Kaya
Shelly is good. Too good.
I used to think her flirtatious smiles and cutesy giggles around men were just part of who she was—effortless, natural. But now, watching her performance up close, I finally understand.
It's always an act.
She does whatever it takes to survive. Just like I used to.
"He's dead."
Jack's voice drops, thick with something I didn't expect—genuine grief. The raw emotion in his tone catches me off guard. I never thought rogues could feel anything but loyalty born from fear, yet there's real sorrow in his eyes.
His beady gaze snaps to Shelly, who has already shuffled over to my side, her entire body trembling like a leaf clinging to a dead branch. She stares blankly ahead, blinking rapidly, but I notice the way her eyes subtly dart around—searching for something. Or someone.
"You did that?!" Jack snarls, and before either of us can react, he lunges.
His thick fingers clamp around Shelly's throat, squeezing tight.
"There's no fucking way you took him down alone, especially since we—"
He stops abruptly, his expression shifting as he steals a quick, wary glance at Magnus.
I know exactly what he was about to say. We couldn't have shifted. They have poisoned us. But Magnus isn't supposed to know that.
Jack's grip loosens, and he changes course.
"Anyway," he mutters darkly, "you bitches killed him. I don't know how or why, but there's no fucking way I'm letting this slide."
With a violent shove, he throws Shelly to the floor. She gasps, clutching her throat, but Jack barely looks at her. Instead, he spits to the side, muttering curses under his breath as his hands rake through his short, spiky hair.
I press myself against the bed, my mind spiraling into chaos.
I killed Storm without thinking about the consequences. And he was an alpha.
In a normal pack, that would mean a death sentence—trial or not. But these are rogues. They've slaughtered countless wolves, and justice isn't something they concern themselves with. Yet this time, things are different. Alpha Reiner is here. He can't just ignore this, not if he wants to prevent Diamond Claw from declaring war on Dark Wood.
Jack turns to Magnus again, his eyes full of expectation. He's waiting—no, demanding—for the alpha to speak in his favor. But Magnus remains silent.
Instead, his deep amber gaze stays locked on me.
I shift under the weight of his stare, uneasy yet oddly unafraid. There's no hostility in his expression, no threat simmering beneath the surface. If anything, he seems to be searching for a way not to side with Jack. As if he's looking for an excuse to get us both out of this mess.
"Alpha Reiner," Jack snaps impatiently, but Magnus silences him with a sharp flick of his hand.
"You already know my answer," Magnus says, his voice like steel. His glare cuts through Jack like a blade. "Alpha Storm was supposed to hand these women over to me unharmed. He broke the deal. If she hadn't killed him, I would have."
Jack's face contorts in rage.
"What?!" His voice rises, raw with fury. His wolf stirs beneath his skin, clawing for control, but Magnus's beast flashes through his eyes, just for a second.
And that's all it takes.
Jack's defiance crumbles. His wolf cowers, retreating like a scolded pup.
"I promised to look the other way if these two women were handed over to me unharmed," Magnus says, his voice calm yet edged with authority. He gestures toward Shelly's battered body, marred with deep bruises and raw scratches from Storm's brutal beating. "Yet look at this one. If she told me she shifted in self-defense, I would believe her."
Jack is speechless. I, on the other hand, silently thank the Moon Goddess for Magnus's unexpected leniency. It's suspicious—how easily he's dismissing the murder—but as long as it keeps us alive, I'm not about to question it.
Magnus takes a slow step forward, closing the distance between him and Jack. His towering presence alone seems to shrink the other man.
"Besides," he continues smoothly, "your leader's position is vacant now. And if I recall correctly, you were second in line." He leans in slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto Jack's. His next words are almost a whisper, yet they coil around the rogue like a snake. "So why waste time? Take the opportunity while it's right in front of you."
Jack's face changes—first confusion, then realization, and finally, unmistakable hunger. Of course he wants it. Who wouldn't want to be leader? He may not be an alpha, but rogue packs don't follow the same rigid hierarchy as traditional ones. Others will challenge him for control soon enough, but Magnus's words serve their purpose—offering Jack just enough reassurance to keep him distracted.
While Jack wrestles with his newfound ambitions, Magnus flicks his fingers. Another man steps into the room—a tall, broad-shouldered figure clad in simple ashen-black clothing. His eyes flick over the scene, taking in the blood, the tension, and finally, his alpha. He frowns but says nothing.
"Take the girl to the first car," Magnus orders. "There are blankets there. Be careful—she's badly injured. And call the doctor. Tell him to be ready."
"Understood." The man nods, stepping cautiously toward Shelly.
She instinctively recoils but immediately winces, a sharp grunt escaping her lips. Pain clouds her expression, and fear grips me—I worry she might be bleeding internally or have fractured bones. Before I can warn him, the man halts, crouching beside her. His movements are slow, deliberate. Then, reaching for the bed, he pulls a sheet from Storm's tangled linens.
"Don't worry." His voice is warm, reassuring, as he drapes the fabric over her trembling shoulders. "No one will hurt you. That's a promise."
Shelly is too weak to resist. The fight has long left her body, so she only offers a small, weary nod. The man nods back, then scoops her up effortlessly, cradling her with surprising gentleness as he carries her out the door.
I watch them disappear, my heart twisting in uncertainty. Then, instinctively, my eyes find Magnus's, and immediately, his amber gaze locks onto mine. He doesn't speak, but the weight of his stare is enough. He expects me to stand. To walk out on my own.
I try. I really do. But the moment I shift, my legs tremble violently beneath me, and before I can even straighten my knees, I collapse. Heat rushes to my face—mortification burning my skin.
Magnus exhales, raking a hand through his tousled dark hair. Then, with a single step, he closes the space between us. Unlike his companion, he moves without caution, without concern for whether his presence intimidates me.
Crouching to my level, he holds my gaze and murmurs, "Will these scars burn if I touch you?"
I blink—too fast, too many times. My eyes sting with fresh tears. Why would he ask that? No… why does he even care to?
Maybe he grows tired of my silence, or maybe he simply doesn't need an answer. Because the next thing I know, he's undoing the buttons of his black shirt with a single, forceful motion—sending them flying. Then, without another word, he wraps the fabric around my bare shoulders, enveloping me in his lingering warmth.
Before I can react, he lifts me. Effortlessly. As if I weigh nothing at all. His arms secure me against his bare chest, the heat of his skin seeping through every fiber of me.
Something shifts inside me. A sensation so foreign, so unexpected.
I feel safe. At ease.
I don't know if it's his scent—earthy, rich, intoxicating—or the way his touch barely registers against my skin. But every breath he takes, every movement he makes, it's like a lullaby. Soothing. Inviting.
I can't stop myself. My body surrenders, melting into him as sleep threatens to pull me under.
"Alpha Magnus…" My voice is barely a whisper, my tongue sluggish, my eyelids heavy. "I know who you are…"
A low sound rumbles in his chest—something between a sigh and a growl. For a moment, he says nothing, as if annoyed by my words. But then, his breath ghosts over the crown of my head, warm and steady.
"I doubt that," he finally murmurs. "But I know who you are."