Kael's POV
The night froze around us as the desperate cry sliced through the silence.
Maya clutched at my arm, her voice trembling. "Who… who might that be?"
Before I could answer, the scream came again—sharper, closer. Fear rippled through her, and she pressed herself against me, still wrapped in my coat.
I forced myself to listen. My wolf sharpened my senses, every sound unraveling into clarity. Heartbeats. Struggling voices. And then—wolves. Not like me. Rogues.
"There are girls in trouble," I muttered, jaw tightening. "I have to help them?"
"What are you doing?" Maya's eyes widened as I guided her to crouch behind a parked car. "Kael, we should be running, not walking into danger!"
I placed a steady hand on her shoulder. "Stay here. I'll handle this. I'll be back."
She looked at me in confusion, but I didn't wait for her reply. I stepped into the shadows of the alley, my footsteps firm, every instinct in me alive.
Two terrified human girls were cornered, their bags clutched in the hands of three rogues with hunger gleaming in their eyes.
"Why not let them be?" My voice cut through the tension, calm but edged with steel.
The rogues spun toward me, snarling. "Who are you?"
"It doesn't matter," I said evenly. "Give them back their things, and walk away."
One sneered. "Or what?"
"Or I'll make you."
Their growls deepened, and then they lunged. The first came fast—I caught him by the throat, lifting him high before slamming him into the pavement. The second swung at me, but my fist met his jaw with bone-cracking force. My eyes burned, the glow spilling out, and the last rogue faltered.
They whimpered, backing away as fear overtook their rage. Dropping the stolen purses, they turned and bolted into the night.
I picked up the scattered belongings and offered them to the stunned girls. "Here you go."
They stared at me as though I were something not of this world. Trembling, they whispered a shaken "thank you" before fleeing into the streetlight's safety.
Untouched, I stepped out of the alley. Maya's wide eyes met mine. She was still crouched, fear and confusion battling across her face.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a breath.
I gave her a faint smile. "It's sorted. Let's go."
She didn't reply, only stared—speechless, searching for answers I wasn't ready to give.
But for now, silence was safer.
We continued the walk down the road in silence, though Maya's steps were quick, her shoulders tense, her breath uneven. I could feel the pulse of fear still clinging to her. The night wasn't so quiet anymore—it carried echoes of what had just happened.
Without thinking, I reached for her hand. Warm. Small. Trembling.
Her eyes darted up to mine in surprise.
"Relax Maya," I said, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "You're safe with me."
She didn't reply, but she didn't let go either. The stiffness in her frame eased with each step.
To distract her, I started talking. About the ridiculous graffiti we passed on a corner wall. About the way her shoes clicked against the pavement like they had their own rhythm. About nothing, really. But slowly—bit by bit—the air lightened.
Her laughter broke out after one of my dry comments, soft at first, then fuller. The moment tugged at something deep in me, something I hadn't felt in Months. I found myself smiling before I realized it.
We ended up making jokes—her teasing me about being overly dramatic, me countering with how she nearly crushed my arms earlier when she was scared. By the time we turned onto her street, it almost felt like the scream and the rogues had never happened.
Finally, we got to her building, lights glowing faintly in the windows. She stopped by the entrance and turned to me, still holding my coat around her shoulders.
"Goodnight, Kael," she said, her voice softer now. "And… thank you. For everything."
"You don't need to thank me," I replied.
She smiled anyway. "Still. Thank you. And don't forget—the coffee tomorrow? My treat."
"Coffee," I repeated, nodding. "I'll hold you to that."
She hesitated, then slipped the coat from her shoulders and carefully handed it back to me. "Here, you'll need this on your way back."
I took it from her, our fingers brushing for the briefest second.
She lingered for a heartbeat longer, then slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the entrance like a fool. Then I turned and walked back into the night, the quiet wrapping around me again.
A part of me couldn't understand it. How in a single day, Maya had closed a distance no one else had managed in years. Maybe it was her charm. Maybe her openness. Maybe just the way she seemed to believe in people, even when she shouldn't.
Whatever it was, it unsettled me. And yet, somehow, I didn't want it to stop.
The night air bit colder as I slipped my coat back on, her warmth still clinging faintly to the fabric.
I walked, but my mind stayed behind—back at her doorway, replaying her smile, her laugh, the way she had clung to me like I was something unshakable when I knew I wasn't.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
I exhaled sharply, trying to shake the thought. But then something else caught my attention.
A car. Black. Slow.
My wolf stirred uneasily. I'd noticed it the night before, trailing at a distance. And now—again—it crawled along the edge of the street, its headlights dim, engine low like a predator waiting.
My jaw clenched. Monitoring me.
I ignored it, or at least pretended to. My steps never faltered, but every nerve in my body was aware, coiled tight.
I cut through the park, hoping the trees and silence would give me a moment's distance. The path stretched ahead, narrow and lonely, the benches empty, the lamps casting pale pools of light that only deepened the shadows between them. My footsteps echoed against the gravel, sharp in the stillness, too loud, as if the night itself was listening.
Then—movement. A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision. I spun sharply, but the park was empty, only the faint horn of cars in the distance breaking the silence.
I started forward again, slower this time, my senses burning, when the air shifted.
Figures slipped out of the darkness, one by one, stepping into the weak spill of lamplight until the path ahead was no longer empty.
The rogues I had faced earlier were among them, their snarls curling into cruel grins as recognition lit their eyes. But they weren't alone.
At their center stood a man. Broad. Cold. His skin was marked with jagged tattoos carved deep like scars that refused to heal, every line telling of violence, of blood already spilled. His presence pressed heavier than the others, dangerous, unyielding.
He didn't move. He didn't need to.
He simply stood there. Waiting.
And I knew—this wasn't over.