For some reason, I felt compelled to hold his hand.
With his arm outstretched, Rowan Blackwood bore the same crescent-shaped brand that scorched mine. In a puddle of blood on my flat floor, the half-shifted beast he had just shot jerked one more time behind him.
This time, a growl resounded outside.
"I am pressed for time and cannot spare the effort to detail everything," he declared with an air of silent authority. Staying here, nevertheless, will kill you. Joining me will ensure your survival. That's the agreement.
I stared at him, my heart beating.
Was I really meant to just… believe him?
With a marriage contract tucked under his arm, a revolver that was still hot in his grasp, and blood drying on his shoes, he stood as an unfamiliar man in a suit.
But the mark on my wrist still throbbed with strange fire. And the howling outside were growing closer.
His hand was seized by me.
"Smart girl," he mumbled.
We ran.
Down the stairs, out the emergency exit, into the alley full with smoke and shadows. A sleek black vehicle waited, engine humming. Rowan pulled the door open and shoved me inside just as a dark blur descended from the fire escape above.
The windshield cracked as claws screeched across it.
"Go!" he barked.
The motorist hit the gas.
We surged forward, tires roaring.
I turned, hardly able to recover my breath as the thing receded into the distance. My hands were shaking, my legs too.
"What the hell was that thing?" I asked.
"Rogue," Rowan answered plainly. "Half-shifted, chemically triggered. Wild. Unstable. Controlled by scent—specifically yours."
I stared at him. "How does any of that make sense?"
"It will."
"Not good enough."
He gazed at me, those cold gray eyes unreadable. "You're not just some random girl with a pretty mark, Maris. You're part of something ancient. And right now, half the magical underworld wants to dissect you to find out why."
I laughed, breathless. "Great. That explains everything."
We swerved onto a glassy stretch of highway, the skyline of Blackridge rising in the distance—steel towers, blinking lights, and a pale moon hanging low above the city.
I folded my arms. "Where are you taking me?"
"To my penthouse. It's safe. Guarded. No one gets in unless I let them."
"Let me guess… it comes with a view, security cameras, and a contract-shaped leash."
He didn't refute it.
"You saved me from something you clearly knew about," I said. "Which means you knew I was marked before I did. So what is this—some kind of long-game power grab?"
"I didn't mark you," he stated simply.
I frowned. "But…?"
"I felt the bond the moment your mark activated. I've carried mine for three years. Yours completed it."
I swallowed hard. "And now you think I belong to you."
He stared at me then. Really looked.
"You don't belong to me," he said. "But they'll come after you like you do. And without me, you don't stand a chance."
I hated that part of me believed him.
The car slowed, turning into an underground garage lit by blue floodlights and guarded by two men with weapons and mirrored sunglasses. Rowan stepped out first. The guards didn't speak. They only nodded once and stepped aside.
I followed him through a glass elevator and up—thirty, forty, fifty storeys. The city shrank beneath us.
When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into a world I didn't recognize.
Black marble floors. Silver illumination. Walls of glass viewing the city. Minimalist furniture, dark wood, white leather. Everything costly. Everything spotless. Everything cold.
Rowan stepped ahead, threw off his coat, and rolled up his sleeve—revealing the same crescent symbol on his wrist.
"Until you're bonded properly, your scent is going to draw attention," he said. "The Council will try to claim you. Or murder you. This"—he pointed to a security panel on the wall—"is the only spot they can't touch."
I crossed my arms. "You think I'm just going to live here? With you?"
He unlocked a drawer, pulled out the contract folder, and laid it on the coffee table between us.
"I'm not your jailer. I'm your only shield."
I stared at the contract, the term "MARRIAGE AGREEMENT" printed in silver foil.
"You're serious?"
"As a war."
He circled behind the bar, poured himself a drink, and offered one to me.
I ignored it. "What's in the contract?"
"Clause one: full protection under Blackwood name and territory. Clause two: temporary union, one year. Clause three: no physical requirements until the bond progresses naturally."
"Physical?"
He lifted a brow. "You're not stupid."
I shook my head. "This is insane."
He stepped closer. "Insane is thinking you can survive with that mark out in the open. Insane is believing they'll let you live without trying to control you."
I backed away. "So you control me instead?"
"No," he said. "I give you a choice."
His voice was soft. Almost delicate.
"You sign it, you stay here, protected. You don't sign it, I'll have you escorted to the outside of the city and wish you luck. But once you leave this building… you're on your own."
I stared at the contract.
And for a second, I almost signed.
But then I questioned, "Why you? Why are you doing this?"
He didn't hesitate.
"Because I felt your pain the moment your mark lit up. Because when the bond activated, I heard your heartbeat in my chest. And because someone out there is slaughtering marked wolves to spark a war."
My throat clenched.
"And because," he whispered softly, "the Council thinks you're a threat. And I want to find out why before they do."
I didn't say anything.
I didn't have to.
The lights immediately flickered.
Rowan's hand raced to his revolver in an instant. "Stay behind me."
A quiet thud echoed from the main hall. Then another.
We both turned.
A guard lurched into view—his chest split open, blood streaming from his mouth.
He collapsed at Rowan's feet.
And behind him, in the doorway— A figure walked in.
Tall. Pale.
Wearing a mask.
It dropped a blackened bundle on the floor with a hard thump.
I looked down.
It was a corpse.
Branded.
With a crescent.
Just like mine.
And inscribed into its chest were two words, written in blood: "You're next."