Aya Lin moved through the city’s shadows like a wounded ghost. For two days, she had hidden inside her crumbling tenement, under the cover of broken beams and decaying plaster, hoping the burning pain in her shoulder would fade. But hunger and something else finally forced her out.

  An awareness tugged at her senses—a subtle pull. A whisper she felt deep within her bones. The pendant—her pendant—throbbed like a metallic pulse, vibrating beneath her ribs as if it were an unclaimed heartbeat.

  She didn’t know how to explain it. She only knew that after losing it, something inside her howled for it—an ache sharper than injury, more primal than her rage. And now, tonight, for the first time since the subway, she felt a flicker of its presence. Aya followed it through the side streets of Hudson Yards, past the shuttered shops and down alleyways where steam hissed from grates like warning breaths.

  The city’s noise didn’t bother her. The footsteps, conversations, distant sirens, and the dull rumble of trucks crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. Beneath it all, the pendant’s call pushed her forward—a cold swirl in her stomach.

  Aya sensed the hunters long before she saw them. She could feel their presence as they tracked her. There was more than one. Their scents blended like threads: wolf, vampire, and an unfamiliar smell.

  Aya hurried through a narrow alley between two old tenement buildings, clutching the frayed edges of her sweatshirt around her ribs. Her wound burned fiercely beneath the fabric. She still hadn’t fully recovered from the subway fight, suffering from a lack of food and sleep. Now, hunters were everywhere.

  She waited until she reached a cracked utility door and ducked inside. The interior smelled of bleach, cold metal, and mildew. Old laundry machines lined up crookedly and rusted. The broken fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

  Aya leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Her pulse slowed as her senses sharpened.

  Outside, she sensed the approach of werewolves. Lean and swift, they jumped across rooftops, darted through alleys, and caught their scent in the wind. But one presence moved gracefully and purposefully in silence.

  Aya exhaled. Who the hell is that? she wondered.

  She walked to the opposite exit, stepping back into the chilly morning air. Steam rose from her breath as she crossed the alley. The pavement glistened with a thin layer of ice and stagnant rainwater. Trash cans were overflowing, and a delivery truck idled nearby.

  She stumbled forward as if pulled by gravity. Aya followed the unseen force, weaving between dumpsters and slipping past shadows, ignoring the pain in her ribs. She ducked into another narrow passage, guided by the invisible thread of her mother’s pendant.

  It was almost within reach, causing her pulse to quicken and her breath to catch. It’s close. Someone has it. She rounded a corner.

  The alley ahead was empty, except for one tall figure standing with his back to her. Broad shoulders, a strong silhouette cloaked in a coat as dark as midnight. Even from behind, he radiated the calm, steady presence of a predator.

  Aya’s muscles tensed, and her fingers clenched.

  He turned just enough for the light to catch his profile. That’s when she noticed the silver at his temples, a face shaped by centuries, and eyes that still glinted in the dimness.

  It had to be him. Her father, Maxximillian DeSilva. His name hit her like a hammer to the chest, and Aya’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected the sight of him to affect her this way. All the anger, grief, and disbelief swirled into something she couldn’t identify.

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  “Come closer,” he said without turning toward her. “I can smell your blood from here.”

  Aya stiffened. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You should be. Fortunately for you, I am not your enemy.”

  He turned to face her, his eyes widening. He inhaled again, the pendant resting in his palm.

  “You…” he said, drawing nearer, his voice dropping to a hollow tone. “You carry my scent.”

  Aya’s chin lifted. “I should. I’m your daughter, Aiyana.”

  The man froze as a sharp silence filled the alley.

  “My mother was Sachi Lin,” Aya continued, fists clenched at her sides. “The woman you left behind.” She bared her teeth as her vision sharpened and lungs expanded.

  Maxx stared at her, his face betraying a flicker of intense shock.

  “Sachi had a child?”

