Page 16

ELIAS

T he bottle’s dry.

The last drops of blood-wine hit the back of my throat like smoke and copper—useless. My head’s still screaming. My skin still burns. And the damn dreams won’t stop crawling through my veins.

I smash the bottle against the concrete wall, glass shattering across the floor like jagged little confessions.

Fuck this.

I need something stronger than this, stronger than the aged whiskey. I need out .

The city’s night-stained and humming when I slip through the lower tunnels, back alley cloak pulled over my shoulders, hood low. This part of town’s forgotten—veins of rust and ash that run beneath the surface of the so-called “clean” zones. Where the rules don’t reach and monsters bleed like men.

Which is why my guy, Drevik, hides out here.

He trades in things you’re not supposed to want—fae-dust, blood-wine, relics carved from bone and nightmares. He doesn’t ask questions, which makes him a rare breed.

I duck under a rusted gate and follow the stink of oil and wet stone to the old freight house.

And stop cold.

Voices.

Too many.

Order agents.

I melt into the shadows, heart kicking up into my throat, breath tight in my chest. They’re not just patrolling.

They’re doing something.

And then I hear it.

A scream.

High. Wet. Young.

I creep closer, slip behind a crumbling pillar.

Damn, they’ve got a hybrid.

Kid can’t be more than seventeen. One of ours. Shaggy hair, claws barely formed, eyes still glowing from his last partial shift. They’ve got him chained between two steel pylons, blood leaking from gashes across his chest. One agent's holding a rune-brand, still hot. Another is prodding.

They’re laughing.

Like it’s a goddamn game.

And then I see her.

Kaia.

She’s standing just behind the one holding the brand. Not smiling. Not laughing. Arms crossed, jaw tight. She’s not stopping it… but she’s not in it either.

She’s watching.

And she looks wrecked.

Her body’s stiff. She flinches every time the kid screams. Her eyes don’t move from him, not even when one of the agents cracks a joke about the “dogboy squeal.”

It doesn’t matter.

It’s enough.

My vision blurs .

The wolf in me snaps loose first, fur surging under skin, bones stretching tight, but I don’t shift fully. I don’t need to. My speed’s enough. My rage is more.

I move.

Fast.

Faster than they can blink.

The first agent goes down with a crushed windpipe that I tear into with my fangs, lapping up his blood to quench my anger but all it does is fuel me on.

The second tries to grab his blade but I’m already behind him—tearing his side open with one swipe of my claws.

Blood arcs across the air like paint on a canvas. Beautiful. Righteous.

Kaia shouts something I don’t hear.

Another turns to fire—too late.

I crush his skull against the wall with my boot. It explodes like a melon.

And now they’re screaming.

Now they realize who I am.

Too fucking late.

The branded hybrid collapses as the pylons short. I grab him, toss him to the side out of the fray. “Run,” I snarl. “Now.”

He does.

I pivot.

There’s only one left standing now.

Kaia.

She’s frozen. Weapon raised but not aimed.

Her mouth is open, words trying to form, but nothing comes out.

And I stalk toward her slow, step by blood-soaked step.

Her eyes flick to the others, dead. Broken. Mine.

Then back to me.

Her hands tremble.

I don’t stop.

I can smell her fear. Her conflict. The war going on inside her.

And I don’t care.

Because she stood there.

She didn’t stop it.

I’m inches from her now, heart a livewire, claws flexed, vision swimming red.

I could end her.

Right here. Right now.

My hand rises.

Her breath catches, then a total stop.