Page 13

Maya

I'm barely standing outside the warehouse, wrapped in Adrian's coat, the heavy fabric doing little to stop the tremors wracking my body. Each breath sends daggers through my chest where the hunters' fists connected. The night air feels like needles against the silver burns on my arms, and the lingering wolfsbane in my system makes the world tilt and spin. Only Adrian's arm around my waist keeps me upright, though I hate admitting I need the support.

The hunters lie restrained on the ground, some unconscious, others groaning in pain. Theo's enforcers stand guard, their expressions unreadable as they ensure none of them attempt escape. Eli and Sawyer patrol the perimeter, scanning for stragglers. The only sounds are the distant rush of wind through the trees and the faint crackle of fire still smoldering inside the warehouse.

Adrian is a barely contained storm beside me, his body rigid with fury. His wolf lingers just beneath the surface—I can feel it in the way his muscles coil and tense against me, in the low growl that rumbles through his chest whenever I sway. The arm supporting me tightens each time I stumble, and I know he's fighting the urge to simply carry me out of here.

"What are we going to do with them?" My voice comes out raw, throat still burning from the wolfsbane they forced down it. The words trigger a coughing fit that makes my ribs scream in protest.

Adrian's other hand comes up to steady me, and I hate the way my body betrays me by leaning into his warmth. His jaw tightens as he glares at our captives. "They deserve worse than death for touching you."

The pure violence in his tone should frighten me. Instead, it sends an inappropriate shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with pain or cold. I force myself to focus on the hunters, their faces twisted in fear and agony. Part of me—the part that still tastes blood and silver in my mouth—wants them to suffer. But I can't let Adrian cross that line.

"We can't—" Another wave of dizziness hits, and I grab his shirt to stay upright. His arm becomes a steel band around me, and I have to take several breaths before continuing. "We can't make them disappear. People will notice. And it would expose everything you're building here."

"Maya." The way he says my name is half-growl, half-plea. "They nearly killed you."

Before I can argue, Lucien steps forward, adjusting his cuffs like we're at a board meeting instead of a battlefield. His presence hits me like a physical force—maybe it's the wolfsbane making me more susceptible to his vampiric aura, but the air feels heavier, colder.

"That," he purrs, silver eyes glinting with dark amusement, "is precisely why I was invited to this little gathering."

I press closer to Adrian instinctively, and his grip tightens in response. The vampire's gaze sweeps over the hunters with elegant disdain.

"I'll ensure they confess. Every detail. They'll turn themselves in as violent extremists, and the authorities will see nothing more than dangerous fanatics who got what they deserved." Lucien's smile shows just a hint of fang. "They might even remember their time here as... considerably worse than reality."

Theo crosses his arms, expression grim. "And Ethan handles the rest."

The detective nods, his amber eyes hard. "The reports will be clean. Just another domestic terrorist cell that got sloppy."

The room spins again, and this time I can't hide how badly my legs are shaking. Adrian notices—of course he does—and suddenly I'm being lifted into his arms before I can protest.

"We're done here." His voice brooks no argument, though I try anyway.

"Put me down," I mumble, even as my head falls against his shoulder. "I can walk."

"You can barely stand." His chest rumbles against my cheek as he speaks. "And if you think I'm letting you out of my sight after what just happened, you're delusional."

I want to argue, to maintain some shred of dignity, but the wolfsbane makes everything fuzzy, and Adrian is so warm. My eyes drift closed despite my best efforts.

The last thing I hear is Lucien's amused voice floating after us: "Do take care of our little wolf, Adrian. She's quite something."

Adrian's only response is a warning growl that vibrates through his chest and into my bones. As consciousness starts to slip away, I feel his lips brush my temple, so softly I might have imagined it.

"I've got you," he whispers.

???

I barely register the sensation of movement until I feel the solid warmth beneath me. Strong arms hold me close, careful but unyielding, and the steady rhythm of footsteps echoes through the vast space around us. I blink sluggishly, my body still heavy from the wolfsbane, but I know exactly where I am.

