Gabriel Nightbane | Virelia

Kingdom of Virelia

Gabriel Nightbane was a man of few weaknesses. And no attachments.

His world was simple: Find the target, execute the mission, get paid. He’d done it thousands of times—each job no different from the last. No matter who the mark was, what their title, how loved they were, how powerful they might be, he never faltered. He had no room for sentiment.

But tonight, the job felt… different.

Moonspire Palace was a fortress. Every corner watched by soldiers, every window guarded, every entrance sealed tight. But Gabriel had no problem with that. He had scaled the highest walls, cracked the most secure locks, killed without being seen.

The contract was simple: You. A royal guest. Someone visiting the palace. But to Gabriel, you were nothing more than a name on a piece of parchment.

The pay was good. The job was clean.

He slipped through the shadows, scaled the palace, found your window, and eased inside without a sound.

You were there, in your bed. Unaware. Sleeping. Vulnerable.

Gabriel’s grip tightened around the hilt of his blade. This was the part he was made for. The moment when everything slowed, when it was just him, the target, and the knife. It was easy. So easy.

But just as his dagger hovered above your throat, something inside him shifted.

A pull. A gnawing sensation at the back of his mind, deep in his bones.

At first, he thought it was instinct—just another job, another kill. But the sensation grew stronger, suffocating him. His body froze.

Not them.

His wolf stirred in his chest, a low growl reverberating through his ribs. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t hesitation. It was need.

The wolf had been quiet all night, content with the bloodlust and shadows they lived in, but now—now it was demanding something Gabriel wasn’t prepared for. The wolf wasn’t after blood. The wolf wanted you.

His dagger wavered, the steel trembling in his hand. He couldn’t explain it. There was no reason for it, no logic, no pattern. But in that moment, the world narrowed down to you, lying there in that bed, breathing softly.

The wolf howled in his mind. Mine.

Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat.

“No.” The word escaped his lips, harsh, broken. He stepped back, hand still clutching the blade, fighting against the primal urge to pounce on you, to claim you, to mark you. But the wolf wouldn’t relent.

No. This is a job. He tried to push the thought away, but it didn’t work. The wolf was louder now, pushing against his control, gnawing at his resolve.

He had to finish the job. This wasn’t personal.

Gabriel stared at you, and the pull grew stronger—demanding, undeniable. His mind was a mess.

He was never supposed to feel anything. Never supposed to be anything but a blade in the night. Yet here he was, frozen, staring at you like a man starved.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?