The interior of Kael's car smelled like expensive leather and a storm. It was a silent, heavy atmosphere that made my lungs feel tight. As we sped through the rain-slicked streets of the city, I watched the familiar neon signs of diners and gas stations blur past. They looked like ghosts. I had walked these streets a thousand times, worrying about my bank balance or whether I'd remembered to lock my window. Now, looking at my hands—my human, trembling hands—I felt like an alien observing a world I no longer belonged to.
Kael drove with a terrifying kind of focus. He didn't look at me once, his hands steady on the wheel, but I could feel his awareness of me. Every time I shifted in my seat, his jaw tightened just a fraction.
"Where are we going?" I finally whispered. My voice felt like it was made of glass.
"Somewhere the Council doesn't look," Kael replied. His voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the seat and into my spine. "And somewhere Marcus's spies can't report back to."
"You don't trust your own Alpha?"
Kael flicked a glance at me, his molten silver eyes flashing in the dark. "I trust Marcus to do what is best for the Pack. Usually, what is best for the Pack involves getting rid of complications. And right now, Elara, you are the biggest complication in this city."
I sank deeper into the leather. Complication. It was a better word than monster, I suppose.
We pulled into the underground garage of a glass-and-steel high-rise that looked far too expensive for a man who spent his nights in bloody alleys. Kael killed the engine, and the sudden silence was deafening.
"Move," he commanded.
I followed him to a private elevator. The ride up was silent, the tension between us thick enough to choke on. Every time the elevator car swayed, my arm brushed against his coat, and that electric spark jumped between us again. I hated how much my body responded to him. I should have been terrified—he was an Executioner, for God's sake—but the wolf inside me seemed to recognize him as something... ours.
The elevator opened directly into a penthouse that looked more like a fortress than a home. It was all dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a clinical level of neatness. There were no photos on the walls, no stray mail on the counters. It was the home of a man who lived like a ghost.
"Sit," he said, gesturing toward a sprawling charcoal-gray sofa. "And don't touch anything. Your scent is already all over me; I don't need it on the furniture."
I sat, feeling small and filthy in the middle of all that luxury. I was still wearing my shredded jacket, my jeans were stained with alley grime, and I was pretty sure I had a smudge of blood on my cheek.
Kael disappeared into another room and returned a moment later with a first-aid kit and a bundle of black fabric. He tossed the fabric at me. "Go wash up. Second door on the left. Throw your clothes away—burn them if you have to. They smell like the 'created' thing that attacked you."
I didn't argue. I went into the bathroom, which was larger than my entire kitchen, and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like a disaster. My hair was a bird's nest of knots and dried snow, and my eyes... they looked different. They were still my brown eyes, but there was a depth to them, a golden ring around the iris that hadn't been there yesterday.
I stripped off my ruined clothes, shivering as the cold air hit my skin. I scrubbed myself under the scalding water of the shower until my skin was pink, trying to wash away the scent of the alley and the feeling of those claws against my neck. When I stepped out, I pulled on the clothes Kael had given me. It was a massive black t-shirt and a pair of drawstring sweatpants. They were far too big, the hem of the shirt hitting mid-thigh, and they smelled exactly like him.
Walking back into the living room felt like walking into a trap. Kael was standing by the window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He had taken off his coat, revealing a tactical holster strapped over a crisp white shirt. The contrast of the lethal weapon against the expensive fabric was a reminder of exactly who he was.
"Come here," he said without turning around.
I walked over, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. He turned, his gaze raking over me in the oversized clothes. For a second, his shadow-dark expression faltered, his eyes lingering on the curve of my collarbone where the shirt hung loose. The air between us suddenly felt very, very hot.
"Your neck," he muttered, stepping closer.
He reached out, his fingers tilting my chin up. His touch was firm, his thumb resting just beneath my jawline. I stopped breathing. Up close, Kael was beautiful in a way that felt like a warning—like a beautiful cliffside you know you're going to fall off of.
"The rogue scratched you," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. "It's not deep, but the venom of a 'created' wolf is slow. It hinders the healing process."
"I... I didn't feel it," I stammered.
"You were too busy trying not to die." He opened the first-aid kit and pulled out an antiseptic wipe. As he pressed it to the scratch on my neck, I winced. "Hold still."
"Why are you doing this, Kael?" I asked, my voice trembling. "You're the Executioner. You kill people like the man in the alley. You're supposed to be the one the Pack fears."
He paused, his face inches from mine. I could see the individual silver flecks in his eyes. "I am," he said softly. "But you aren't a traitor, Elara. Not yet."
"And if I am? If I can't control the wolf?"
Kael leaned in, his breath ghosting over my lips. The magnetic pull was a roar now, drowning out my common sense. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to stop being a hunter and just be... this. Close.
"Then I'll be the last thing you ever see," he whispered. "But until that day comes, you belong to me. Not the Pack. Not Marcus. Me."
He didn't kiss me. He did something worse. He leaned down and pressed his nose to the pulse point in my neck, taking a deep, lingering breath of my scent. A low, possessive rumble vibrated in his chest—a growl that was pure, unadulterated wolf.
My knees went weak. I reached out, my hands catching the front of his shirt to keep from falling. My heart was racing so fast I thought I might pass out. He stayed there for a long moment, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.
Then, as quickly as the moment had started, he pulled away. The coldness returned to his eyes so fast it made my head spin.
"Sleep on the sofa," he said, his voice back to that clinical, bored tone. "The doors are locked with biometric scanners. Don't try to leave. If you trigger the alarm, the Council will be here in five minutes, and I won't be able to stop them from taking you."
He turned and walked toward his bedroom, leaving me standing in the middle of his expensive, lonely living room.
I collapsed onto the sofa, pulling the oversized shirt around me. I was exhausted, terrified, and more confused than I had ever been in my life. But as I watched the moon through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I realized the scariest part of my night wasn't the rogue wolf in the alley.
It was the fact that when Kael told me I belonged to him, a part of me didn't want to fight it.