Carrying his scent

Micha opened the back door with a quiet click. Luther was already inside, rigid against the leather seat, staring straight ahead like the night itself had personally offended him. Micha circled to the other side, slid in beside him, and pulled the door shut. The engine wasn’t even running yet, but the silence inside the car pressed down hard, thick with everything neither of them wanted to say.

Micha studied him sidelong. He had watched Luther through every storm..grief, rage, cold calculation..but this was new. The Alpha looked wired, unsettled, like a blade held too tightly and ready to snap.

“What the hell happened back there?” Micha asked, voice low but edged with real worry. “I’ve never seen you lose it like that over a woman. Not once.”

The question carried weight, the faint undercurrent of dominance slipping through before he could rein it in. The air tightened around them.

Luther dragged a hand over his face, thumb pressing hard against his temple. “I don’t know,” he growled, the admission tasting like rust. “I honestly don’t know.”

Micha exhaled sharply through his nose and motioned for the driver to go. The car eased forward. Luther cut him a look that could have frozen blood.

“You don’t know?” Micha repeated, incredulous. “You shot a man while hugging her, threw cash at her feet like she was trash, draped your coat over her like some possessive claim, then walked out like nothing happened. And you don’t know?”

Luther didn’t answer. He leaned back, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead, replaying every second in brutal detail. Control had always been his armor. He knew exactly how much force to use, how many words to say, when to walk away clean. Only a handful of people had ever cracked that armor. Tonight, a stranger in a mask had shattered it without even trying.

Inside him, Liam stirred, voice rough and disappointed.

“You did it because you’re terrified of feeling anything at all,” the wolf said. “You wanted to hate her. Push her away. Keep the distance safe. But she kept pulling us in without lifting a finger, and you hated how helpless that made you feel. So you lashed out. Made a scene. Tried to hurt her just to prove you still had the upper hand.”

The truth landed like a fist to the ribs. Luther’s jaw locked. His hands curled into fists on his thighs. Liam wasn’t angry. He was grieving. And that hurt worse.

Luther stayed quiet. No defense. No argument. Because somewhere beneath the fury, he knew his wolf was right.

The car slipped onto a deserted stretch of road, streetlights thinning until only moonlight and shadow remained. Luther’s spine suddenly went rigid. Every sense sharpened at once. A prickle raced down his neck, instinctive and unmistakable.

“Stop the car,” he ordered.

The driver flicked a nervous glance in the rearview. “Alpha?”

“Stop. Now.”

Before the word finished leaving his mouth, a gunshot cracked through the night. The front tire exploded in a violent burst of rubber and air. The car lurched, spun, then slammed into a tree with bone-jarring force. Glass rained inward. Metal screamed. Smoke curled thick from the crumpled hood.

Pain bloomed everywhere. Micha groaned, clutching his side. The driver slumped over the wheel, blood trickling down his temple. Luther hurt too..ribs screaming, shoulder throbbing..but pain was nothing new. He kicked the mangled door open and stepped out into the cool night air.

His breath came in controlled bursts. Eyes glowed faintly gold as Liam rose close to the surface, claws itching beneath human skin. He wanted to shift. Wanted to tear through the darkness until he found whoever had dared this. But the old laws held firm: no transformation in the human world. Ever.

He scanned the tree line, nostrils flaring. Damp earth. Burnt rubber. Faint copper. No movement. Just oppressive quiet after the chaos.

“Come out,” he called, voice carrying like thunder across empty asphalt. “Stop hiding like a coward.”

Micha stirred behind him, already healing, shallow breaths steadying as torn flesh knit itself closed. Luther felt a flicker of relief, then hotter rage. Who had the balls to ambush them? And why now?

“The one who strikes from behind,” a calm voice answered from the shadows.

Luther spun, hand dropping instinctively toward the empty holster at his side. He expected armed men. A rival pack. Anything but her.

She stepped into the faint moonlight wearing the same dark hoodie pulled over the bloodstained red dress. The mask still covered half her face. She stood easy, almost casual, as though she’d wandered onto the scene of a fender bender instead of a deliberate hit.

Shock hit him first. Then confusion. Then something darker, something that felt dangerously like recognition.

He stared. She stared back. Those eyes..visible through the mask..held no surprise, no fear, only quiet assessment. Like she had expected to find him here, bleeding and furious on the side of a forgotten road.

Luther’s pulse hammered. Questions collided in his head. How? Why? What the hell was she doing here?

She didn’t speak again. There was no need

The night stretched taut between them, heavy with everything unsaid, and for the first time in years Luther felt the ground shift beneath his feet. Not from the crash. Not from the gunshot.

From her.