Chapter 3 The Price of Survival

The sun had barely begun to bleed through the heavy, charcoal-gray curtains of the Thorne estate when Scarlett started the meticulous process of counting her liquid assets. In the original novel, Scarlett Thorne was a woman of excessive luxury, but the new Scarlett knew better. Diamonds and designer bags were beautiful, but in the gritty underbelly of this city, they were as good as a GPS tracker. Every pawn shop and high-end boutique reported back to either the corrupt Thorne family or the lethal Lycan packs. If she wanted to disappear, she needed cash—untraceable, cold, and hard.

"You're planning something," a low, resonant rumble vibrated from the shadows of the doorway.

Scarlett didn't jump, though her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. She was becoming dangerously accustomed to Caleb’s silent, predatory presence. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a black silk shirt that strained against the massive breadth of his shoulders. His golden eyes followed her every move with an intensity that made her skin prickle with an electric heat. Even with his memories fractured, the sheer gravity of a King was undeniable.

"I'm securing our future, Caleb," Scarlett lied smoothly, her voice calm as she stuffed a pack of blank, hand-pressed talismans into the hidden pockets of her leather jacket. "The kind of medicine your soul requires isn't sold at a common pharmacy, and the kind of protection I need in this city isn't offered for free."

Caleb stepped into the weak morning light, his movements still carrying a ghost of the stiffness from the soul-curse, but his aura was rapidly regaining its jagged edge. "I have told you before—I am your bodyguard. I do not need 'medicine' to keep you safe from the vermin of this world."

"You can't even remember your own birthday, Caleb," Scarlett retorted, turning to face him fully. She reached up, her fingers grazing his collar to straighten it—a deliberate, provocative move to test his reaction. He didn't flinch; instead, his entire body seemed to hum under her touch, his gaze dropping to her lips with a hunger that felt almost physical. "Until your wolf fully wakes up, you’re just a very large, very handsome target. Now, pick up your coat. We have a client to meet, and she pays in cash."

The "client" was a frantic tech billionaire residing in a penthouse that smelled of ozone, sterile air, and expensive fear. His young daughter was suffering from what world-class doctors dismissed as night terrors, but the moment Scarlett stepped into the lavender-scented nursery, she knew the truth. The room was unnaturally freezing, and a shadow—viscous, oily, and darker than the deepest night—was coiled like a serpent in the corner of the ceiling.

"Stay behind me and do not interfere," Scarlett commanded, her voice turning sharp and professional. She pulled out a brush tipped with cinnabar and crushed jade.

Caleb, predictably, ignored her. His instinct to protect surged like a tidal wave, his eyes flashing a brilliant, molten gold as he positioned his massive frame between Scarlett and the encroaching shadow. He let out a low, guttural growl—a sound so primal it seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards of the skyscraper.

The shadow hissed, lunging forward with a screech that tore at the senses. Scarlett’s fingers moved in a blurred dance of ancient calligraphy, painting a complex ward in the cold air. “By the light of the rising sun and the eternal flow of the five elements, I command the darkness to be bound!” she chanted, her voice echoing with a power that didn't belong to this world.

The talisman ignited with a brilliant flare, but the malevolent spirit was older and hungrier than she’d anticipated. It lashed out, a freezing tendril of soul-energy striking Caleb squarely in the chest. He roared, but it wasn't a cry of pain—it was a sound of pure, unadulterated fury. The curse on his soul flared in violent response to the external threat, and for a fleeting, terrifying second, the spectral image of a massive, silver-white wolf appeared behind him, baring fangs that could tear through dimensions.

The spirit shrieked in terror and evaporated into a cloud of harmless mist.

The nursery went deathly silent. Scarlett stood panting, the glow fading from her fingertips. She looked at Caleb, whose eyes were still wild and unfocused, his chest heaving under the silk of his shirt. "That... that thing inside you," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. "It’s coming back, Caleb."

An hour later, they walked out of the penthouse. Scarlett clutched an envelope containing fifty thousand dollars in untraceable bills. It was the first solid brick in her wall of freedom, a small victory against the ninety-day clock ticking in her mind.

But as they stood in the silent, mirrored elevator, Caleb suddenly turned, pinning her against the glass. His hands were braced on either side of her head, his face inches from hers, radiating the scent of rain and the sharp tang of her burnt incense.

"You used me as bait," he accused, his voice a dangerous, simmering rasp. There was no anger in his tone, only a dark, overwhelming fascination.

"I used your strength to save a child," Scarlett corrected, refusing to look away. "And it worked. We're fifty thousand dollars closer to safety."

Caleb leaned down, his nose brushing hers in a slow, agonizingly intimate gesture. "I don't care about the paper in that envelope, Scarlett. I care about the way my wolf screams for your touch every time you call upon that light. You think you’re escaping? You’re only weaving us tighter together."

He didn't kiss her—the tension was far more potent than any kiss could be. But as the elevator reached the lobby, Scarlett realized with a jolt of dread that her 'Exit Strategy' was failing. The more she saved him, the more he claimed her.