Adrian.

His scent—sandalwood and winter storms—envelops me, grounding me even as exhaustion claws at my senses. Through half-lidded eyes, I take in glimpses of his home. Everything is exactly what I expected from him—sharp angles, floor-to-ceiling windows, and sleek modern furniture in shades of gray and black. A fortress of glass and steel, as controlled and imposing as the man himself. Yet there's something else too—subtle touches of warmth in the rich leather and dark wood, hints of the alpha beneath the businessman's facade.

"Put me down," I murmur, but there's no real fight in my voice. The wolfsbane has left me feeling disconnected from my wolf, like there's a wall between us, and my limbs feel like they're made of lead.

Adrian doesn't answer, but I feel the subtle flex of his jaw against my temple, the tension in his hold as if he's reluctant to let go. Still, he lowers me carefully onto the plush leather couch in his living room. The moment I'm free of his grasp, I sag against the cushions, wincing as my body reminds me of the abuse it's taken.

Sawyer Kane is already waiting, crouched beside the sleek coffee table with a med kit open, his steel-blue eyes sharp and assessing. He takes my wrist gently, his touch firm but professional.

"You'll heal fast," he says, examining the angry red burns left by the silver cuffs. "But the wolfsbane needs time to work its way out of your system."

I groan. "Great. So I just have to feel like death for a while?"

Sawyer's mouth quirks. "Pretty much."

Adrian growls lowly beside me, the sound vibrating through the air. His frustration is a palpable force, and I catch the way his hands clench at his sides. "What can we do?"

Sawyer reaches into the kit and pulls out a small vial of liquid. "This will help flush it out faster. Tastes like hell, though."

I sigh, too exhausted to maintain my usual stubborn independence. "Just give it to me."

He hands me the vial, and I down it in one go, instantly regretting my life choices. The bitterness burns all the way down, and I cough, my face twisting in disgust. "That's disgusting."

Sawyer snorts. "You're welcome."

He turns to Adrian. "Bandage her wrists. The burns will heal, but covering them will keep them from getting irritated in the meantime."

Adrian takes the medical wrap without hesitation, kneeling beside me. His movements are precise, careful, his large hands inexplicably gentle as he wraps the gauze around my wrists. Each brush of his fingers against my skin sends tiny sparks through me, and I can't tell if it's from the silver burns or something else entirely.

I watch him work, my throat tightening at the intensity of his focus. This is Adrian Blackwell—the cold, ruthless alpha businessman—handling me like I'm something precious.

I swallow against the lump in my throat. "I'm okay, you know."

Adrian lifts his gaze to mine, his storm-gray eyes dark with something that makes my breath catch. "You weren't."

The raw edge in his voice steals any response I might have had.

Sawyer straightens, snapping the med kit closed. "What she needs now is rest."

Adrian nods. "Then she stays here." His voice is final, brooking no argument.

I blink, fighting against the heaviness in my limbs. "I can go home—"

"No."

It's not an order, not quite. But there's something in the way he says it, something raw and unyielding, that makes me hesitate. The look in his eyes tells me this isn't about control—it's about need. His need to keep me close, to know I'm safe.

I'm too exhausted to argue, and if I'm honest with myself, I don't want to.

As sleep pulls me under, I feel Adrian's arms wrap around me again, shifting me carefully until my head rests against his chest. His warmth surrounds me, his scent lulls me, and for the first time since the hunters grabbed me, I feel truly safe. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my cheek, a rhythm that seems to say: you're here, you're safe, you're mine.

Just before I slip into unconsciousness, I hear his voice—low, rough, full of something that makes my wolf stir despite the wolfsbane.

"Rest, little wolf," he murmurs, his arms tightening fractionally around me. "You're mine now. And I won't let anything happen to you again."

I fall asleep with the ghost of those words echoing in my mind, knowing that, for once, I don't have to fight alone.