"Ragnar, cut it out." Charlotte was pinned against the solid wood door, the heat radiating off him like a furnace—a telltale sign of his energy core reaching its boiling point.
"I'm not playing around. I'm hitting my limit here." Ragnar rasped, his voice thick with suppressed agony. The Berserker Syndrome was temporarily dormant, but for a high-tier Alpha like him, that much raw power needed an outlet, or it would start eating him alive from the inside.
Charlotte let out a soft sigh. She pressed her deft fingers against his chest, finding that one obscure pressure point where his energy pathways converged.
In her mind, the system's chime rang out: [Target energy overflow at 30%. Physical discharge recommended.]
"Lie down," she commanded, her voice dropping into a low, authoritative tone that left no room for debate.
In the shadows of the bedroom, she let her mastery of Black Wolf anatomy take over. Her hands moved in a fluid, rhythmic dance, applying precision pressure to the acupoints along Ragnar's spine and temples.
With every press, a guttural groan escaped Ragnar's throat—not out of pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming relief of having years of pent-up aggression finally channeled and released.
The air in the room grew thick with tension. Ragnar's knuckles turned white as he gripped the bedsheets, veins popping along his arms. He watched this woman manipulate his body with such terrifying ease; it wasn't just his desire she held—it felt like his very soul was dancing at her fingertips.
Better?" Charlotte finally pulled back, wiping a stray bead of sweat from her brow.
Without a word, Ragnar lunged upward, hooking an arm around her waist and dragging her back against him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent like a drowning man catching air. He breathed her in, drawing strength from the scent that kept him grounded. In that moment, the most feared tyrant in the realm was officially wrapped around her finger.
[Ding! Ragnar favorability +15%, Progress: 80%!]
The next morning, Charlotte didn't linger in the afterglow. She mustered the Black Wolf brass at the training grounds and fired up a holographic tactical model.
"This is the defensive layout of White Wolf Island, and these are the routes Valeria's mercenaries are patrolling," Charlotte explained, her fingers blurring as code blurred across the displays in a frantic stream. "I want the vanguard on these sims, now. Ragnar, gear them up. It's time I showed you what a real technological curb-stomp looks like."
"You guys used to rely on brute force. Now, I'm teaching you the art of information warfare." Her fingers tapped a final sequence, and the system automatically flagged the holes in the island's defenses, uploading a custom program directly into the tactical visors of every Black Wolf soldier.
"Look at the green markers. That's where we break them. Red means traps. Ragnar, take your team in. By the time Valeria's coronation rolls around, I want her hunted by a squad of Black Wolf ghosts she can't even touch."
Ragnar watched the enemy firepoints get lit up with terrifying precision. Her sheer mental speed left him floored; the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. This perfect marriage of tech and muscle meant they could end this war with minimal casualties.
Mid-drill, Edric cut across the field, his expression grim. He handed a phone to Charlotte.
The screen was live-streaming the White Wolf Island news: [Valeria officially announces that since the traitor Charlotte stole the Royal Signet, the coronation is a go. To mark the occasion, she will execute all one hundred and five of Charlotte's former loyalists at the White Wolf Scaffolds on the day of the ceremony!]
Charlotte's pupils narrowed into needle-thin slits.
"So, she's finally showing her hand." Charlotte said, her eyes turning predatory. "If she's this desperate to draw me into the open, I'll oblige. I'll make sure it's a day she'll never forget—for all the wrong reasons."
With the battle looming, the four of them gathered in the war room.
"The island is on total lockdown. They've got bio-scanners everywhere — not even a ghost could slip through without a DNA match," Edric noted, pointing at the defense map. "Charlotte, you're public enemy number one. How are you planning to slip past?"
Charlotte gave a faint, knowing smile and looked at Rowan. "That's where Rowan's 'chemical disguise' comes in."
Rowan produced a few translucent vials, a touch of professional arrogance in his eyes. "Biometric IDs can be spoofed. I can temporarily alter Charlotte's subcutaneous melanin and muscle texture. Combined with her hacking skills, we can fabricate a completely new identity."
"I'll go in as one of Ragnar's attendants," Charlotte said, stepping toward Rowan. "Do it."
The surgical lights flickered on. Rowan's movements were surgical and steady, but as his fingertips brushed against the side of her neck, Charlotte felt his breath hitch.
"Charlotte," Rowan whispered her name, his voice barely audible. "Are you sure about this? Going in as a servant? If Ragnar can't protect you…"
"I don't need him to protect me," Charlotte chuckled, catching her reflection in the mirror. "Rowan, once I have that ring back, I'll make you the most powerful Chief Medical Officer the werewolf race has ever seen."
Rowan's hand faltered for a split second. He gave a bittersweet smile. "To hell with power. I just need you back in one piece."
[Ding! Rowan favorability +20%, Progress: 70%!]
Two hours later, the transformation was complete. The icy elegance of the White Wolf had vanished. In her place sat a plain-looking female werewolf with dull skin and a slightly vacant stare.
She then hacked into the werewolf genomic database, overwriting her own bio-signature with that of a fallen Black Wolf soldier.
"This will hold for seventy-two hours. It'll completely mask your White Wolf scent," Rowan said, handing her a final vial. "Just keep your cool. If your heart rate spikes too high, your metabolism will burn through the effects early."
After drinking Rowan's concoction, her scent shifted to a mundane, grassy aroma. Save for the bone-deep chill in her eyes, she was unrecognizable—a far cry from the 'treacherous' usurper the realm was hunting.
The four of them geared up and set out. As the massive Black Wolf flagship cut through the waves toward the island, the distant glow of the coronation fires already lit up the horizon.
As the ship passed through the first biometric checkpoint, a massive red scanning beam began to crawl over Charlotte's body. Everyone held their breath. Ragnar's hand was already white-knuckled on the hilt of his blade.