Chapter 2: The Crescent Ring

The cold morning air bit against my bruised skin as I carefully lifted Alpha Killian’s heavy, sweat-slick arm off my waist. He let out a low, restless rumble in his sleep, his hand reflexively tightening on the velvet sofa cushion behind me, but he didn't wake.

Every inch of my body ached—a sharp, throbbing reminder of the relentless, possessive passion he had visited upon me all night. My thighs trembled as my feet hit the cold hardwood floor, and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.

If I stayed until full daylight, I was a dead woman.

In the eyes of the Silverclaw Pack, I was nothing more than a "wolf-less" servant—a slang term used by the elite to mock omegas whose inner beasts were too weak to manifest a physical form. For a wolf-less maid to be caught in the bed of the most dangerous Alpha in the territory wasn't just a scandal; it was a crime punishable by execution. Celeste and her cruel high-ranking guards would butcher me on the spot, long before Killian ever regained his full senses to intervene.

I have to get back to the servant quarters before dawn.

Panic surged through my veins, hot and sharp. I frantically grabbed the remnants of my clothing scattered across the dark suite. My silk maid's dress was ruined, ripped open down the middle from Killian’s bare hands. Shaking, I pulled the shreds around myself, tying the fabric tightly at my waist in a crude knot to keep it closed.

I looked back at him one last time. Even in the dim twilight filtering through the heavy drapes, Killian looked like a dark, sleeping god. His broad chest was marked with long red scratches from my nails, his jaw heavily stubbled, and the thick silk blindfold still wrapped around his closed eyes. He was clutching the empty space beside him on the sofa, his nostrils flaring as he deeply inhaled the fading scent of my skin.

"Seraphina..." he muttered in his sleep, his voice a low, raspy growl. "Stay..."

A shiver ran down my spine. The urge to stay, to sink back into his burning heat, pulled at something deep inside my soul—a primal instinct I didn't understand. But fear won.

Turning away, I tiptoed toward the balcony window instead of the main door. Going back through the VIP corridor meant risking a confrontation with Celeste's guards, but the heavy velvet curtains led directly to an exterior fire escape that snaked down the side of the grand estate.

I pulled open the glass door, slipping out into the biting morning mist. As I climbed over the stone railing to reach the dark iron ladder, my hand brushed against my bare left index finger.

A wave of cold dread washed over me, far worse than the icy wind.

My ring.

My mother’s unique silver crescent ring—a heirloom featuring intricate royal engravings that had been passed down to me before she died—was missing. My hand must have slipped out of it when I was gripping the velvet sofa cushions during Killian’s fierce, punishing thrusts.

My chest heaved as I stared back into the dark room. I have to go back. It's the only thing I have left of my family.

I took a half-step toward the open balcony door, but the soft sound of boot heels echoing at the far end of the corridor snapped me out of my hesitation. The guards were making their morning rounds. If I went back inside now, I would be trapped.

Driven by raw terror, I abandoned the ring, turned my back on the suite, and began my frantic descent down the rust-slick fire escape into the shadows below.

Inside the dark VIP suite, the morning sun broke over the horizon, casting thin beams of golden light through the balcony glass.

Killian’s heavy chest rose and fell, his instincts roaring in protest as the sweet, intoxicating scent of heavy rain and summer heat began to evaporate from the room. His hand swept aggressively across the empty sofa cushion, searching for the soft, trembling body that had anchored his mind through the agonizing night.

His palm met cold velvet. She was gone.

A low, terrifying growl rattled deep in his chest. His fingers slammed down onto the cushion, curling into a tight fist—until something hard and metallic pressed sharply into his skin.

He ripped his hand back, his calloused fingers wrapping around a small, cool object lying right beside his head.

With a brutal jerk of his arm, Killian reached up and tore the thick black blindfold from his face.

His eyes, once milky and deadened by the dark curse, snapped wide open. They flashed a brilliant, luminous silver, completely restored—his vision sharp, clear, and cured of the magic-induced blindness that had tormented him for months.

He didn't care about his sight. He sat up, his massive, corded muscles flexing as his glowing eyes scanned the empty room, landing on the torn silk threads on the floor, the open balcony door, and finally, the object clutched tightly in his fist.

He pulled his hand back to examine it. Resting in the center of his palm was a delicate, ancient ring forged in solid silver, shaped like a crescent moon, and glowing faintly with an undeniable aura of forgotten royal blood.

Killian stared at the ring, his silver eyes narrowing into slit-like pupils as a dark, possessive smirk slowly pulled at his lips. He brought the piece of jewelry to his nose, taking in the deep, linger scent of the woman who had dared to cure him and flee into the night.

"You left your mark, little mouse," Killian rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous, lethal growl that shook the quiet room. He squeezed the silver ring tightly inside his fist, locking it against his pulse. "Run all you want. I will hunt down every female in this territory until you are back in my bed."