The Wicked Wolf

His : One

“They say you’re the best.”

I stared blankly at them, giving nothing away.

“The famous Werewolf Hunter who’s never failed a job.”

Again, I gave them only silence.

"They say you're like a ghost. You work so quickly that it's like you were never there. Untraceable."

I said nothing.

I give them nothing.

“I’ve heard that once you’re given a target, you’re relentless. Unstoppable. Bloodthirsty. I heard you stalk your targets like prey, always watching and always ready for the kill. After all, everyone knows that no target survives after meeting you. Once they become your target, they start counting down the last seconds of their life. The Princess won’t be any different, will she?”

“No.” I said simply. If anything, it makes it better, but I don’t have to tell him that. “They’re all the same to me. What matters is the price.”

Everyone knows that the Princess is untouchable.

It's basically the law of the Wicked Wolf.

And no one wants to mess with that demon. No one has ever survived it.

“Good. We’ll pay whatever amount, whatever it takes, just give her to us. Preferably alive and kicking you if you know what I mean.”

I should have asked why.

But in my line of work it didn’t really matter.

It only mattered that I succeed and get paid for it.

Besides, I had a personal vendetta against that sinful little wretched snake.

Her downfall is the only thing I want and getting paid to do it is just the cherry on top.

I blink away the memory, squinting against the ghostly sunlight that streamed through the canopy of trees. This god forsaken land always seemed to drown in gloom or was it just the amount of death that was here? I could practically smell it in the air.

Probably both.

There have been nine thousand attempts on the Princess’ life. All have failed.

No one has ever come close.

Waiting in the shadows, I knew.

I just knew.

I would be the one that wins.

I’ve been watching the rebel princess for months, researching and studying her every trait. I have been learning about her every move for days and weeks and months. All morning and all night. It was like an addiction— a sickness, and she was that sickness, and I was more than happy to oblige to the obsession if that meant I would be ready for anything.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my line of work, it’s to never underestimate my targets. Especially if my target was some sought after Princess that costs more than all the packs combined.

She literally didn’t have a price.

Whoever gets her becomes king of the world.

It's that simple.

In the months of surveillance, of watching her from the shadows, I have learned a lot about her.

She is seen by everyone as impatient and crass. She's difficult, a problem child.

A rebel. Defiant. Proud. She is wicked like her father and chin high like her mother.

She feared nothing. And feared no one.

The madness within her made her feel invincible.

They even say she doesn’t feel pain and if she does, she seems to enjoy it.

People dreaded her, yet she is still admired.

But she was very much alone, even within the halls of her home. Outside of her family and her family’s immediate circle, she didn’t have anyone. She liked to keep to herself and had a rebellious streak.

Those were always the easiest targets.

I find that she is often ostracized in her family, among the sea of blondes, though it is subtle, and she masks it well.

Some would feel bad for her obvious loneliness, but I know the demons that possess her keep her company.

She absolutely loves her home and adores her family, constantly talking and asking for updates about them, but she is almost never there.

Almost never home.

She personally volunteers for every battle, every fight and anything that would get her outside her home. She fought every time, in the front lines, and won every time.

Minimal casualties on her side.

If at all.

She takes pain well, far too well, but she is too egotistical to think that she can be hurt too badly.

That’s the Rhys in her.

They always think they are the best.

Very predictable.

And just to prove how predictable she is, she came home like I knew she would, and she walked the long way back to the fortress.

Typical.

Despite already seeing her for months and months, it takes me a moment to take her in all over again.

The Princess who was admiring the swamp that she calls home is slight and deceptively frail for a warrior of her caliber. A small and thin creature compared to her beastly father and a far too perfect mother. She wears a dark cloak of detailed crimson, uncaringly dragging it against the muddy ground as she walks forward. An indifferent being in her own right.

She had the type of energy, this incredible aura surrounding her that said if anyone f u c k e d around, they would definitely find out.

In the worst way possible.

But there was something else.

There’s always something else and this one made me flinch just thinking about it.

She looked ethereal. A fictional Goddess drawn up by my mother when I was young to entertain me before bedtime. She didn’t look real. Rhys’ are known for their beauty, yet she takes it a step further. The very way the sun landed on her appeared staged, or maybe my eyes were deceiving me.

Perhaps my exhaustion from months of work was amplifying everything or blurring the lines, because it took seeing her like this, outside a barracks and a battlefield, to make me stop and stare.

There was something dangerous in the way she moved but at the same time it is with such grace that makes it difficult to understand what she really is underneath all that Krul and Rhys bravado.

I watched her carefully, eyes only on her, memorizing… tracking… studying.

I couldn’t stop.

And I tell myself it’s because she’s my mark.

My target.

I do this for all of my targets.

But still.

She is indeed a curious mix. In many ways, she was a rough and ready soldier, quick with a sharp swear word, unconcerned with social convention, and unafraid of getting dirty. In other ways, however, she was surprisingly elegant. Her speech had a formal and intelligent lilt to it that only the most educated people had— though she often tried to hide it, and she walked with perfect posture and a noblewoman's grace.

She isn’t boyish as one would think a battle hardened warrior would be, yet she is still strong and lithe, which was currently hidden in a tight dress that leaves little to the imagination. She was obviously trained for the court, refined yet not exactly demure.

A rebel, and a damn good one.

And right now she took her time, uncaring how late she already was and walked towards the fortress— which I will never admit to anyone but is the hardest place to infiltrate, and that’s with help.

The fortress remains an imposing stronghold. Its ancient mountain looms tall against the backdrop of the sun.

As I watched her walk closer to her home, there was a moment, a traitorous second, where I think she sensed me.

Impossible.

She was about to turn around to look in my direction but shrugged as she saw her favorite cousin waiting for her at the steps of the hidden entrance of the fortress.

My chest tightens and my breath stills even after they enter the fortress.

I almost got found.

It’s never been this close before.

Not when I'm basically invisible to her.