Aurora’s POV
Raymond.
It had to be him. The calculation of my cycle didn’t lie. A sob escaped my throat, but I quickly choked it back, replacing the grief with a sudden, icy hatred. If I kept this baby, Raymond would find out. He was a predator; he would sll the change in , and he would use this child as a leash to control .
He was a monster. And I would never let a monster raise my child.
"I have to kill him," I whispered to the empty stall. The words felt heavy, like a blood oath. "One for my baby. Two for what he did to my family."
I stood up, wiped my eyes with a rough sweep of my sleeve, and threw the test away. I was no longer the girl hiding in the dark. I was a mother protecting her nest.
I pulled out my phone. My fingers didn’t shake this ti. I typed out the ssage to Raymond’s original line.
Aurora: I want us to see each other. It’s important.
I didn’t wait for a reply. I knew he would co. He couldn’t resist the pull he thought he had over . When I returned to the packhouse, I didn’t go to my room. I went straight to the dical wing.
The scent of antiseptic and sage filled the hall. I pushed open the door to Oliver’s suite and stopped. He was sitting up, his chest bare except for the fresh bandages. I stood watching the healers pack away their silver-tipped instrunts. Seeing Oliver upright, the color returning to his face, should have been the relief I needed. Instead, it felt like a countdown.
He raised a convening brow when he noticed my presence. "Are you okay?"
"I’m okay," I said, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. I walked toward him, the weight of the pregnancy suffocating . "The air helped. And the coffee."
Oliver reached out, taking my hand. His grip was firm—a King’s grip—but his eyes remained soft, searching mine. "You’re still pale, Aurora. And your scent... it’s changed. It’s heavy. Sweet, but sharp."
I forced a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I knew what he was slling: the hormonal shift of a new life. Raymond’s child in . The calculation in the bathroom had been undeniable. The timing of my last cycle, the nights at the club... the math didn’t lie. This child was the seed of a masked assassin.
"It’s just the stress," I repeated, lies easily leaving my lips.
I walked to his bedside, the weight of the secret pressing on my lungs. I looked at his kind face, the man I truly loved, and I knew I had to do this. I needed the ans to end Raymond.
"I’m okay," I said, forced calm coating my words. "But Oliver... I’m scared. After everything with Alex and with you having so many enemies, I realize I have no way to protect myself if I’m alone. I need sothing. A fail-safe."
Oliver frowned, his hand reaching for mine. "You have the guards, Aurora. You have ."
"Guards can be bought. And you... you were almost taken from ," I said, my voice cracking—that part, at least, was true. "I want a weapon," I said quietly. "Sothing to protect myself with. Sothing that can easily kill a werewolf, just in case any of my attackers are one. I don’t want to be a victim ever again."
Oliver stared at for a long beat. I expected him to argue, to tell he would protect , but instead, he gave a slow, solemn nod.
"I’ve had that in mind for a long ti, Aurora," he said softly. "I wanted to give you sothing, but I was afraid you wouldn’t accept it. I didn’t want to bring more violence into your life."
He grunted as he shifted his weight, moving with a slight pain toward his walk-in closet. My heart raced, my throat dry. Every second felt like an eternity. When he walked back out, his hand was closed around a heavy object. He stopped in front of and held out a sleek, matte-black pistol. It looked lethal—beautiful in a terrifying way.
"It’s a gift from my godfather," Oliver said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, serious tone. He held the pistol out on his open palms, offering it to with a reverence that made my skin crawl. "I’ve had this for years. I wanted to give it to you weeks ago, but I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want you to look at and see only the violence of our world."
I reached out, my fingers trembling as they brushed the cold, heavy tal. It was sleek, black, and surprisingly small—perfect for hiding under a cloak or in a small bag.
"There are ten bullets in the magazine," he continued, his eyes locked onto mine, searching for any sign of hesitation. "But these aren’t normal bullets, Aurora. They are custom-forged."
