The first kill was silent.
Bella moved like a shadow, fast, brutal, unforgiving.
Her claws sank into the warrior's throat, twisting, tearing, blood spraying against the dirt.
The second fell just as easily.
Then the third.
And then?
All hell broke loose.
Wolves clashed, teeth and claws flashing beneath the rising moon.
The air was thick with blood and snarls, with the scent of death and fire.
And Bella?
Bella thrived in it.
She had spent three years in war.
Had learned how to kill without hesitation, without mercy.
And tonight?
She was reminding the world why they had feared her in the first place.
Dante fought beside her, his movements lethal, controlled, devastating.
They weren't just Alpha and Luna.
They were carnage incarnate.
A force that could not be stopped.
A force that would tear down anyone who stood in their way.
By the time the dust settled, by the time the last enemy fell—the battlefield was soaked in red.
And Nikolai?
He was kneeling before her, bloodied, defeated, his breath ragged.
Bella stood over him, golden eyes burning, heart steady.
"You thought I was broken?" she murmured.
Nikolai spat blood.
"You should be."
Bella smiled.
"Then you underestimated me."
Then—
She ended him.