The Apocalyptic Queen's Werewolf Journey (Thora and Darius) novel Chapter 480

Mace's expression grew darker by the second.

He had absolutely no desire to make an enemy of Greywolf. The priest had warned him repeatedly to steer clear of Lance—the man was not someone you wanted to cross.

But Frost kept going rogue, dragging the Mirage Corsairs into one feud after another with Greywolf.

Useless. Frost was the definition of dead weight—all liability, no upside. The priest should have stripped him of his seat among the Twelve Generals a long time ago.

"And what exactly brings you here tonight?" As Mace spoke, his hand slipped behind his back, flashing a silent signal to his men to get ready.

Sierra immediately moved to Frost's side, her guard fully up—compared to the Mirage Corsairs' raid, Greywolf was the real threat.

"Ha... You call us sewer rats, but what makes you think you're any better?" Frost let out a cold laugh, his voice thick with hostility. "Lance, the blood on your hands makes ours look like a drop in the bucket. So don't stand there acting like you're above it all."

Every word out of Frost's mouth was a deliberate provocation aimed squarely at Lance.

Lance didn't so much as flinch. Instead, he let out a low chuckle—but the sound of it sent an inexplicable chill crawling down every spine within earshot.

His people, however, weren't nearly as composed.

Alissa stepped forward, her dangerous curves now radiating nothing but razor-sharp lethality, her voice cold as steel. "Who do you think you are, talking to our boss like that?"

Lance raised his hand slightly, and Alissa shut her mouth instantly, stepping back with deference.

His gaze settled on Frost, a flicker of amused curiosity in his eyes. He was genuinely wondering where all this hostility was coming from.

Sensing Lance's scrutiny, Frost's face twisted into something feral. He ground his teeth and spat, "What? Do I look familiar to you?"

Lance said nothing, though one brow arched ever so slightly.

Atop the cargo hold, Thora, who had been watching the whole show, shifted almost imperceptibly.

Sierra reached out and tugged at Frost's arm, but there was no holding him back.

Frost couldn't contain it any longer. His voice tore out of him in a ragged snarl. "Seven years ago! Talos City! You slaughtered my entire family!"

His eyes bored into Lance, drowning in a tidal wave of raw, unrelenting hatred—this was the reason he'd been picking fights with Greywolf all along. His entire family had been killed at the hands of this mercenary group, and his parents had been cut down personally by Lance.

He would never forget that day. Watching Greywolf's people move through his home like demons crawling out of hell, butchering everyone he loved.

If he hadn't happened to step out to run an errand, he would have died in that massacre too.

All he could do was hide by the doorway, watching helplessly as they tortured and killed every single member of his family.

Seven years ago?

The figure was dressed entirely in black, their gender impossible to determine, with only a pair of eyes that burned startlingly bright in the darkness. Legs folded, perched on the roof of the truck, she looked for all the world like someone who'd brought popcorn to a show.

Lance's lips twitched upward. He didn't call out. Didn't say a word. Just stood there, gazing quietly at the silhouette.

On the thief syndicate's side, Frost and Sierra recognized Thora instantly, and both their faces changed at the same time.

Sierra's expression was more complicated—beneath the tension, a strange, inexplicable spark of something almost like excitement flickered through her.

"Who are you?" Mace didn't know Thora, but he could tell immediately that anyone who appeared out of nowhere like this was no ordinary bystander. His voice was cold and demanding.

Thora remained cross-legged, hands resting on her thighs, looking down at the crowd below with the calm of someone who had all the time in the world. She let the unhurried words fall from her lips. "Just a spectator."

Everyone froze. For a moment, not a single person had a comeback.

Mace snapped out of it fast. Thora clearly wasn't with Greywolf.

But a fight with Greywolf was inevitable, and there was no way they could leave an unknown player on the board. If she was waiting to swoop in after both sides wore each other down, the consequences would be disastrous.

The thought had barely formed before two thief syndicate operatives raised their submachine guns, taking aim at Thora on the rooftop, fingers tightening on the triggers.