Chapter 6

Arnold’s POV

Hunter was always so dramatic. The brooding, the warnings, the heavy sighs that sounded like tectonic plates shifting—it was exhausting. He wore his guilt like a wet wool coat, heavy and suffocating, refusing to take it off even when he was inside by the fire. He liked the weight of it. He felt that if he suffered enough, it might make up for the sins of the past.

I, on the other hand, preferred to enjoy the slide down to hell. If we were going to burn, we might as well toast marshmallows on the way down.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a vacuum of silence in the cabin. The storm outside battered the windows, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of seared meat and fresh trauma.

I leaned back in my chair, balancing on the back two legs, and watched Gloria. She was attacking her steak with a ferocity that didn't match her delicate features. She was trying to be brave, shoving food into her mouth as if it were fuel for a machine, but I could smell the truth.

Terror.

It rolled off her in waves, sharp and acidic, mixing with the metallic tang of the blood that had been washed off but still lingered in my nose. But underneath that fear was something else—something sweet. Like vanilla orchid and ozone. It was the kind of scent that made a wolf’s canines ache to extend. It was intoxicating.

"You’re staring," she murmured, not looking up from her plate. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her fork.

"I’m observing," I corrected, letting the front legs of my chair slam back onto the floor with a loud thud. "There’s a difference."

"And what do you observe?"

" That you're terrified," I said simply. "But you're eating anyway. That’s good. Most spoiled princesses would be weeping into the mashed potatoes by now."

She paused, her jaw tightening. "I’m not a princess anymore. I’m an exile."

"Welcome to the club. We don't have jackets, but the whiskey is top shelf."

I stood up, stretching my arms over my head until my spine popped. I prowled around the table, moving with a deliberate slowness. I knew what I looked like to her—a predator circling a wounded deer. I didn't try to hide it. Pretending to be safe was Hunter's game. I believed in showing people exactly where the teeth were.

"So," I said, trailing my hand along the back of her chair. "Hunter is playing the noble protector tonight. He’s out there in the rain, freezing his tail off, guarding the perimeter. That leaves me to be the bad influence."

Gloria finally looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed but clear. "I don't need a bad influence, Arnold. I need to survive."

"Same thing, sweetheart."

I stopped directly behind her. She went rigid, her muscles locking up like stone. I could hear her heart rate spike—thump, thump, thump—a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

I leaned down, bracing my hands on the table on either side of her plate, boxing her in. I lowered my head until my lips were hovering just inches from the shell of her ear. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

"Survival isn't just about fighting, Gloria," I whispered, my voice dropping to a low rumble. "Hunter thinks it is. He thinks if you punch hard enough, the world stops hurting you. He’s wrong."

She didn't pull away. She didn't breathe.

"It's about manipulation," I continued, inhaling her scent. God, she smelled good. "It's about knowing what people want and giving it to them... for a price. It’s about making them think they’re winning right up until you rip their throat out."

She turned her head slightly, just enough that her cheek brushed against my nose. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin.

"Is that what you do?" she asked softly. "Manipulate people?"

"I do whatever keeps air in my lungs," I whispered. "I'm a survivor. Just like you."

I reached out, my fingers rough against her soft skin, and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. My thumb lingered on her pulse point. It was fluttering wildly. She shivered, a full-body tremor that had nothing to do with the cold draft in the room.

"You smell good," I murmured, the wolf in me pushing against the surface, demanding a taste. "Better than an Alpha's daughter should. You smell like trouble."

"Don't," she breathed. Her voice was weak, but she didn't lean away.

"Don't what? Tell you the truth?" I straightened up, pulling my aura back just enough to let her breathe. "You’ve been lied to your whole life, Princess. Told that if you were good, and dutiful, and wore the right dress, you’d be happy. Look where that got you."

I walked to the kitchen counter and leaned against it, crossing my arms. "Jaxson is a fool. A blind, weak fool. If you were mine, I wouldn't have rejected you for some beta trash like Chloe."

Her eyes widened. "If I were yours?"

"Hypothetically," I smirked, though there was nothing hypothetical about the heat in my blood. "If you were mine, I would have put a collar on you. A nice one. Maybe diamond-encrusted. And I would have dared anyone in that pack to touch a single hair on your head."

"I'm not a dog," she snapped, standing up and facing me. Her chair scraped loudly against the wood floor. "I don't wear collars."

"We're all dogs, Gloria," I laughed, the sound dark and devoid of humor. "Some of us just have better pedigrees than others. We all answer to a master. Hunger. Lust. Power. Even Hunter answers to his guilt." I winked at her. "I just prefer to choose my own leash."

She opened her mouth to argue, her eyes flashing with that beautiful Alpha fire, but the sound was cut off before it began.

The room was suddenly bathed in a rhythmic, pulsing red light. The silent alarm on the wall panel flared to life.

Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

The playful atmosphere evaporated instantly. My muscles coiled tight.

From outside, over the roar of the wind, a howl tore through the night. It was deep, mournful, and aggressive. Hunter.

"Well," I sighed, the mask of the charming rogue slipping away to reveal the soldier underneath. "Playtime is over."

I reached under the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the sawed-off shotgun mounted there. I checked the chamber—loaded.

"What is it?" Gloria asked, her voice jumping an octave. The panic was back, choking out her anger.

"Company," I said flatly. "Hunter sounded the kill alarm. That means they aren't just scouting. They’re breaching."

"Stay here," I commanded, moving toward the window. "Get behind the fridge. Stay down."

"No."

The word was sharp. I turned back.

Gloria had grabbed a steak knife from the table. She was gripping it so hard her knuckles were colorless. Her hand was shaking violently, but her jaw was set in a line of granite.

"I'm not hiding anymore," she said. "I’m done hiding."

I looked at her. Really looked at her. The scared girl from the car wreck was gone. In her place was something desperate and dangerous. Hunter was right. She could be a weapon. But weapons needed to be loaded.

"Fine," I grinned, a rush of adrenaline flooding my system. I liked a girl with a death wish.

I opened the drawer next to me and pulled out a Glock 19. I tossed it to her. She caught it, clumsy but firm.

"Safety is off. There’s a round in the chamber," I instructed rapidly. "Point and shoot. Two hands to steady the recoil. And for the love of the Moon Goddess, try not to hit me or my brother."

She nodded, ditching the knife and gripping the gun. She racked the slide—unnecessary, but dramatic. "Let's light the match."

I moved to the front window, peering through the slats of the blinds. My wolf vision pierced the darkness, filtering out the rain.

Shadows were moving in the tree line. Fast. disciplined. These weren't rogues; these were pack enforcers.

"There's four of them," I noted, tracking their heat signatures. "Hunter has engaged two on the east flank."

"That leaves two for us," Gloria whispered, coming up beside me.

I glanced at her. She was terrified, yes. But she was standing her ground.

"Ready to burn some bridges, Princess?" I asked.

"Burn them all," she hissed.

We didn't have to wait long. The heavy footsteps thundered onto the porch. There was no knock. No request for entry.

The front door didn't just open; it exploded inward, wood and hinges turning into deadly shrapnel as a massive body slammed through it.