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thirty

. . .

Finn

T he apartment reeks of stale beer and disappointment.

I sit motionless in the darkest corner of the living room, my body coiled with anticipation, watching the faint blue light of the PlayStation console pulse like a dying heartbeat.

Justin’s scent lingers here—sweat, cheap cologne, and an underlying sourness that makes my wolf bristle beneath my skin.

The messages he sent Mia flashes through my mind again, each word feeding the rage simmering in my veins.

Soon . Soon, he’ll walk through that door, and I’ll show him exactly what happens to men who threaten what’s mine.

I’ve been waiting for three hours, perfectly still, perfectly patient.

Wolves know how to hunt. They know how to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Beer cans litter the coffee table. Unwashed dishes pile in the sink. A half-eaten pizza sits congealing in its box. This is where he kept her. This is the prison Mia called home before we found her.

My phone sits heavy in my pocket as I remember his texts to her over and over. I had taken pictures of them and saved them to my phone.

We agreed to give Justin a warning—one chance to disappear from Mia’s life forever. But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to reclaim what was never truly his.

The console blinks in the darkness, casting strange shadows across the walls.

I note the expensive headset dangling from the edge of the couch and the stack of new games beside the TV.

So this is what he spent her money on while she worked double shifts, came home exhausted, and cooked and cleaned for him.

While he tore her down piece by piece until she believed she deserved nothing better.

My nostrils flare, catching a new scent—fresh air and cigarette smoke. Footsteps in the hallway. A jingling of keys.

He’s here.

I sink deeper into the shadows, my body so still I barely breathe.

The lock turns. The door opens. Light from the hallway spills across the threshold, and then he’s there, silhouetted against the brightness.

Justin. Smaller than I remembered. Scrawnier.

Hair disheveled and clothes rumpled. He reeks of alcohol and another woman’s cheap perfume.

My lips curl into a silent snarl. This pathetic human thinks he owns my Mia while he sleeps with others.

He flicks on the light, blinking against the sudden brightness. He doesn’t see me at first. He takes a few shuffling steps into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him, and tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter with a clatter.

It’s only when he turns toward the living room that his eyes find me in the corner.

The moment stretches between us, frozen in time. His eyes widen, pupils dilating with fear. I can hear his heartbeat accelerate, the sharp intake of breath as recognition dawns. Then panic—pure, animal panic—as he remembers who I am and what I promised him the last time we spoke.

“Holy shit!” he gasps, already turning back toward the door.

I move faster than his human eyes can track. One moment, I’m in the corner; the next, I’m between him and the exit, my hand closing around his throat before he can scream. I lift him easily, his feet dangling inches above the floor, watching dispassionately as his face reddens.

“Hello, Justin,” I say, my voice dangerously soft. “Did you miss me?”

His hands claw at my wrist, fingernails scraping uselessly against my skin. I can smell the fear pouring off him in waves, sharp and acrid. It pleases my wolf; it makes him howl for more.

“We had an agreement,” I continue, tightening my grip just enough to make him understand how easily I could crush his windpipe. “Do you remember what I told you?”

His mouth works silently, eyes bulging. I loosen my grip slightly, allowing him just enough air to respond.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he gasps, his voice a broken rasp.

Wrong answer. My fingers flex, squeezing until his face turns purple.

“You were told to leave her alone,” I remind him, each word precise and cold.

“No calls. No texts. No contact of any kind. Yet here you are, filling her phone with threats. With filth.” I lean closer, letting him see the predator behind my eyes.

“I warned you what would happen if you broke our agreement.”

“Please,” he whimpers, tears streaming down his reddened face. “I was drunk. I was just upset. I didn’t mean?—”

I slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the cheap art prints hanging there. One crashes to the floor, glass shattering across the hardwood.

“Don’t lie to me,” I hiss, my control slipping enough that I know my eyes are glowing green in the dim light. “I can smell the deception on you. I’m a werewolf, you son of a bitch.”

True terror blooms in his eyes then—the primal fear of prey recognizing a predator. Something inhuman. Something lethal.

“A werewolf?” he chokes out.

I smile, letting him see just a hint of my elongated canines. “I’m your worst nightmare. I’m what waits in the dark for men like you. And I’ve been very, very patient.”

With my free hand, I reach into my pocket and pull out a zip tie. I’ve come prepared and planned this moment down to the last detail. Justin’s eyes fix on the plastic restraint, understanding dawning in his gaze.

“No, please. I swear I’ll leave her alone,” he babbles, renewed panic giving him strength to struggle against my grip. “You’ll never hear from me again. I’ll move away.”

“Too fucking late,” I cut him off, dragging him toward one of the dining chairs. “You had your chance, fucktard.”

I throw him into the chair with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs.

Before he can recover, I’ve secured his wrists behind the chair’s back, the zip tie biting into his skin.

A second tie locks his ankles to the chair legs.

His chest heaves with panicked breaths, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Please,” he tries again, his voice breaking. “I’ll do anything. I have money?—”

“I don’t want your money,” I interrupt, circling the chair like the predator I am. “I want your fear. I want you to understand exactly how Mia felt every time you threatened her. Every time you made her feel small, trapped, and afraid.”

I pause behind him, leaning down to speak directly into his ear. “I want you to know what it feels like to be at the mercy of someone stronger than you. Someone who could end your existence with a flick of their wrist.”

He’s trembling now, the chair rattling slightly against the floor. I can smell urine—he’s wet himself in fear. Good. My wolf howls in satisfaction, demanding more and demanding blood.

I move to the kitchen, aware of Justin’s eyes following my every move.

Methodically, I open drawers, examining their contents before closing them again.

I take my time, letting his terror build with each passing moment.

Finally, I find what I’m looking for—a wooden rolling pin, heavy and solid in my hand.

“Do you know what the worst part is, Justin?” I ask conversationally as I return to stand before him. “It’s not that you hurt her physically. It’s that you made her believe she deserved it. Made her think she was worthless.”

I grip the rolling pin tighter, watching his eyes fix on it with frozen horror.

“She’s ours now,” I continue, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Our omega. Our mate. And she’s carrying our pups.”

His eyes widen at this revelation. “What the fuck are you talking about? Pups?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re just human. Just meat and bone and fear,” I say, smiling as I tap the rolling pin against my palm. “The point is, she belongs to us now. To our pack. And we protect what’s ours.”

“You’re insane,” he whispers, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Maybe,” I growl. “You shouldn’t have messed with my omega.”

I let my control slip a little more, allowing the shift to begin. Not fully, since he doesn’t deserve to see my wolf form—but enough that my eyes glow in the dim light, that my teeth lengthen visibly, that my nails sharpen into claws that dig into the wood of the rolling pin.

Justin screams- a high, thin sound of pure terror that satisfies something primal inside me.

This is what I want. And this is what he deserves.

“I made you a promise last time,” I remind him, raising the rolling pin. “I told you that if you ever contacted Mia again, I would end you. And that it wouldn’t be quick. Remember, fuckface?”

“Please,” he sobs, mucus running from his nose, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. Anything!”

I lean in close, inhaling his fear like a fine wine. “I know you will. That’s what makes this so amazing, right?”

The rolling pin comes down, not on his head or his fingers as he expects, but on the coffee table beside him.

The wood splinters, the table collapsing in a shower of broken glass and crushed beer cans. Justin flinches so hard that the chair nearly tips over.

“That’s going to be your skull very soon,” I tell him quietly as he screams bloody murder, and I smile.