"You look big and dangerous—can't you do *something* about these folks?" Amelia shouted over the roar of the wind, her words whipping away as the motorcycle tore through the streets at breakneck speed. Bullets zipped past like angry bees, the chasers car hot on thier trails. The sun had crested the horizon now, bathing racoon city in golden rays that turned the waking city into a glittering trap. More cars dotted the roads—commuters sipping coffee, vendors setting up stalls—turning the escape into a deadly game of dodge. But the gang behind them didn't give a damn. To them, normals were just collateral, and challenging their hunt? That was a one-way ticket to a shallow grave.
They rode over potholes, clipping a fruit stand in a spray of oranges and splintered wood, shattering a light pole in a shower of sparks. Amelia's arms clamped tighter around Jake's abdomen, her fingers splaying across the hard ridges of muscle beneath his leather jacket. Heat radiated from him, mixing with the metallic tang of his blood from the grazed shoulder—warm, alive, dangerously close. She pressed her cheek against his back, inhaling the raw scent of him: smoke, sweat, and something wilder, like untamed night.
Who even are these people? she wondered, heart slamming. But Jake didn't answer. His jaw was set, eyes narrowed on the road ahead, every twist of the throttle a silent vow to get them clear. She appreciated it, even as panic clawed at her—Higher Heights' familiar spires were long gone, replaced by this obscure maze of narrowing alleys and forgotten corners.
His face was a mask of grim determination, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew these streets like veins on his own hand. With a growl from the engine, he yanked the handlebars into a razor-sharp corner, the bike leaning so low Amelia's knee scraped the pavement, sending a jolt of fear and thrill up her spine. She yelped, clinging harder, her body molding flush against his—curves to solid strength, a forbidden friction that made her cheeks burn even amid the chaos. Down a steep hill they plunged, tires screaming, then another brutal turn that slung them sideways. He killed the engine mid-street, the sudden silence deafening, halting in the shadow of a boarded-up warehouse on a deserted block.
"What are you doing? Keep moving!" Amelia hissed, shaking his shoulders with frantic hands, her nails digging in just enough to sting.
He wiggled free, twisting to fix her with a stare—dark, dangerous, like storm clouds rolling in. It pinned her in place, words dying on her tongue, a shiver racing down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold morning air. Before she could breathe, the chasers' car screeched around the bend, tires smoking. Four figures piled out, all decked in mismatched red-and-black gear—hoodies slashed with gang tags, chains glinting like fangs. They advanced a few steps, faces twisted in snarls... then froze. One by one, they hawked and spat on the floor, a ritual insult thick with defeat, before piling back in and peeling away, taillights vanishing into the haze.
Jake threw his head back and laughed—a wild, barking sound that echoed off the bricks, raw relief laced with triumph. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, wincing at his shoulder.
"Whew! Imagine if we'd bought it right there in the gutter?" His eyes sparkled with adrenaline, locking on hers.
Amelia blinked, confusion crashing over her like the receding roar of engines. "What... what was that?"
"Welcome to my street, Rainbow," he said, voice dropping to a gravelly purr as he kickstarted the bike back to life. The nickname hit her like a spark—playful, possessive, wrapping around her like his jacket might. "Wolf Street. Where I rule."
"You rule?" she echoed, shouting over the fresh rumble, the words tumbling out amid the vibration humming through her thighs.
"Damn right. I'm head of the Shadow Wolves." He tossed it out casual as a weather report, but it landed like a grenade. The most random bombshell, dropped mid-escape. Amelia's mouth went dry, words stripping away in a rush of ice-cold fear. A gang leader? She was straddling the king of killers, hurtling into a literal den of wolves—technical and otherwise.
Why today? her mind screamed. She'd driven home at midnight a hundred times, chasing that post-surgery high. But this? Bullets, blood, this magnetic stranger who smelled like sin and safety. Regret welled up, hot and choking—I should've stayed chained to the OR table. Her brain short-circuited, vision spotting black at the edges. The world tilted, and she toppled off the bike like a felled tree, hitting the pavement with a dull thud. Lights out.
***
Amelia stirred, her head throbbing like a war drum, vision swimming in blurry waves. She groaned, pressing palms to her temples, fingers tangling in loose strands of her brown hair. The air felt... familiar. Soft sheets whispered against her skin, carrying the faint lavender scent of her own laundry. And underneath? That smoky edge, like embers banked low. Realization hit like ice water—she was home. In her bed, tangled in the crisp white duvet of her minimalist apartment overlooking Higher Heights' glittering sprawl.
She bolted upright, eyes darting wildly. The room was as she'd left it: neutral grays and browns, medical texts stacked on the nightstand, a half-dead fern wilting in the corner from her neglect. But there, sprawled on her plush gray couch like he owned it, was Jake. Chest rising slow and steady, one arm flung over his eyes, leather jacket shrugged off to reveal a black tee clinging to every ridge of muscle. His boots—scuffed and dangerous—were kicked off by the coffee table, and that faint scar on his jaw caught the afternoon light filtering through half-drawn blinds. He looked almost peaceful. Almost human.
