Chapter 3

Leah

Three armed men filled the doorway, silhouettes against the hallway light. They froze at the sight of us: my back arched, hair spilling everywhere, body moving in a rhythm that left nothing to the imagination.

One of them let out a low whistle—until I turned my head. The red marks on my face hit them like a bucket of ice water. Their expressions curdled.

“Ugh. Wrong room,” one muttered, slamming the door shut.

The footsteps retreated.

I shoved off him instantly, scrambling to the far side of the bed, chest heaving. Moonlight sliced through the curtains, illuminating the wound. The skin around it had gone pitch black; his lips were turning purple. Wolfsbane was minutes from his heart.

He didn’t wait for me. He ripped off his shirt, balled it, bit down on the fabric, and dug his own fingers into the bullet hole. Blood sprayed. My stomach lurched.

“Are you insane?!” I hissed, already yanking clothes on and grabbing my medical kit from the suitcase. “I’m a werewolf physician. I can treat wolfsbane poisoning. Move your hand.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched me with those unreadable eyes while I worked.

I cleaned the wound, sprinkled hemostatic powder laced with lunar silver—rare, expensive, and the only thing that could slow wolfsbane long enough to extract it safely—then threaded a needle. Every time the needle pierced skin he inhaled sharply, muscles jumping under my fingers. I tried not to notice how warm he was, how the raw Alpha power in him seemed to pulse against my palms.

“Can’t handle a little stitching?” I muttered, glancing up. “Not so tough now, huh? Especially after you decided to play surgeon on yourself.”

His gaze was already locked on me—curious, intense, like I was a puzzle he intended to solve. Heat rushed to my cheeks; my hands shook. The stitches ended up crooked and ugly, but they held.

Half an hour later the bleeding had stopped. My fingertips kept brushing his skin accidentally—each touch sending little sparks through me, like static from a storm.

“Done,” I said, sitting back.

His hand shot out, fingers clamping gently but firmly under my chin, tilting my face toward the faint light. He studied me the way no one ever had—slowly, thoroughly. My small face, the bright green eyes everyone said were my only decent feature, and the curse of red blotches that ruined everything else.

I tried to jerk away. The second I broke contact, something inside me howled—a desperate, pained sound from my wolf that made me freeze. She was frantic, clawing at the separation.

Without thinking, I shifted closer. Just an inch. His scent wrapped around me again, and the howling quieted. A satisfied smirk tugged at his mouth—smug, knowing, infuriating.

“Your name,” he demanded. “And pack.”

I pressed my lips together. “The wolves hunting you are gone. You should leave.”

He gave a soft, dangerous laugh. Then, quick as a striking snake, he plucked the necklace from my throat—the only thing my mother had left me, engraved with the Silver Moon priestess sigil.

“Give it back!” I lunged.

He held it high, inspecting the pendant while I jumped uselessly, too short to reach. Amusement glinted in his eyes.

“What, a gift from your mate?” he teased.

“It’s none of your business,” I snapped. Outwardly I was furious, but inside my wolf was practically purring, delirious with the attention. It made me want to scream.

He toyed with me a moment longer—like a cat with a half-dead mouse—then strode to the porthole window.

No way was he escaping with my mother’s pendant.

I threw myself at him. He didn’t dodge. He caught me instead, arms banding around my waist, lifting me clean off the floor. I struggled, but it was pointless; my wolf melted under his touch, turning my limbs to jelly.

He dipped his head, face inches from mine, voice low and velvet-rough. “When you reach Atwak City, come to The Nest Nightclub. I’ll return your necklace then.”

Before I could answer, his hand brushed the nape of my neck—gentle, almost tender—and the world went black.

When I woke, the ship had docked. Sunlight streamed through the porthole. I was alone.

My neck ached where he’d struck the pressure point. I checked myself quickly—clothes intact, body untouched. Relief washed over me.

I rolled over and felt something hard under my arm. The dagger he’d hidden beneath the pillow. I picked it up, blew a strand of hair across the blade; it sliced clean through. Pure Alpha-forged steel—worth a fortune.

Consider it payment for services rendered. As for tracking down a dangerous stranger in some nightclub? Not in this lifetime.

This life was for revenge. I had no time for lethal Alphas who made my wolf lose her mind.

I tucked the dagger away, caught my reflection in the small mirror, and paused. The red blotches… they looked lighter. Faded, almost. Wishful thinking, probably.

No time to wonder. I had plans to make.

The ship’s horn sounded as we docked in Atwak City. Cold, salty wind whipped my hair the moment I stepped onto the gangway. My eyes narrowed against it, resolve hardening in my chest.

Samuel. Martha. Ella.

I’m back.

This time, I’m coming for you.

At the edge of the pier, Night Shadow Pack’s steward Aman stood scanning the crowd, muttering under his breath. “Where is that ugly girl…?”

I smiled—a small, sharp thing—and started toward him.