  “A daughter,” Aya snapped. “Yes. A daughter you abandoned to die. A daughter you never looked for. A daughter whose life became a nightmare because you weren’t there.”

  Maxx took another slow step towards her. “I didn’t know.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Your mother never—”

  “She didn’t tell you?” Aya barked out a bitter laugh. “She didn’t get the chance.”

  Something sharp flickered in Maxx’s eyes.

  Aya grew tense, preparing to move forward. And then she felt it. A shift in the air as a presence slipped into the alley like smoke.

  Maxx had noticed too. He squared his shoulders and slid the pendant into a coat pocket.

  Aya turned to see a lone woman standing motionless at the alley’s entrance, lit only by the streetlamp’s faint glow. She began walking toward them, her steps smooth and elegant as a ballerina’s.

  Aya’s pulse quickened.

  Maxx stepped in front of her, placing himself between Aya and the woman.

  A mischievous smile played on her lips as the newcomer paused a few steps away, her piercing blue eyes moving between Maxx and Aya.

  “Well,” she stated, her voice carrying a thick Russian accent. “Looks like I’ve found something interesting after all.”

  A surge of adrenaline coursed through Aya as she met the woman’s gaze, and her eyes fell upon the necklace of fangs draped across her collarbones. Danger emanated from her the way heat radiated from a furnace, with the air tightening around her and even the shadows retreating.

  Aya’s throat went dry. This wasn’t just any hunter; it was death wearing a smile.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” the woman purred. “I was enjoying the family reunion.”

  Maxx held his ground. “What do you want, Valya?”

  “You’re looking well, Maxx,” she said with a coy grin. “You didn’t look this good when we were together, Maksyusha.”

  “Must have been the company I was keeping,” Maxx countered.

  She chuckled and shook her head. “Maxximillian, you never seemed to mind my company when we lay tangled beneath the covers on those cold Romanian nights. We spent hours, how should I say, keeping each other warm.” She licked her lips seductively. “You were a true beast back then.”

  Maxx nodded. “Yes, but I’ve been cultured since.”

  “Valya,” Aya breathed out, the utterance barely audible. Valeska Sergeyevna Draganova. It was a name she had heard whispered among packs, a hushed sound rarely spoken aloud.

  “So,” Valya purred, “you have another daughter. One you abandoned? Not surprising, since you often leave those you claim to love.”

  As Aya coiled to attack, Maxx’s hand shot up behind him, halting her movement. “Aiyana,” he commanded, his gaze fixed on Valya, “do not speak. Do not move.”

  Something in his tone rooted her feet to the ground.

  Valya looked past Maxx and locked eyes with Aya. “Well, well, little wolf. You’re the one stirring up all this trouble,” she murmured. “You’re too young to be involved in such unpleasant matters.”

  Aya’s teeth clenched, and heat coursed through her veins as the wolf began to emerge.

  Maxx’s hand stayed steady.

  Valya’s smile widened as she looked back at Maxx. “Finding you like this, Maxximillian, with a child who smells of your blood. The world is full of surprises.”

  “You’re working for someone?”

  Valya offered a casual shrug. “Work is work.”

  “That isn’t an answer,” Maxx growled.

  “And you aren’t entitled to one.”

  Aya watched as Maxx adjusted his posture, shifted his weight, loosened his shoulders, and took a longer breath. Valya matched him; they resembled two storms on the verge of colliding.

  Aya’s skin prickled as she realized these former lovers shared a dangerous past. And whatever Valya was after, neither she nor Maxx believed it was just a coincidence.

  “Maxx,” Aya whispered.

  His voice sharp. “Silence.”

  “Oh, don’t be so harsh,” Valya cut in. “She’s just a stray pup, trying to survive.”

  Aya’s fingers curled. “A stray? If you wanna fight—”

  “Aiyana.” Maxx didn’t raise his voice, but it echoed through the alley like a royal decree.

  Once again, she froze, watching as the two powerful werewolves prepared themselves for a battle that seemed inevitable.