Chapter Four: Blood and Belonging

Marina's Pov 

I woke up alone.

For a second, panic clawed at my throat. He left. The deal was fake. I was alone again. My hand went to my chest, pressing against the hollow ache that felt too familiar.

Then I heard a dragging sound. Heavy. Wet.

I pushed out of the tent and my breath stopped.

Lycan was dragging a body. A dead wolf. Its throat was torn open, hanging by threads of skin and muscle. Blood soaked the ground in a dark trail behind it. Near what was left of the fire, two more bodies lay crumpled and broken.

"They came during the night," Lycan said matter-of-factly. . His voice was calm, like he was telling me about the weather. He dropped the body with the other two. The sound it made—the wet thud of dead weight hitting earth—made my stomach turn. "Three of them. They smelled you. Thought you were easy prey."

He looked at me then. Blood spattered his face and chest. It was in his hair and under his fingernails. He looked like something out of a nightmare.

"They were wrong," he finished.

I should have screamed and run.

I should have done something other than just stand there staring at three dead wolves and the man who'd killed them.

But all I felt was relief that it was them dead and not me. Not him.

"You killed them while I was sleeping?" My voice came out steadier than I expected.

"Yes. You didn't even wake up. You're exhausted." He walked past me to his pack, pulling out a cloth to wipe the blood from his hands. The movement was efficient, like he'd done this a thousand times before. "That's going to be a problem. You're too vulnerable like this."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize." He turned to look at me. His gray eyes were cold and empty, "It's not your fault Shadowmoon half-starved you and worked you to death. That's on them." His jaw tightened. "And they'll pay for it."

The way he said it—the simplicity and certainty in his voice—sent a shiver down my spine.

He went back to packing up camp like there weren't three corpses ten feet away. "Get dressed. Eat something. We leave in twenty minutes."

I looked at the bodies again. One of them had his eyes open and I could see his glassy eyeballs.

"What about them?"

"What about them?"

"We're just... leaving them here?"

"Yes." Lycan didn't even glance at them. "The scavengers will take care of it by nightfall. Nature cleans up its own mess."

I went back into the tent. My hands were shaking as I changed out of the shirt I'd slept in and back into my dirty maid uniform. The fabric felt wrong now. 

When I came back out, Lycan had food laid out on a flat rock. Bread. Cheese. Dried meat. Even an apple. My stomach growled so loud it hurt.

"Eat," he said.

I sat down and took a piece of bread. It was soft and fresh. Nothing like the stale crusts I was used to. I ate it slowly, trying to make it last. Also, I did not to seem desperate.

Lycan watched me. His eyes tracked every bite I took and every swallow.

"More," he said when I stopped.

"I'm full."

"You're not. Your stomach shrunk from years of starvation. Eat more."

"I can't—"

He crouched in front of me. His presence was overwhelming this close. "Every time you tell me you can't eat, I add another name to the list of people who hurt you. Every time I see your ribs showing through your skin, I think about tearing someone's throat out." His hand came up to cup my face. The touch was too gentle for hands that had just killed three wolves. "So eat. Because watching you starve makes me want to burn down that entire pack."

I picked up another piece of bread. My hands were shaking but I ate it. Then the cheese. Then some of the meat.

He watched the whole time. Satisfied.

While I ate, he talked. His voice was calm like he was discussing a business transaction instead of murder.

"We have three days to reach my territory. During that time, you're going to tell me everything. Every person who hit you. Every insult. Every cruelty. I want names, dates, details."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to destroy them. Thoroughly. And I want to make sure I don't miss anyone."

I looked at him. I coulf tell her wasn’t joking or exaggerating. He meant every word.

"Alpha Marcus first," he continued. "He's the one who allowed it all. The head of the snake. Then Luna Diane. She stood by and watched. Then this Alia." His voice dropped on her name. "The sister who tormented you. She gets special attention."

"She's just a kid—"

"She's sixteen. Old enough to know exactly what she was doing." His jaw tightened. "Old enough to understand consequences."

"I want them to hurt," I said. The words came out before I could stop them. "Like they hurt me."

"They will. I promise you that." He stood and offered me his hand. "But first, we need to make you stronger. You can't get revenge if you're dead."

I took his hand. His grip was firm and warm.

We walked.

The forest was thick here. Dense trees blocked out most of the sunlight. My feet hurt in these awful boots but I didn't complain. Complaining got you nothing at Shadowmoon except more work and maybe a slap if Alia was in a bad mood.