Rage and confusion surged. She swung her legs off the bed, staggering as pins-and-needles fired through her limbs—the deepest, most bone-melting sleep of her life. Barefoot on the cool tilddls, she padded over and nudged his thigh with her toe. Nothing. Emboldened, she reared back for a harder kick... but his hand snapped out like a viper, catching her ankle mid-air. Reflexes honed sharp as his knife. Impressive. And infuriating.
He cracked one eye open, then sat up fluid as a cat, still gripping her leg—thumb brushing her calf in a lazy circle that sent unwelcome heat licking up her skin. "What's wrong, Rainbow?" he grunted, voice husky from sleep, rough edges smoothed just enough to rumble through her.
Amelia flushed crimson, yanking free—or trying to. Before she could blink, he tugged her off-balance, and she tumbled forward, landing square in his lap. His arms banded around her waist, not crushing but firm—iron wrapped in velvet, holding her steady against the solid wall of his chest. She could feel every inch: the steady thump of his heart under her palm, the heat of his skin seeping through thin fabric, the faint stubble on his jaw grazing her temple as he leaned in. Her breath hitched, body betraying her with a traitorous spark low in her belly.
"What are you doing? Let me go! This is harassment!" she gasped, shoving at his pecs—hard, unyielding planes that didn't budge an inch. Her fingers splayed wide, feeling the flex beneath, and she cursed the way her pulse skittered.
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating straight through her, a purr of dark amusement. "Don't you wanna say thank you first?" His voice dipped lower, laced with that arousal she had clocked earlier—thick, teasing, wrapping around her like smoke.
She stared, swallowing hard against the dryness in her throat.
"For what?" Defensive, sharp, but her body arched just a fraction, testing the hold. His hazel eyes—wait, hazel? Earlier they'd been midnight black, but now, up close in the soft light, flecks of gold and green swirled like hidden fire. They locked on hers, radiating heat, pulling her in like a tide she couldn't fight.
The air thickened, charged. His free hand skimmed her side, thumb tracing the curve of her hip through the unfamiliar tee—his tee, she realized, oversized and soft, swallowing her frame but hugging in places that made her hyper-aware of every shift. Fabric whispered against bare thighs; she'd been changed. Heat flooded her cheeks, but beneath? A dangerous curiosity bloomed.
"For hauling your fine ass home," he murmured, breath hot against her ear,
"and keeping the wolves at bay." He stood in one fluid motion, lifting her with him like she weighed nothing, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist to steady. She pushed at his shoulders, but it was half-hearted now, nails scraping lightly over ink peeking from his collar—a wolf's snarling head, mid-pounce.
"But how did you find my house?" she demanded, backing away as he set her down, though her feet tangled in the rug, forcing her against the wall. She threw up her hands to halt him, palms flat on that chest again—god, the warmth, the faint salt of sweat lingering from the chase.
He prowled closer anyway, invading her space with that smirk, eyes never leaving hers. "Your car, silly. Yeah, it's safe downstairs—I had my guys fix the tires, patch the bullet holes. She's purring like new."
Amelia's gaze snapped to the wall clock, the hybrid digital face glowing 3:17 PM. Two days? Two whole days blacked out? "How long was I out?"
"Two days," he confirmed, casual as if discussing the weather, but his eyes darkened, tracing her lips.
"Stress, the doc said. Nothing a little R&R won't fix."
She glanced down—yep, not her clothes. A loose tank and shorts, soft against her skin. Clutching at the hem, she felt exposed, vulnerable. "And you... you changed me?"
"Who said I didn't call a doc?" He grinned, wolfish. "But yeah, one of my girls handled the rest. Clean hands, Rainbow. Safe as houses." He nodded to the couch, where her brown suit lay folded neat as a gift, steam-ironed and waiting.
Her shoulders eased a fraction, tension uncoiling like a sigh. Were in safe hands, she thought. Past tense.
"Was," she corrected, voice steadier now, slipping sideways toward the door. "I *was* in safe hands. Now, let's keep it that way—I hope we never cross paths again." She managed to slip off ran to the door and yanked it open, cool hallway air rushing in like freedom.
He chuckled, that deep, rolling sound that vibrated in her core, following slow and deliberate. Pausing in the threshold, he leaned in close—one last invasion, his scent wrapping her like a promise.
"You look sexy as hell in my clothes, Rainbow," he whispered, voice a pleasant sensation that ghosted her neck, sending shivers straight south. Hazel eyes flared, holding hers captive a beat too long, the air crackling with unspoken heat.
Then he was gone—bolting down the stairs with a wink over his shoulder, leaving her breathless, door slamming shut behind the echo of his boots. Amelia sagged against the frame, heart racing, skin tingling where he'd touched. Safe? Hardly. The wolf had marked his territory, and as distant engines rumbled outside—faint, watchful—she wondered if he'd really left... or if the hunt was just beginning. A shadow flickered past her window, too quick to catch, and her pulse spiked.