Scarlett's boots pounded against the damp earth, her breath sharp and ragged in the cold night air. Every step sent a fresh wave of agony lancing through her thigh, the deep slash refusing to clot. Blood dripped steadily down her leg, leaving a crimson trail behind her. She didn't care. She had bigger problems.
Her hood was pulled low, hiding most of her face. The moonlight occasionally caught the strands of her hair—dark auburn, matted with sweat and blood. Her wolf was restless inside her, urging her to keep moving, to push through the pain.
But her body was giving up.
She stumbled out of the forest and into the outskirts of the city, weaving her way between shuttered shops and deserted streets. The stink of garbage and damp concrete filled her nose. Her lungs burned.
Finally, she found an alley—narrow, dimly lit, half-swallowed by shadows. Perfect.
Scarlett sank down against the rough brick wall, her hoodie sticking to her back from blood and dirt. Her hands trembled as she peeled up the fabric over her thigh to assess the damage. A jagged claw mark ran across the muscle, deep enough to expose raw flesh. She hissed, biting back a curse. She could still fight if she had to, but she knew the wound was bad.
She sighed inwardly. Another mess. Another night where she'd barely made it out alive.
Pulling her phone from her pocket, she scrolled until she found the one number she trusted enough to call.
It rang twice.
"Scarlett?" a low male voice answered, tinged with sleep and suspicion.
She closed her eyes briefly. "I need a pickup. East end. Don't make me wait."
A pause. "You're bleeding, aren't you?"
"Just come," she muttered, ending the call before he could argue.
With the phone resting beside her, Scarlett reached up and slowly tugged her hoodie back. Her features emerged from the shadows—the kind of beauty that wasn't delicate, but dangerous.
High cheekbones. A strong jawline. A faint scar running along the edge of her right eyebrow, a memento from a fight she'd won years ago. Her skin was pale, smudged with grime, and her full lips were chapped from the cold.
But her eyes… her eyes were what people remembered. A striking, molten amber that could burn through lies and silence a room. The kind of eyes that spoke of survival, of having seen too much and lived anyway.
She let out another sigh, dragging her fingers through her messy hair. She had no pack. No family. No one who had ever truly loved her—not since she was a pup, abandoned to the streets like trash.
Rogue. Outcast. Whore. She'd been called it all.
Scarlett had learned young that the world didn't hand you kindness. You had to take what you needed, however you could get it. She'd sold her body more times than she cared to count, not because she liked it, but because it kept her alive. Kept her fed. Kept a roof—sometimes—over her head.
But that didn't mean she was some meek little stray who'd roll over for anyone. She knew her rights. She knew how to fight. And if anyone thought they could push her around, she made damn sure they regretted it.
Tonight had been… unfortunate.
She'd lifted something she shouldn't have. Something valuable. The kind of thing people would spill blood over. She hadn't planned to end up in Blackmoon Pack territory while fleeing, but the city's backstreets had forced her in that direction.
And the moment the Blackmoon warriors spotted her, they'd gone straight for the kill.
Four of them. Armed. Big. Well-trained. The kind of wolves most rogues avoided like the plague.
But Scarlett wasn't most rogues.
She'd fought like hell—dodging claws, shoving blades between ribs, using their own momentum against them. Two of them she'd left on the ground wheezing in pain. The other two had gotten in lucky hits before she'd slipped away.
She grinned faintly to herself despite the blood pooling around her boot. Those warriors would be limping tomorrow.
Now all she had to do was wait for her contact—her friend—who, conveniently, was a member of the very pack whose warriors she'd just humiliated.
A gust of wind howled through the alley, chilling her to the bone. Scarlett shivered and tugged the hoodie back over her head, sinking deeper into the shadows.
Time dragged. The distant hum of the city was muted, almost dead at this hour. A rat scurried past. Somewhere, a bottle smashed against pavement.
Her thigh throbbed relentlessly, but she ignored it.
It was almost 2:30 a.m. when she finally heard footsteps—measured, deliberate—echoing at the mouth of the alley.
Then a voice, low but sharp.
"Scarlett."
She looked up.
Her friend stood there, broad-shouldered and tall, his dark hair slightly mussed, his sharp eyes fixed on her with the kind of look that could flay skin. He was dressed in casual clothes, but the tension in his posture screamed that he wasn't here for a friendly chat.
Scarlett sighed, pushing herself to her feet with great difficulty. Her leg screamed in protest, but she forced herself upright, refusing to show weakness.
She reached for her hoodie's edge and tugged it low over her face again before stepping into the dim light.
The moment she got close enough, she caught the way his jaw clenched. His gaze swept over her bloody leg, the dirt on her clothes, and then finally met her eyes with something between disbelief and exasperation.
"You look like hell," he said flatly.
Scarlett smirked. "You should see the other guys."
"Scarlett…" His tone dropped dangerously low. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
"Oh, I have an idea," she replied, brushing past him. "That's why I called you. Now are you going to help me walk, or are you going to stand there looking like you're about to chop my head off?"
His hand shot out, gripping her arm—not harsh, but firm enough to stop her.
"You picked a fight with Blackmoon warriors," he growled. "At two in the morning. In their territory."
She tilted her head. "Picked a fight? They started it."
"You stole something."
Her smirk widened, sharp and unapologetic. "And I won."
He cursed under his breath and glanced over his shoulder, scanning the street. "You're lucky you called me before they dragged you to the Alpha."
Scarlett's eyes glinted in the dark. "Let them try."
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "One day, you're going to push too far."
"Maybe," she said, leaning a little more heavily on him as her leg threatened to give out. "But not tonight."
Together, they disappeared into the shadows, leaving only the faint trail of blood behind.