Lana's POV
I always thought my father was with Ethan out of greed, but I never imagined he had such a sinister plan for werewolves his own kind. How could he do something like that? I'll make sure both he and Ethan pay in my own way. They won't get away with planning to harm our entire kind.
"I've found where the healing essence is located," one of them whispered urgently.
My heart pounded. I have to get out of here alive—if I want to make them pay. I couldn't afford a single mistake now. Every move had to be calculated, precise. I pressed myself deeper into the shadows of the hallway, gripping the cold steel of the gun in my hand.
Silently, I stepped into the room, heart steady, breath controlled. I raised the gun and aimed at the one who had just spoken. My finger squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed—he dropped instantly.
The second man began to turn, eyes wide, but I was faster. I fired again, hitting his arm. He cried out as the gun slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.
"Fuck," he muttered, clutching his bleeding arm.
I didn't hesitate. Two more figures lunged toward me, but I pulled the trigger twice more. They dropped before they could reach me.
Adrenaline surged through me as I sprinted toward Ken, who lay unconscious across the room. But before I could reach him, a searing pain ripped through my arm. I gasped and spun around.
The man I had wounded—the one I thought was down—stood behind me, a bloodied knife in his hand, his face twisted with rage.
Without thinking, I embraced the pain and shifted into my werewolf form. My bones cracked, reshaping, fur erupting across my skin. The transformation was brutal but necessary.
I snarled, ready to finish what I started.
A guttural growl tore from my throat as I lunged at him. His eyes widened in terror, but it was too late. I slammed into him with all the force my new form could muster, sending him crashing into the wall. The knife clattered from his hand, and I didn't give him a second chance. My jaws closed around his shoulder, and I heard the sickening crunch of bone before he collapsed, unmoving.
Blood stained the floor. My breath came in heavy, ragged pants, but I didn't stop to assess the damage. I shifted back into my human form, the pain in my arm flaring, hot and sharp, but I forced myself to stay focused. I had to get Ken out.
I dropped to my knees beside him. "Ken," I whispered, shaking him gently. His face was pale, but he was still breathing. Thank the moon.
I ripped a strip from my shirt and wrapped it tightly around my bleeding arm before hoisting Ken up. He groaned softly, half-conscious. I threw his arm over my shoulder and stood, staggering under his weight but refusing to let him fall.
But then something strange happened.
The moment Ken's hand brushed against the wound on my arm—weak and barely conscious though he was—I felt a warmth spread through my skin. It wasn't just the warmth of contact. It was deeper, stronger... healing. The pain dulled almost instantly, the bleeding slowed, and I could feel the torn skin beginning to knit itself back together.
My eyes widened in disbelief.
He has healing powers?
The realization sent a wave of hope through me, stronger than anything I'd felt in days. A smile broke across my face, unbidden and wild. Despite everything—despite the blood, the fear, the betrayal—he was still fighting. And now, I would fight too. Harder than ever.
"I'm going to save you, Ken," I whispered, my voice fierce with determination. "No matter what it takes."
Suddenly, a loud, sharp sound shattered the quiet—an obnoxious ringtone cutting through the still air. My instincts kicked in. I gently lowered Ken to the ground, making sure his head rested safely on a folded piece of my jacket. Then I turned toward the source of the noise.
The phone was lying beside the body of the man who'd spoken to Ethan earlier, its screen glowing brightly. I reached down, picked it up cautiously, and stared at the caller ID.
My stomach twisted.
A contact flashed on the screen: Wolf Ethan.
His name pulsed like a threat, each ring a countdown. My fingers curled around the device. I could feel the weight of everything crashing down on me—the truth about my father, Ethan's plan to destroy our kind, and the fragile life I was cradling in my hands.
He was calling. Right now.
Was he checking in? Giving new orders? Wondering why his men weren't responding?
I glanced down at Ken, still unconscious but breathing steadily. My mind raced. This call could be an opportunity—a chance to learn something, or to send a message. But answering it would be dangerous.
I took a deep breath and steadied my hand.
Whatever happens next, I need to be smart. This isn't just survival anymore—it's war.
I hesitated for a moment, staring at the screen as Ethan's name continued to flash. Then, I tapped the "Answer" button and slowly raised the phone to my ear.
A voice came through, smooth and familiar, laced with casual arrogance.
"Hello, how's it going?" Ethan asked.
My heart skipped a beat. It was really him.
That voice—the same one that had issued commands to destroy everything I cared about—sent a chill down my spine. But I couldn't let him sense my fear.
I cleared my throat and forced my voice to stay calm.
"Hello," I replied, keeping it short, neutral.
A beat of silence followed, and I could almost feel him trying to place the voice. I held my breath, ready to either improvise or end the call, depending on what he said next.
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