He pressed a release button, and the magazine slid out into his hand. He pointed to the tip of the top round. It didn’t have the usual brassy sheen; it was a dull, lethal grey.
"The cores are solid silver," he explained, "but they’ve been hollowed out and filled with a concentrated extract of Northern Wolfsbane. It’s the most toxic strain in existence. For a human, it’s instant cardiac arrest. For a werewolf..."
He paused, his jaw tightening. "Even a scratch from one of these will paralyze the nervous system within seconds. A direct hit to the chest or head? Their wolf won’t even have ti to realize it’s dying. There is no healing from this. No coming back."
I took the weapon from him, and my mind flashed to Raymond—to his arrogance, his mask, and the way he thought he could claim a life that wasn’t his to take. This wasn’t just a gun; it was the end of the nightmare growing inside .
"You have to be careful," Oliver whispered, wrapping his large, warm hands over mine as I gripped the handle. "If you ever have to use this, you don’t talk. You don’t hesitate. You aim for the center of the chest and you pull the trigger until the threat stops moving. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I said, my voice finally finding its strength. "No hesitation."
Oliver pulled into his chest, his scent and healing herbs wrapping around . He had no idea he had just handed the key to my freedom—and the tool for a murder.
"Do you want to learn how to use it properly?" Oliver asked, his voice low and grounding. "I don’t want you carrying a weapon you don’t know how to wield."
"Yes," I breathed, the word coming out more like a plea. "Show . Now."
Despite the bandages across his ribs and the way he moved with a slight stiffness, he didn’t argue. He led deep into the lower levels of the packhouse, past the gyms and the armory, to a private indoor shooting range. The air here was cool and slled faintly of oil and old gunpowder.
He didn’t make use the silver-laden pistol yet. Instead, he pulled a standard trainer from a locked cabinet.
"Stand here," he commanded softly, positioning in the center of the lane.
He stepped up behind , his large body a solid wall of heat against my back. His presence was overwhelming. He reached around, his thick arms caging in as he placed his hands over mine on the grip of the gun.
"Focus on the sight, Aurora. Breathe out half a breath, then hold it."
As he spoke, his hand slid down, adjusting my stance. His palm brushed against my stomach, lingering there for a second to steady my hips. A sharp, electric tingle shot through —a sensation so intense it made my knees weak. It wasn’t just the usual spark of our bond; it was deeper, more primal, as if the new life inside was reacting to his proximity, even though it wasn’t his blood.
I shivered violently.
Oliver noticed imdiately. He paused, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "What? You’re shivering from my touch, Aurora?" He let out a soft, dark scoff, his chest vibrating against my spine. "I’m trying to be a teacher here, baby, and you’re acting like I’ve got you pinned to a bed."
I let out a shaky laugh, but he didn’t understand. I was always turned on by him—his power, his scent, the way he claid space—but this was different. He wasn’t even trying to seduce . He was just standing there, being the King, being my protector, but my body was betraying . Between my legs, I was already slick, a heavy, pulsing ache radiating through my core that made it hard to think about the target in front of us.
"Oliver," I whispered, my voice breaking.
He moved his hand to adjust my grip again, his thumb dragging across the sensitive skin of my wrist. It was a normal, functional movent, but a small, involuntary moan escaped my lips.
He froze. "Aurora?"
I couldn’t take the distance anymore. I didn’t want to think about the gun or the man I had to kill at midnight. I needed to feel him. I turned in the circle of his arms, the training pistol forgotten on the ledge, and crashed my lips against his.
I kissed him with a desperate, hungry intensity, my tongue seeking his, my hands tangling in his hair to pull him closer. I wanted to disappear into him. I wanted his scent to drown out the sll of the pharmacy and the bathroom stall.
He groaned into my mouth, his hands dropping to my waist and pulling flush against his hard fra, careful of his wounds but unable to resist the fire I was throwing at him.
"You’re going to be the death of ," he growled against my lips, his grip tightening. "We’re supposed to be training."
"I don’t want to train," I whimpered, pulling his head back down to mine. "I just want you."
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