CHAPTER 2: The Man In The Storm

Lena's POV

The heavy banging on the door had been like a drumbeat in the quiet night and by the time I’d wrenched it open, half the house was already stirring.

A low groan echoed from the staircase as a sleepy-looking witch peered down and the door to the staff quarters creaked open, revealing a few curious faces.

The source of the commotion was now a massive, unconscious man bleeding all over my freshly mopped floor.

Tormund was already there.

“Alright, show’s over!” he boomed with his voice the familiar, calming anchor it always was. “Nothing to see but a man who had a disagreement with the pavement. Everyone back to bed. Now.”

There was some grumbling but some of them listened. Tormund had that effect on people.

Once the hallway had mostly cleared, I approached the fallen giant. He was big even for a supernatural and the energy rolling off him was… dark and complicated. It was the kind of trouble that didn’t just knock on your door.. it kicked it down!

Against my better judgment, I knelt and reached out with my fingers aiming to check the pulse in his neck and the moment my skin touched his, it hit me.

It wasn’t a vision.. it was a feeling. A gut-wrenching knowing that slammed into my chest mercilessly. I doubled over with a sharp gasp, my hand snapping back as if I’d been burned.

“Lena!” Tormund was at my side in an instant, his strong hand on my shoulder. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, forcing air back into my lungs.

“I’m fine,” I choked out, pushing myself upright. The feeling was receding, leaving behind a cold oily dread. “Really. I’m fine. But I don’t want him here.”

Tormund looked from me to the man and back again, his bushy eyebrows raised.

“He’s bleeding out on your rug, Lena.”

“I don’t care! Throw him back into the storm. Toss him in an alley. I don’t care where, just get him out of my house.” The words tumbled out sharply and desperately. “The vibes he’s giving off, Tormund… it’s bad news.”

Tormund didn’t move. He just looked at me with that infuriatingly patient expression. .

“This is your Crib, Lena. Your sanctuary. What’s the first rule you carved into the foundation stone yourself?”

I glared at him, refusing to answer.

He answered for me, his voice gentle but firm.

“You turn no one away. You offer succor to all who seek it without prejudice. You heal those who come to your door. That’s the promise of this place. That’s why it still stands.”

“I know what I said,” I hissed, my voice low. “But this is different.”

“Is it?” he asked simply. “Or is it just inconvenient?”

I wanted to argue, to scream and to have my way but he was right. Damn him, he was always right. The rules were the only thing holding our fragile world together. If I broke them everything fell apart.

I let out a long frustrated sigh, my shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Fine. Get him into one of the back rooms now and try not to get any more blood on the walls.”

As two of the larger werewolf patrons hoisted him up, the feeling of alarm spiked again with a cold dread that grew with every step I took following them and underneath the blood and the trouble, I finally placed his scent.

Werewolf but bot just any werewolf.. an Alpha and a powerful one. What in the name of the moon was an Alpha doing on my doorstep half-dead and alone?

They laid him on the bed in a spare room, and I shooed everyone out.

“Everyone stay out. I need space to work.” I shut the door firmly, leaning against it for a second before turning to face the source of my impending headache.

***

The healing took hours. The wounds were deep, malicious and laced with a darkness that fought my magic tooth and nail and by the time I’d stabilized him and knit the worst of the damage back together, the sky outside was turning from black to storm-washed grey.

I was utterly spent with my magic reserves scraped clean. I stumbled to my own room and fell onto my bed, not even bothering to take off my boots and passed into a deep dreamless sleep.

It seemed like mere seconds before a firm persistent knocking ripped me from the depths of exhaustion.

“Lena?” It was Tormund’s voice, muffled by the door. “He’s awake.”

I groaned, pulling a pillow over my head and reality came crashing back. I dragged myself out of bed, my body aching as if I’d been the one in the fight.

A few minutes later, I was pushing open the door to the back room. The man was sitting up on the edge of the bed, shirtless. The wounds were gone replaced by a map of ugly silvery scars that crisscrossed his torso... a testament to how close he’d come to death. He was staring blankly at the opposite wall not giving any sign that he’d heard me enter.

Tormund stood by the door, watching.

“Hey,” I said, my voice still rough with sleep. No response. “I said, hey. You. The one who ruined my sleep and my floor.”

Nothing and not even a flicker of recognition.

I tried again, crossing my arms.

“Who are you? And what kind of trouble did you drag to my doorstep?”

Silence again.

Frustration bubbled up inside me and I took a few steps closer, into his line of sight.

“Look, pal, you don’t get to bleed all over my sanctuary and then give me the silent treat...”

His head snapped up and his eyes... a startling pale gold... locked onto mine and he went perfectly still. It was like a predator zeroing in on its prey. His gaze narrowed, intensifying and scanning my face as if he was trying to solve a complex puzzle while a deep frown creased his brow.

The intensity of his stare was unnerving.

“What?” I snapped. “See a ghost?”

He finally spoke with his voice a low gravelly rumble as scarred as the rest of him.

“My name is Darion.”

“Okay, Darion. That’s a start. What pack? Where are you from? And what, or who, were you running from?”

He looked away, breaking the uncomfortable eye contact.

“I needed a safe haven. I heard stories about a place on Bourbon Street. A bar called Lena’s Crib. The last sanctuary.” His eyes found mine again and this time there was a challenge in them. “So. Here I am.”

“That’s it? That’s all I get?” I threw my hands up. “You expect me to just give you room and board based on that?”

In response, he reached for a small stained leather pouch on the nightstand and he tossed it to me. It was heavy, clinking with the unmistakable sound of gold coins.

“For my stay.”

I stared at the pouch in my hand then back at him.

The absolute audacity! The mystery..! The sheer infuriating vibe of him!

It was all too much. I threw the pouch back onto the bed.

“This isn’t a hotel and we don’t take walk-ins.”

I turned and marched out of the room with Tormund following close behind. I didn’t stop until I was behind the relative safety of the bar. The main room was empty and quiet in the morning light.

“I don’t like it, Tormund. Not one bit,” I said, gripping the edge of the bar until my knuckles turned white. “I want him out today. Gold or no gold.”

Tormund began patiently wiping down a glass.

“Lena…”

“Don’t ‘Lena’ me! You felt it too, didn’t you? The danger rolling off him? He’s an Alpha without a pack covered in scars he won’t explain, buying silence with gold! That’s not a refugee, that’s a catastrophe waiting to happen!”

“The rules,” Tormund said softly, placing the glass down. “He sought sanctuary. He harmed no one and he has offered payment. We do not turn them away. You said it yourself. This is the promise.”

“I know the damn rules!” I shouted, my composure finally cracking. I leaned forward with my voice dropping to a horrified whisper. “But you want to know what I felt? You want to know why I really want him gone?”

Tormund stopped his cleaning and gave me his full attention, his old eyes kind and worried.

I took a deep shuddering breath with the truth tasting like ash in my mouth.

“When I touched him… Tormund, I felt the pull of the bond. That disgusting horrible cosmic joke of a feeling.” I looked up, meeting his gaze with my own eyes wide with revulsion and shock. “The man is my fated mate…!”