The prosecution's star witness was falling apart on the stand, and I could taste victory in the air.
"So let me understand this correctly, Ms. Chen." I approached the witness box with measured steps, my heels clicking against marble like a countdown. "You claim you saw my client force himself on Ms. Ashford at approximately midnight on Friday, but your own credit card records show you made a purchase at Eclipse's bar at 12:15 AM. From the main floor. Not the VIP section."
The woman's face flushed red. She was young, probably paid well for her testimony, and clearly hadn't expected anyone to dig into the details of her story.
"I… the times might be approximate—"
"Approximate." I let the word hang in the courtroom air like an accusation. "Ms. Chen, you're under oath. Are you telling this court that your testimony about the exact time and location of an alleged sexual assault is… approximate?"
Kane sat perfectly still at the defense table, but I could feel his attention on me like a physical touch. Three days of preparation had led to this moment—the systematic destruction of Victoria Ashford's fabricated case.
"I may have been mistaken about the exact time," the witness admitted.
"Mistaken about the time. Were you also mistaken about what you allegedly witnessed?"
The prosecutor shot to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is badgering the witness."
"Overruled." Judge Harlow looked as unimpressed with the prosecution's case as I felt. "Answer the question, Ms. Chen."
But before the witness could respond, the courtroom's main doors burst open.
The sound of splintering wood cracked through the chamber like gunfire. Screams erupted from the gallery as armed men in leather vests poured through the entrance, their faces covered with bandanas bearing crimson fangs.
Blood Fangs.
Chaos exploded around me. Bailiffs reached for weapons they couldn't draw fast enough. Civilians dove under benches as gunshots echoed off marble walls. The smell of gunpowder and terror filled the air.
I stood frozen at the witness stand, my legal mind trying to process the impossible. This was a courthouse—sacred ground, protected space. Things like this didn't happen here.
Then I saw Marcus Blackthorn.
He moved through the chaos like he owned it, tall and predatory in expensive leather that made him look more like a CEO than a biker. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a face that would have been handsome if not for the cold calculation in his gray eyes.
Those eyes found mine across the courtroom, and he smiled.
Pure ice flooded my veins. This wasn't random violence. This was targeted, personal, designed to send a message to anyone who thought they could interfere with whatever Marcus had planned.
A message written in blood and terror.
Kane's voice cut through the screaming: "Calla, get down!"
I turned toward the defense table and watched impossible things happen.
Kane's restraints—heavy steel designed to hold the most dangerous criminals—snapped like paper clips. The sound of breaking metal was lost in the gunfire, but I saw his hands come free with casual ease that defied physics.
Then he was moving.
Not running. Flowing. Like liquid violence poured into human form. A Blood Fang member swung a gun toward the defense table, and Kane simply… wasn't there anymore. The man's shots hit empty air while Kane materialized behind him, one hand closing around the gunman's throat.
The crack of vertebrae was audible even over the chaos.
My body was moving before my mind caught up, dodging debris and panicked civilians with a grace I'd never possessed. Something was happening to me—my vision sharper, my reflexes impossibly fast, like the world had slowed down while I sped up.
A Blood Fang raised his weapon in my direction, and I saw the trajectory before he pulled the trigger. Saw exactly where the bullet would go, exactly how to move to avoid it. My body twisted with inhuman speed, the shot missing me by inches.
How did I know?
But there was no time to think, only react. More gunmen were advancing through the courtroom, and Kane was cutting through them like they were standing still. Every movement was brutal efficiency, predatory grace that spoke of violence as natural as breathing.
"Impressive."
The voice came from directly behind me. I spun, and Marcus Blackthorn was there—close enough to touch, close enough that I could see my reflection in his cold gray eyes.
"Hello, Calla. We need to talk."
My hand moved toward the pepper spray in my briefcase, but Marcus caught my wrist with casual strength.
"I wouldn't." His grip was firm but not painful, like he was handling something fragile he didn't want to break. Yet. "Not when we have so much to discuss."
"Let go of me."
Marcus tilted his head, studying my face with the intensity of a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen. "You have her eyes. Elena's eyes. But there's something else there, isn't there? Something… more."
Fear and confusion warred in my chest. "What are you talking about?"
"You don't know? How delicious." Marcus's smile was razor-sharp.
"You'll understand soon enough, Calla. You belong to this, whether you realize it or not."
Before I could demand an explanation, Kane appeared beside us like an avenging angel. Blood spattered his orange jumpsuit, and his eyes burned with rage so pure it was almost beautiful.
"Get your hands off her."
The words came out as a growl—literally. The sound reverberated through my bones, primal and commanding in ways that made my knees weak despite the danger.
Marcus didn't release my wrist. "Kane. Still playing hero, I see. How's that working out for you?"
"Last warning, Marcus."
The air between them crackled with tension that had nothing to do with their criminal rivalry. This was personal, ancient, the kind of hatred that ran bone-deep.
"Take her," Marcus called to his men. "Both of them."
Kane moved.
I'd thought I'd seen him fight before, but this was different. This was violence as art form, brutal and beautiful and absolutely terrifying. He tore through Marcus's men like they were made of paper, and every movement spoke of strength that shouldn't exist in human form.
When the last Blood Fang hit the marble floor, Kane turned to Marcus with murder in his eyes.
"This ends now."
"Does it?" Marcus finally released my wrist, but his gaze lingered like a brand. "You don't even understand what you're protecting, old friend. But you will. And so will she."
The roar of motorcycle engines shook the courthouse as Iron Fang members poured through every entrance. Rescue had come, but my world had already tilted beyond recognition.
Kane wasn't human. I'd seen it in shattered chains and impossible speed, in the way he carved through gunmen like shadows. And the worst part? Some reckless part of me didn't care.
"Time to go." His voice was suddenly at my ear, low, commanding. His hand found mine, and the touch jolted through me like live current. My pulse stuttered, not in fear but in recognition.
Before I could gather a protest, we were moving. Kane's hand never let go, dragging me through the smoke and chaos to a fire exit where black Harleys waited, gleaming like predators in the night.
He swung onto the lead bike in one fluid motion, his jumpsuit pulling taut across hard lines of muscle.
"Get on."
"Kane, I can't—"
"Get on, or Marcus takes you instead." His eyes burned into mine, fierce and desperate. "Trust me."
Against every rational thought, I obeyed. My skirt rode up indecently as I climbed on behind him. The moment my arms locked around his waist, my breath caught—because he went rigid. He felt me. Every curve pressed into him, every tremor in my chest against his back.
The bike roared to life, vibrating beneath us, and when he accelerated, my body snapped tighter against his. His scent—smoke, leather, something darker—wrapped around me, intoxicating. My thighs pressed into his hips, and I hated how badly I didn't want to let go.
We tore from the courthouse in a storm of engines and gunpowder smoke. Behind us, sirens wailed, the city waking too late to stop us. Iron Fang riders flanked us, a deadly pack shielding their leader.
I clung to Kane like he was the only solid thing in a collapsing world—and maybe he was. My pulse racing with the engine's growl. But when I glanced back, the flashing lights weren't just trailing us. They were closing in—faster than they should have.
This was the beginning of the hunt.