Lycan set a steady pace. Not fast but not slow either. He kept me on his right side, slightly behind him. Every time a branch snapped or leaves rustled, his hand went to the knife at his belt.

After an hour of silence, he spoke. "Someone grabs you from behind. What do you do?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Self-defense. Someone grabs you. What do you do?"

"I—I don't know—"

"Wrong answer." He stopped walking and turned to face me. "You go for the eyes, the throat, or the groin. Soft targets. You're smaller and weaker so you fight dirty. Always."

He moved behind me before I could react. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. The contact sent sparks through my whole body. I could feel every inch of him pressed against me.

"Now get out," he said against my ear.

My brain stopped working. He was too close. Too warm. The mark on my neck was pulsing.

"Marina. Focus. Get out of the hold."

I tried to pull his arm away. It didn't budge. I tried to twist. Nothing.

"Stop thinking. React." His voice was patient but firm. "I just grabbed you off the street. What do you do?"

I stomped on his foot. Hard.

He didn't even flinch. "Good instinct. Bad execution. You're barefoot. That would hurt you more than me. Try again."

I threw my head back, aiming for his face.

He moved easily, avoiding it. "Better. But I saw it coming. You telegraphed the movement. Again."

We did it again. And again. 

By the time he let me go, I was breathing hard and frustrated.

"You're weak," he said. Not cruel. Just stating a fact. "Years of malnutrition and overwork destroyed your muscle mass. We need to fix that."

"I'm trying—"

"Try harder." But then his hand came to my shoulder. The touch was brief but grounding. "You survived six years of hell. You can survive this."

We started walking again.

"Tell me about Alia," Lycan said after a while. "Start with the worst thing she did to you."

I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to remember but he'd asked and something about his tone made it clear he wasn't going to let this go.

"She was nine when it started. When they took away my room and gave me the cupboard." I kept my eyes on the path ahead. "The first week, she would open the cupboard door in the middle of the night. Just to wake me up. She thought it was funny."

Lycan said nothing—just listened.

"Then she started giving me impossible tasks. Fetch a book that didn't exist. Clean a room that was already clean. Find something she'd hidden on purpose." My throat got tight. "If I failed, she'd tell Alpha Marcus I was lazy. He'd take away my meals for the day."

"Keep going."

"When she turned thirteen, she got worse. She'd spill things on me on purpose. Juice, soup, wine. Then act innocent. 'Oops, sorry Marina. You're so clumsy.'" I could still hear her voice in my head. Sweet and fake. "Her friends would laugh. The whole pack would laugh."

"Names," Lycan said. His voice was ice. "Give me the names of her friends."

"Sara. Beth. Morgan."

"Ages?"

"Sixteen. Same as Alia."

"Good. Continue."

"The worst was my birthday. My eighteenth birthday." I had to stop walking. The memory was too much. "She threw a party. Invited the whole pack. I had to serve them. Carry trays of food and drinks while they celebrated. And then—"

My voice broke.

Lycan stopped. He turned and waited. 

"She gave a speech. Thanked her parents for taking me in. Said they'd shown me such kindness by letting me stay and work for them. Everyone clapped." I looked at him. "They actually clapped. Like I should be grateful for sleeping in a cupboard and eating scraps."

Something dark crossed Lycan's face. Something that made him look less like a man and more like the monster everyone said he was.

"Alia dies last," he said quietly. "I want her to watch everyone else fall first. I want her to know what's coming. I want her to be afraid."

"She should be afraid," I said. And I meant it.

We walked for another two hours before we saw them.

Four wolves. Males. Rough-looking. Moving through the trees parallel to our path. They weren't trying to hide. Weren't being subtle.

Rogues.

Lycan's hand went to my arm, pulling me closer to him. "Stay behind me. Don't run unless I tell you to."

"I'm not—"

"That wasn't a suggestion."

The rogues stepped onto the path ahead of us, blocking the way. They were all bigger than me. And they had this dangerous look about them. One of them smiled when he saw me.

"Well, well," he said. His voice was rough. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out here?"

Lycan moved so fast I barely saw it. One second he was beside me, the next he was in front of me. A wall of muscle and threat between me and them.

"She's mine," Lycan said. His voice was quiet. Deadly.

The rogue who'd spoken laughed. "Don't see your mark on her, friend. That makes her fair game."

"You're right." Lycan turned to look at me. "Come here."