Chapter 32

The bald man's grip on my arm tightened as he studied me more carefully, a new and terrifying interest dawning in his cold eyes.

"Not marked yet..." he mused, his gaze sliding over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "Perhaps we should take advantage of that fact."

He exchanged a meaningful look with the thin man beside him, who stepped closer to me with a predatory smile that revealed unnaturally sharp canines. With a jolt of horror, I realized he wasn't human—he was a werewolf, a traitor to his own kind.

"Alpha Reid took something from us," the thin werewolf said, his voice a silky purr that did nothing to mask the malice underneath. "It seems only fair we take something from him in return—something he values." His eyes raked over me. "Something he hasn't even had the chance to fully claim."

The implication of his words hit me like a physical blow. They intended to violate me in the worst possible way—not just as revenge against Kieran, but as the ultimate insult: defiling an Alpha's unclaimed mate.

"No!" I screamed, panic giving me a surge of desperate strength as I wrenched away from the bald man's grip. I managed to break free for just a moment before the thin werewolf caught me from behind, his arm snaking around my waist.

"She's spirited," he laughed, holding me easily despite my struggles. "I like that."

"Let me GO!" I shrieked, thrashing against his hold. My foot connected with his shin, earning me a vicious kick to the back of my knees that sent me crumpling to the forest floor.

Pain radiated up my legs as I tried to scramble away, only to be hauled roughly back to my feet by the bald man.

"You don't understand," I gasped, desperate to find any way out of this nightmare. "I'm not what you think—I hardly know Kieran. We're not even properly together!" The lies spilled from my lips in a frantic attempt to make myself less valuable as a target. "If you have an issue with him, take it up with him directly. I can't help you!"

The thin werewolf laughed, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek with mock tenderness. "Nice try, little Luna. But we've been watching. We know exactly what you are to him."

I flinched away from his touch, revulsion crawling over my skin like insects. His fingers traveled down my neck to the junction of my shoulder—the place where Kieran's mark would have been if we had completed the bond.

"Such soft skin," he murmured, leaning in so close I could feel his hot breath against my ear. "Unmarked...untouched...ready to be claimed."

Terror unlike anything I'd ever known seized me. My wolf surged within me, desperate to emerge, to fight—but the silver knife still gleaming in the bald man's hand made shifting too dangerous. One cut and I would be incapacitated, possibly killed by the silver poisoning.

As the thin werewolf's hands began to wander, I shut my eyes tight, trying to block out the reality of what was happening. I thought of Kieran—his strength, his kindness, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me. I thought of the marking I had feared and now desperately wished had happened. If he had marked me, would he be able to sense my terror now? Would the mate bond guide him to me?

Suddenly, as the werewolf's unwanted touch continued, something strange began to happen. A warmth flared deep within me, not from my wolf but from somewhere else—somewhere deeper, more primal. It spread outward, racing through my veins like liquid fire, heating my skin until I felt I might burst into flames.

The air around me seemed to shimmer with heat, crackling with energy that I could neither understand nor control. It wasn't my wolf trying to emerge—it was something else entirely, something powerful and unknown that swelled inside me, demanding release.

Before I could process what was happening, the thin werewolf suddenly recoiled with a howl of pain. Blood streamed from his hand where it had touched me, the skin blistered and raw as if burned by acid.

"What the—" he yelped, staring at his injured hand in shock. "The bitch burned me!"

The bald man stepped back, eyes wide with fear and confusion. "What are you?" he demanded, the silver knife wavering in his grip. "What kind of freak are you?"

The thin werewolf's face contorted with rage and pain. "She's a witch!" he snarled. "Some kind of fucking witch!"

I stared at my own hands in bewilderment. They looked normal—no flames, no visible signs of whatever power had just manifested. But I could still feel it coursing through me, a strange, wild energy unlike anything I'd experienced before.

"Forget the original plan," the bald man spat, raising his knife. "We kill her now. She's too dangerous."

Survival instinct took over. With the men temporarily distracted by whatever had just happened, I seized my opportunity. Despite the risk of silver poisoning, I called to my wolf, feeling the familiar pain of bones reshaping, muscles elongating as I shifted.

The transformation was faster than it had ever been before, fueled by desperation and the strange new power still burning in my veins. In seconds, my wolf stood in my place—larger and stronger than I remembered, fur bristling with the same energy that had burned the werewolf.

With a snarl, I launched myself at the bald man, knocking the silver knife from his grip before he could react. My teeth found his arm, tearing through flesh and muscle. He screamed, the sound high and thin with terror as he scrambled backward.

The thin werewolf began his own shift, but he was slower—his burned hand seeming to impede the transformation. I didn't wait for him to complete it. I turned on him next, my wolf driven by a rage I had never experienced before. My jaws snapped, catching him in mid-shift, vulnerable and unbalanced.

The two other men, who had hung back during the confrontation, suddenly rushed forward. To my shock, they too began to shift—more traitor wolves, not humans as I had assumed. Three against one—the odds were not in my favor, yet somehow I felt no fear. The strange power continued to surge through me, lending my wolf strength and speed beyond what should have been possible.

I fought with a ferocity that surprised even me, my wolf moving almost as if possessed by an ancient instinct for battle. One of the wolves lunged for my throat; I twisted aside and countered with a savage bite to his haunch that sent him yelping away. Another tried to circle behind me, but my senses were heightened beyond their normal capabilities, and I whirled to meet his attack before he could strike.

The forest echoed with growls and yelps as we fought, a blur of teeth and claws and fur. Blood—mine and theirs—stained the ground, yet I felt no pain, only the driving need to survive, to win.

Two of the wolves lay injured, no longer able to fight effectively, while the bald man had dragged himself to safety against a tree, clutching his mangled arm. Only the thin werewolf remained standing, his wolf form circling me warily, looking for an opening.

My strength was beginning to wane, the strange power flickering and fading as exhaustion set in. I had fought well, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could last.

Just as the thin wolf gathered himself for what would have been a decisive lunge, the night erupted with new sounds—the thunder of many paws racing through the forest, the battle cries of a pack on the hunt.

Black shapes poured into the clearing like living shadows—wolves of the Silver Moon Pack, teeth bared and eyes blazing with righteous fury. At their head ran an enormous black wolf, larger than any I had ever seen, with intelligent amber eyes that I would recognize anywhere.

Kieran.

The thin werewolf never stood a chance. Kieran's massive jaws closed around his throat in one clean motion, ending the fight before it could truly begin. The rest of the pack swarmed over the remaining attackers, subduing them with military precision.

Relief flooded through me, so intense it made my legs tremble. As the adrenaline and strange power drained away, exhaustion hit me like a physical blow. My vision began to blur, dark spots dancing at the edges.

The last thing I saw was Kieran's wolf racing toward me, three human figures following behind him—Damonander among them, his face a mask of concern. Then darkness claimed me, and I knew no more.