novelraw Sister of Smoke:
Sister of Smoke:
[POV: Dayana]
The ink flowed smoothly beneath my hand, each curve of the pen a perfect stroke of artistry and venom.
To Alpha Hayden of Crimson Fang,
I write to you not with accusation, but with concern. My elder sister, Aria, went missing some time ago. Our family feared the worst. We searched, grieved, hoped. Imagine our surprise when we discovered she had not only survived—but had taken refuge within your territory.
We are, of course, relieved to know she is safe. And yet, questions remain. Why did she leave? What has she told you? And what does she seek to gain within your ranks? Aria has always been fragile, prone to confusion… even delusion. Her past, I fear, may one day catch up to her. I write only to ask that you remain cautious. Aria is still our blood. And blood must be returned.
Dayana Nightshade, Future Luna of the Midnight Crest pack.
I smiled as I sealed the letter.
Hayden would read those words and feel the weight of them. The polite tone, the sisterly worry, the veiled warnings—he’d know. He was too sharp not to.
And that was the beauty of it. It would begin quietly. Slowly. But it would begin.
My plan was in motion.
And Cole had walked into it so perfectly, so predictably.
Poor fool.
He had always been easy to sway with guilt and nostalgia—such a soft heart beneath that would-be warrior exterior. I hadn’t even needed to twist him that hard. Just a few tearful glances, a faint tremble in my voice, a well-timed kiss… and he folded like a flower starved of sunlight.
He thought he was protecting Aria. He had no idea he was delivering her.
The thought made me hum with satisfaction as I stood by the window of my chambers, watching the moonlight wash over the pines below. Everything looked so calm. So still.
But underneath chaos is stirred. And I would be the one to unleash it.
Aria never deserved anything she had. Not the strength she discovered so late. Not the wolf that finally woke. Not the friends she’d made, the marks she’d earned, the place she now called home.
She was born weak. Shaking. Silent. A child of moonlight and shame.
And I was the fire. The chosen one. The Luna-to-be.
Yet here I stood, still clawing at the edge of the role I’d been promised—while she played the underdog, the survivor, the sympathetic little warrior who rose from the ashes and captured hearts like it cost her nothing.
I had given everything to become what I am. Every glance, every lie, every drop of blood spilled in secret.
And still, it had not been enough—not while she lived. Because my happiness… had always depended on her suffering.
That balance, cruel and unspoken, had kept our world in place since we were children.
And now I would tip the scale forever. She would die.
Not quietly. Not instantly. No, I wanted to watch her break. To see her eyes when she realized the truth.
That Cole—her only refuge, her only tether to the past—was part of her end. That he, whether knowingly or not, had led the wolf straight to the lamb.
The betrayal would shatter her. It would snap that fragile new confidence she’d built. And when her voice finally cracked, when the fear finally overtook her eyes, I would be there.
And I would whisper, "This is the fate you ran from."
My fingers drummed against the windowsill, the excitement rising in me like a fever.
The plan was clean.
Cole would distract her, keep her hopeful, keep her meeting him at the border. All I needed was the right moment. A signal. A sliver of vulnerability.
She trusted him. Still. Even now. And trust is the sweetest poison.
Let her imagine that she could still hold his heart. Let her cling to it, believing it would save her.
Because the moment she realized it wouldn’t—that he couldn’t stop what was coming—that was the moment I would savor most of all.
Her face. Her tears. Her silence.
Yes. It was coming.