The sound of splintering wood was a jagged punctuation to the stillness of the mountain night. Air, cold and smelling of iron and ozone, rushed into the cabin, carrying with it the scent of death—of men who hunted for sport and profit.
Luca didn’t flinch. He didn’t reach for a weapon, nor did he back away. He merely shifted, a fluid, terrifying transition of posture that turned his human frame into something coiled and lethal. He stood between me and the threshold, a mountain of shadow and simmering violence.
"Stay behind me," he growled, the vibration of his voice rattling against my ribcage. It wasn't a request. It was a command that tasted of silver and blood.
I didn't argue. My heart was a bird trapped in a glass cage, battering against my chest. Every instinct I possessed—the remnants of my scientific mind—screamed that I should be running for the back exit. But my feet were leaden, rooted to the floorboards by a strange, magnetic pull. I was his. The realization surged through my veins like a fever, sickening and intoxicating all at once.
Three men stepped through the shattered frame. They were armed, their movements tactical and precise, eyes scanning the room with cold, predatory hunger. My breath hitched. I knew them. Not by name, but by the jagged scars of the world they occupied—the men who had harassed my research camp for weeks, the ones who spoke of "specimens" and "anomalies."
"Luca Petran," the leader said, his voice grating like gravel. He didn't look at the wolf; he looked at me. His gaze traced the line of my throat with a terrifying, clinical precision. "You’ve spent enough time playing guardian. Hand her over. You know the Council won't tolerate your interference any longer."
Luca laughed—a low, dark sound that held no humor. He took a step forward, and the floorboards groaned under his weight. "You think you’re here to collect a specimen? You’ve walked into a grave."
The tension in the room was physical, a pressurized atmosphere that made my skin crawl. Luca’s hand found my arm, his grip bruising, possessive. He hauled me back, shielding me entirely with his body. The heat radiating from him was scorching, a furnace in the freezing night.
"She belongs to the forest," Luca said, his eyes beginning to shift, the pupils dilating until the iris was nothing but a rim of molten gold. "And she belongs to me."
The leader signaled, and the men surged forward.
Everything turned into a blur of motion. I was shoved hard into the corner, behind the heavy oak table. I fell, my shoulder hitting the wall with a dull thud, but I couldn't look away. I watched as Luca moved—not like a man, but like a storm. He was a force of nature, efficient and savage. He didn't use a knife; he used his strength, his speed, his sheer, unadulterated rage. One hunter was thrown back with such force he crashed through the wall, limp and silent. The second went down with a crunch that made my stomach turn.
Then, there was only the leader. He lunged, a blade glinting in his hand.
"Luca!" I screamed, the name tearing from my throat.
The sound seemed to snap something in Luca. He caught the man’s wrist, twisting it until the bone groaned, then slammed him face-first into the floor. The cabin fell into an eerie, suffocating silence.
Luca stood there, chest heaving, his shirt torn at the shoulder, revealing the rhythmic thrum of his pulse beneath tanned, scarred skin. He turned his head slowly. His eyes were fully the color of amber now, wild and unfocused. He looked at me, and for a fleeting second, the violence drained from his expression, replaced by a raw, naked vulnerability that staggered me.
He crossed the room in two strides. He didn't stop until he was looming over me, pinning me against the wall with his body. He braced his arms on either side of my head, trapping me. I smelled him—pine needles, musk, and the copper tang of blood.
"Did they touch you?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. His breath was ragged, hot against my skin.
"No," I whispered, my voice trembling. I was terrified of him, of what he had just done, and yet, I found myself leaning into the space he provided. "Luca, look at your hands."
He glanced down at his blood-stained knuckles, then back at me. A strange, twisted smile touched his lips. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip. The touch was impossibly gentle, a stark contrast to the massacre he had just committed.
"You are terrified," he murmured, his voice dropping to a gravelly purr. "Good. Fear keeps you alert. Fear keeps you mine."
"I hate this," I gasped, trying to push against his chest, but he didn't budge. My palms slid over the hard, heated muscle of his torso. My body was betraying me again—a traitorous, thrumming ache starting deep in my belly. "I hate what you’re making me become."
"You aren't becoming anything, Beatrice," he said, leaning down until his forehead rested against mine. "You are simply waking up."
He closed the distance, his lips brushing against mine in a graze that was neither a kiss nor an assault, but a claim. It was an interrogation of my defenses. He tasted of salt and hidden things. I trembled, my hands climbing his shoulders, fingers curling into his hair. I didn't want to kiss him, I didn't want to be here, and yet I was pulling him closer, desperate for the oblivion he offered.
Suddenly, Luca went rigid. His head snapped toward the shattered door, his nostrils flaring.
"They aren't alone," he whispered, his eyes widening. "There are more. A pack-hunting unit."
He grabbed my hand, his grip crushing, and hauled me toward the back of the cabin. "The woods are our only chance, but they aren't coming for the cabin anymore. They’re setting the brush around us on fire."
I looked toward the door. Orange flickers were already licking at the wood frames, smoke beginning to coil into the room like vipers. Luca dragged me toward the window, but stopped abruptly, his body shielding me once more. Through the smoke and the crackling roar of the growing fire, a silhouette appeared in the doorway—a man who stood with a stillness that felt more dangerous than the hunters who had just fallen.
"Luca Petran," a new voice echoed, cold and devoid of human warmth. "You forgot to account for the Alpha of the northern range."