Ghosts From the past

POV SIENNA:

The tactical bunker beneath Iron Ridge Manor looked like the operations hub of a full private army, not just a pack headquarters. Satellite screens lined the walls, 3D topographic maps glowing across glass tabletops, and armed guards stood posted at every entrance, watchful and still.

Killian stepped in first, his sleeveless shirt still damp with sweat, training field dirt clinging to his forearms where only minutes before his hands had pinned me to the earth. I followed two paces behind, breath still unsteady, trying to ignore every gaze that turned our way and the lingering heat throbbing soft and persistent on my lip where his thumb had rested barely ten minutes earlier.

Marcus stood before the main display alongside two veteran trackers, their faces worn from years of patrols.

"Killian, Sienna, come forward," the Alpha ordered, his brow drawn tight. "Perimeter cameras picked up movement less than an hour ago. This is no coordinated renegade strike. One figure alone… and recklessly out of place."

Marcus tapped a key and grainy night-vision footage filled the main screen.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood at the very edge of the runic pine line, heavy denim jacket, dark cap pulled low. He paced back and forth, visibly disoriented, searching for a gap, an opening in the perimeter fence.

My breath froze in my throat.

It cannot be.

"The intruder carries no known pack markings," Thomas explained, the same warrior who had interrupted us in the training pit. "Left his vehicle parked on the old road, two kilometers out, then walked in like he has no idea where he is stepping. One step past the runes and sharpshooters take him down."

"I recognize that build," Marcus murmured, squinting at the screen. "Young lone wolf, perhaps. Or someone desperate seeking shelter. Do you have any idea who this might be, Killian?"

Killian did not answer his father. He was not looking at the screen. He was looking at me.

His gray eyes locked onto my face with the precision of a rifle sight. He caught the exact split second my pulse spiked; he heard it, through those heightened senses that picked up what the rest of us could not — my heart hammering wild and fast beneath my ribs.

"She knows," Killian said, his voice so low and laced with venom several guards shifted uneasily. "Look at her. She has gone as white as paper."

I curled my hands into fists, silently cursing the day I ever thought I could live some quiet, normal life among humans.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," I lied coolly, holding his gaze steady even as something trembled deep inside me.

That was when the phone in my leggings pocket began to vibrate — hard, frantic, unrelenting. An incoming call.

Before my hand could reach my pocket, Killian moved. A blur of black motion. One hand clamped around my right wrist, pinning it flat to the glass table with a sharp, solid thud, while the other snatched the phone away before I could blink.

"Killian, let her go!" Marcus roared, but his son ignored him completely.

Killian twisted the lit screen toward his face. The name blazed bright and clear:

INCOMING CALL: JAXON

And just beneath it, three unread messages previewed across the display:

"I know you are at that damn rich-boy dog sanctuary, Sienna."

"You do not just end things with a text and vanish like none of it happened."

"Come out right now or I will come get you myself."

Silence crashed over the room, heavy and suffocating.

I watched the transformation happen in real time. His jaw locked so hard the muscles bulged. Veins corded thick along his temples and neck, and his gray eyes blazed into wild, unhinged gold. His wolf was not just awake — it scented another male claiming what it considered his.

The bond flared sharp and burning, aggressive now, searing between us until the air around our hands smelled of ozone, sharp and electric before a storm.

"Jaxon?" Killian repeated, dragging the name out with a tone so cold and dark the hair on my arms stood straight up. "Who in the hell is Jaxon?"

"Give me my phone back," I hissed, yanking against his iron grip, but he only held tighter, leaning over me until his shadow swallowed me whole.

"I asked who he is," he snarled, a deep, primal rumble vibrating up from his chest, shaking the glass beneath our hands. "Who does he think he is, tracking you onto my land?"

"He is my ex-boyfriend, you fool!" I snapped, patience snapping completely, not caring who heard. "And it is none of your business."

Something cracked — sharp and final. The phone screen shattered under the crushing pressure of his thumb, webbing black across the display before it went dark forever. Killian hurled the broken device against the concrete wall; it bounced and clattered to the floor in pieces.

"Your ex-boyfriend?" he sneered, though there was nothing funny in his voice. Those golden eyes devoured me with a terrifying mix of revulsion, possessive jealousy, and homicidal fury. "How touching. The little stray had a lapdog waiting for her in the city."

"Enough, Killian!" Marcus boomed, stepping firmly between us and forcing his son back half a step. "Get control of your wolf right now!"

Killian breathed hard and ragged, chest heaving as if he had run miles without stopping. He did not look away from me once.

"That trash is standing right on the southern line," Killian said to his father, voice still sharp and lethal. "And he thinks he is coming to take back what is his."

"No one crosses the border without permission," Marcus declared firmly, eyeing the screen. "Thomas, send two patrols. Intercept him, question him, and make it absolutely clear Iron Ridge is not a public park."

"No," Killian cut him off. A cold, calculating, fully unhinged smile curled his lips, blood still crusted faintly at the corner. "Thomas is not going. I am."

Panic coiled tight inside me. I knew Jaxon — young, impulsive, stubborn, a wolf with no formal military training, no experience in hostile territory. Against Killian Thorne consumed by territorial rage? He would not last three minutes.

"Killian, do not you dare hurt him," I warned, stepping toward him regardless of the danger. "He has done nothing wrong. I told him to stay away."

Killian swept his gaze over me, and for the first time there was no mask of disdain. Only the bond — burning bright, unmasked, raw and devastating.

"You just made a very big mistake, stepsister," he whispered, leaning in so only I could hear. "Defending him to my face… that only makes me want to tear his throat out with my bare teeth all the more. Stay right here. Watch the screen. And see exactly how I dismantle that little mistake from your past."