, the screen glowing with the sent message that felt like a suicide note for my soul. I had just walked away from Oliver—the only man who ever made me feel like I wasn’t a weapon—to chase this monster.

​My thumb hovered over the call button. I dialed. Once. Twice. Each ring felt like a hammer blow to my chest. He didn’t pick up. Raymond was playing with me, dragging out the anticipation of my own destruction.

​Finally, the screen lit up with a notification.

​Raymond: Sure. Let’s see each other tonight. 7pm. At the club.

​I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and typed a single word back.

​Aurora: Okay.

​I tossed the phone aside and crawled toward my laptop, my movements stiff. My temple throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of why I was doing this. I opened a private browser, my fingers flying across the keys as I entered the words I never thought I’d type.

​How to kill a werewolf.

​The results flooded the screen—most of them useless myths about silver bullets and wolfsbane that only caused a rash. I refined the search: How to kill an Alpha.

​The screen flickered as I scrolled through deep-web forums and archived supernatural lore. The options were grim:

​Decapitation: Effective, but required a strength I didn’t possess against a trained assassin.

​Heart Extraction: Impossible for a human to perform before being torn apart.

​High-Concentrate Wolfsbane Injection: Might slow him down, but a True Alpha’s metabolism would burn through it in minutes.

​Then, I found it. A post on an old, obscured alchemy board.

​The Midnight Hemlock Extract: A synthetic derivative refined with crushed silver particles and ancient root toxins. It is colorless and nearly odorless. If ingested, an Alpha’s heightened senses will detect the chemical bitterness. However, if applied to a blade, the toxin enters the bloodstream directly through the dermis. It causes immediate paralysis of the heart and lungs. Death occurs within ten seconds.

​I stared at the screen, my breath hitching. A poison. I didn’t need to be stronger than him. I didn’t need to win a fight. I just needed one scratch. One successful strike.

​I searched for suppliers, looking for any black-market apothecary or dark-web vendor that listed it. I scrolled through page after page, my eyes straining against the blue light.

​Nothing.

​It wasn’t listed on any of the standard illegal markets. It was too rare, too dangerous. I bit my lip, feeling frustrated, a deep frown etching into my face. I had the method, but I lacked the means.

​Stabbing Raymond with an ordinary silver knife would hurt him, yes, but it wouldn’t kill him. He was a legendary killer; he would heal, and then he would end me. I needed that poison. It was the only way this ended with his blood on my hands instead of mine on his.

​But where do I find a toxin meant for kings in a world that doesn’t want me to win? I had to think like a criminal. I knew someone at the club had to know where to find things that didn’t exist in the light. This place was full of illegal deals and secret desires. Someone here was greedy enough to point me toward the Midnight Hemlock.

​I fell back onto the bed. The laptop screen cast long, scary shadows on the ceiling. My thoughts drifted to Oliver. I kept seeing his face—the way he looked at me with that cold, distant frown this morning.

​"I’m sorry," I whispered into the empty room. My voice was breaking. "When all this is over... I hope you can forgive me. I hope we can be together."

​I stayed like that for a long time. I was torn between the girl who wanted to run back to Oliver and the woman who had to finish this mission. Finally, I was so tired that I fell into a heavy, dark sleep.

​I woke up gasping for air. My heart was hitting my ribs so hard it felt like it would crack.

​The dream was still clear in my mind. I had been standing in a dark hallway with a silver knife in my hand. I had stabbed Raymond in the back, feeling the metal go through him. But when he turned around, the dark mask was gone. It was Oliver’s face staring at me. His eyes were full of confusion and pain.

​"What kind of dream is that?" I muttered. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. I shivered, trying to forget the image of Oliver’s blood on my hands.

​A loud ping from my phone scared me. I grabbed it, and my eyes went wide when I saw the time. It was past 7:00 PM.

​Raymond: I’m here. Where are you?

​"Shit," I hissed. I was late.

​I jumped off the bed. My heart was racing for a different reason now. I threw on some dark clothes—something that made me feel strong—and ran out of the apartment.

​The taxi ride felt like it took hours. Every red light made me angry. When I finally reached the club, the loud music was already shaking the ground. I stepped inside, and the smell of tobacco and musk hit me like a wall.

​As I walked toward the private rooms, I felt people watching me. Several Doms were leaning against the pillars. They stared at the bandage on my head. They didn’t say a word, but their silence felt like they were judging me.

​I reached Raymond’s door. My hand was shaking as I held the handle. I took a deep breath and pushed it open.

​Raymond was there. He wasn’t sitting at his desk this time. He was standing by the window. He looked like a dark shadow against the red lights of the room. When he heard the door, he turned slowly. He had a mean smirk on his lips behind that scary mask.

​But as I walked into the room, the air changed. It felt much colder. He felt different tonight—dangerous. I couldn’t explain it, but he seemed... angry. It wasn’t the calm anger he usually had. It was a deep, burning rage that made my skin crawl.

​"You’re late, Aurora," he said. His voice was a low, scary growl that I felt in my bones. "I was starting to think you finally got smart and stayed home."