Eliana's POV:
The darkness wrapped itself around me like a oiled cocoon as I weaved my way through the barren roads of Oakland. Every footfall left crimson signatures on the pavement — breadcrumbs for any hunter of mine. Each ragged breath burned my lungs, but instinct propelled me forward.
I looked over my shoulder for the twentieth time. Nothing. Just ghosts laughing at my misbegotten nerves.
And then finally, my legs betrayed me under the skeletal branches of an old oak tree. I fell to the ground, chest rising and falling, my eyes focused on a weathered sign ahead, which read Tombsdale Territory—Enter At Your Own Risk
I'd made it to the border. That impossible distance, covered on bleeding feet and broken ribs — a testament to desperation's power.
The wind shifted, the essence of Tombsdale flowing in my direction. Cold. Ancient. Hungry. Wolf cries echoed in the distance, primal, hunting. I pressed my palm into my sternum where my slumbering beast should have reacted. Nothing. Only hollow emptiness where power ought to be.
Jaxon's wolfsbane had done its job well.
Without a wolf, I was completely undefended—omega, yes, but less than that. The temptation to retreat flashed through my mind, a brief code-red moment snuffed out by memory. Jaxon's eyes. The glass. The blood.
"Forward," I said under my breath. "Better die than hold a life in cage."
I crossed the invisible line into Tombsdale—territory of Alpha Denver, my father's sworn foe. The land known for its brutal king and his bloodthirsty wolves. All Blood Hounds were raised on horror stories about Denver's cruelty.
The air shifted immediately. Someone—something—watched me.
My own neck hairs stood at attention as lightning ripped through the sky, backlighting the forest in relief. Thunder rumbled overhead as if in warning.
"Look what the storm blew in," a voice cut through the darkness — deep, commanding, dangerous.
Silver eyes appeared first — shining like mercury in the dark. Then the rest of him came out from between two ancient trees. Tall. Imposing. Lethal.
Alpha Denver.
He was everything the stories said — maybe worse. Dark hair twirled back into a tight knot revealing sharp, angular features seeming chiseled from granite. His shoulders strained against a black shirt with impossible width, muscles wound like a predator's before the kill.] But it was his eyes that froze me — ancient, knowing, coldly calculating.
"What are you doing here, dear?" His voice pulsed in my chest cavity, causing my broken ribs to quiver painfully.
Words died on my tongue as shadows bloomed behind him—his betas, snapping and foaming with overt bloodlust. Their eyes shone with anticipation.
Instinct took over. I turned and ran.
Branches slapped my face as I barreled through the underbrush. Pain screamed in my body, but survival was louder. Lightning flashed above, momentarily lighting my route of escape before returning me to darkness.
"Bring her to me!" Denver's command thundered over the forest, and howls of pursuit followed.
Rain started pounding on the ground, turning dirt into mud under my feet. Every breath shredded my soot-damaged lungs. It made my vision tunnel, reducing it down to only the road ahead.
The universe determined I'd run enough. My foot tripped on an exposed root and I went sprawling, face-first, into the mud. I rolled onto my back, eyes wide as a huge shadow loomed over me.
Silver eyes. That's all I registered before consciousness faded.
Warmth. This was the first coherent thought as consciousness seeped back. Soft cloth running under my fingers. The soft flicker of candlelight on my eyelids.
I sprang straight up, my heart hammering against my broken ribs. Unfamiliar room. Unfamiliar bed. The flame of the candle quivered at my abrupt movement.
"Finally awake." The voice didn't surprise me — somehow I had known he was there before he spoke.
Denver stepped from the shadows into the circle of light. His movements were purposeful, balletic despite his mass — a predator at ease in his prowess. He clasped his hands behind his back, his face drawn into a stern patrician line.
"You thought you could escape from me?" There was no heat in his voice, only cold curiosity.
I retreated until the back of my head hit the headboard, pulling my knees up to my chest defensively. Every story, every whispered warning about this man replayed in my head. Denver the Destroyer. The Blood Alpha. The War Bringer.
He took a step closer. I shoved myself further into the wood.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice dropping into what was almost gentle.
I recoiled violently when he extended his arm toward me. He hesitated, then pressed on slowly until his fingertips hovered near my injured ankle.
"I can read your thoughts," he said in a whisper. "You're terrified. Nowhere to go. No one to turn to."
His hand wrapped around my ankle, and something electric ignited in my core. A heat radiated from his touch, traveling up my leg and into my core. My heart, which had been pounding in terror, suddenly steadied into a strong, steady rhythm.
It was like a moment so overwhelming it was like finding something I never knew I needed. Up until this moment, I felt like I'd spent too long in the snow — pulling my purse out of the freezing cold, until everything came back to life, my skin tingling under his touch, the alarm giving me a freaking slap across the face for a good reason, and got me somehow to feel... safe.
My eyes met his. The silver had somehow softened to reveal depths I hadn't seen before. Something passed between us: recognition without comprehension.
Mate.
The word stole through my mind unbidden, unwelcome. Impossible.
I jerked my leg away, severing the connection. His fingers ghosted over my skin.
Denver's mouth twisted in something that could have been amusement. "If my intention was to hurt you, I could have already done it."
He walked to a small table across the room and poured dark red liquid into a crystal tumbler. Its look — the casual way he raised it to his lips — brought to mind flashes of Jaxon and his bottles. My breath caught.
"You're badly hurt," Denver said, swirling his wine. "And you have wolfsbane coursing through your blood. It's amazing you're even conscious at all."
My hand reflexively went to my throat. Seven years of it, Jaxon sprinkling poison in my food and drink. Seven years of my wolf completely smothered, only a whisper in my head.
Denver left his glass and came back to me. This time when he reached for me, his fingers moved in a line from my hairline to my cheekbone, documenting each injury with the precision of a catalog.
"What happened to you?" There was no pity in his voice, only curiosity and something more sinister.
I collected what courage I had left. "Let me go."
Woven into the little air between us, the words barely escaped as a whisper.
"A thank you would be enough," he said, a brow rising sharply. "I'm normally not this... hospitable to trespassers.
He was looking harder at me now, as if he could pry the right answers out of my brain.
"I know you're a Blood Hound. His voice hardened. "Actually, his daughter, Gerald's daughter. You cannot hide from me what you are."
My heartbeat stuttered.
"Why you were in my forest in the middle of the night, half-dead and running from something that scared you more than I do," he continued. His head tilted slightly. "That's... intriguing."
Could I trust this man? This enemy of my father? This Alpha with a centuries-long reputation for brutality that spanned over territories?
"Speak, little one." The command crackled with authority.
"I was lost," I lied, failing to meet his gaze.
Denver's hand came up, fingers angling under my chin, turning my gaze to his. "Don't. Lie. To. Me." Every word dripped with warning. "I can taste lie in the air."
Something inside me crumbled.
"I ran away," I said, the words tumbling out. "I no longer belong there. I can't go back—"
Tears I had bottled up for years threatened to spill. I guess, Denver said with an infinitesimal change of expression, his thumb stroking my jaw with unlikely delicacy.
"Did they do this to you?" he asked, gesture encompassing my wrecked body.
I nodded once.
"Who?" The word had such menace that the candle flame appeared to shrink.
"Does it matter? As long as I don't go back, I'm safe." My voice trembled.
"Eliana."
Hearing my name on his lips gave me the shivers. How did he—?
"You're Eliana — the girl who's mother died when she was born." Recognition dawned in his eyes.
Terror gripped me anew. If he knew that story, he knew what everyone believed: that I had killed her.
"I did not kill my mother," I blurted, voice cracking. "I swear I didn't—"
"I know."
Two simple words. So casually delivered. My breath caught.
Our eyes met, and something elemental shifted between us. There was almost this unspoken acknowledgement in the air.
"Don't hurt me, please," I whispered, a headache blooming behind my temples.
My hands completely shrink in Denver's massive ones. The contact set my heart racing again — not from fear, this time, but something much more dangerous.
The mate bond. No way to deny that his skin is against mine. My dormant wolf woke for the first time in years, stretching out for something only she could feel.
But Denver's face never changed. Did he not feel it? Or did he simply not care?
Alphas searched for their mates for lifetimes. But someone like Denver — cold, calculating, ruthless — would see that kind of bond as a weakness. His eyes, which were piercing, had a hollowness in them where humanity should live. This was a man who could not love.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he swore, his voice rusty. "I'll protect you. You never have to go back to your pack."
My eyes widened in disbelief.
"But," he said, "you will owe me."
Of course. Nothing was freely given.
"What do I have to give the Alpha of Tombsdale?" I asked.
Something flickered on his silver gaze—something wild and territorial, enough to tighten my gut.
"Soon enough you will know exactly what you have that I want."
Denver let go of my hands and stepped to the door, his silhouette a dark shape in the candlelight.
"Rest now. You're in safe hands."
With a soft click, the door shut behind him, leaving me alone with his promise.
Safe hands. I
followed the residual warmth from his fingers pressed against mine.
Were there any truly safe hands in this world?
And how dearly would I pay in the end for his protection?