We limped and ran across the city, darting over rooftops and leaping between towers. From up here, everything looked different—magnificent, almost unreal. The tall buildings stretched toward the sky like ancient guardians, and Silva used them as both ramps and landing posts with wild, reckless ease.
The wind slapped against my face, cold and sharp, but instead of hurting, it felt… freeing.
All the pain and anguish from the past couple of weeks slowly peeled off me, falling away like old dead skin. For the first time in what felt like forever, I could breathe again—really breathe—after drowning for so, so long.
I have been running for a while, "Marcella… where would you like to go?" Silva's voice echoed through my head, calm and collected like this was a normal morning jog.
"You know my name?" I asked out loud, breathless.
"Of course I know your name. I have been with you since you were ten years old."
I stopped in shock, nearly stumbling over her next leap.
Ten?
Ten YEARS?
"So all this years you had—"
Before I could finish, Silva suddenly slowed and limped into the middle of what looked like a gathering of people—eight? Ten?—just hanging around under a dim streetlight.
"Silva, wtf are you doing?!" I screamed mentally. "We can't just walk into humans! What if we end up on midnight news?!"
She didn't respond to me.
Instead, she growled—low and dangerous—right at the group.
They flinched at first, eyes wide. But then… awe washed over their faces. Like they were staring at something holy. Something powerful.
"What is a silver wolf doing here?" one whispered.
"Why you asking stupid questions?" another snapped at him.
"Is it one of our guys?" someone else said.
And that voice—
That voice I recognized.
He was one of the bastards who attacked me the day I went to see Carissa.
Silva felt my anger spike. Before I could blink, she lunged at him. Her claws extended, hitting his chest with a force that sent him crashing backward like a ragdoll.
"W—tf!" someone yelled.
They recovered quickly. Their eyes glowed. Their hands shifted, elongating into wolf claws.
They were ready to pounce.
I was still inside Silva's mind, watching her instincts line up like dominoes. For what felt like minutes—but was probably seconds—we both braced for what was coming.
Then she snapped.
She launched into them with a level of violence that made my previous fight look like a schoolyard slap match. Bodies flew. Screams filled the air. Claws raked. Blood splattered. Flesh tore.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.
Every sound, every impact, every slash vibrated through both of us.
Two stable brown wolves suddenly appeared behind the others—smaller than Silva, but organized.
They charged.
Silva swung her body, sending both of them flying. But more wolves appeared behind them. Six in total now.
"Fvck." Silva muttered. "I was trying to take them down before they transformed."
"Will they be a problem?" I asked, my nerves already shaking.
Six wolves. Against one Silva.
I didn't like the math.
"Nah," she said with fake confidence. "It will just take longer."
That didn't calm me at all.
The wolves circled us. Slow. Intentional. Their paws scraped the pavement in a rhythm that sounded like a countdown.
Then—
A sound.
A howl.
But not a normal one.
This one felt like it reached inside my skull and pressed a cold finger directly against my spine.
"Silva… did you hear that?" I whispered. It felt like something was calling me.
"Not now, Marcella. Be quiet. I need to focus."
Then round two began.
The alpha of the group—a grey-and-black wolf—lunged first, biting into Silva's back leg. She snarled and kicked him off, sending him rolling with a whimper.
More wolves attacked from every direction. Silva twisted, kicked, slashed, bit—fighting all of them off at once. But I felt her exhaustion. It seeped into me like warm poison.
And then—
A shadow dropped in front of us.
A giant black werewolf—pure midnight fur, massive shoulders, towering height—landed with a thud that shook the ground. It was the only one as large as Silva.
He turned slightly, studying us with glowing, unreadable eyes.
Eyes…
Eyes I knew.
Before I could process that, he stepped forward, placing himself between us and the others.
He growled—a deep thunderous sound that vibrated through the air—and charged.
The fight was over quickly.
And quickly.
He tore through them with brutal precision, dealing blow after blow. Wolves scattered, limp or barely conscious, as he finished the last strike.
Silence fell.
Then he turned to us.
His eyes locked onto Silva.
And then—
Silva bowed.
"Silva—wtf?! Why are you bowing?! What if he tries to kill us?" I panicked, horrified at her sudden submission.
"Hush," she said. "He is our Alpha. We must regard him as such."
"Like… like a destined mate?" I asked. My werewolf knowledge came strictly from fiction, okay? It sounded plausible.
"What? No. He is not our mate. He is our Alpha. He is the king of all werewolves. All over the world."
I froze.
King.
Of.
All.
Werewolves.
His gaze remained on us, sharp and focused. Then, in a ripple of shifting bone and skin, he transformed—shrinking down until a man stood in front of us.
A naked man, may I add.
He walked closer, his expression unreadable. He placed a hand on Silva's head. She purred—purred—like a giant murderous cat.
Then he spoke.
"Guess I finally found you."
That accent.
That damned accent.
A cold shock ran down my spine like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over me.
"What.
The.
F***."
I stared at him, at the man I had a one-night stand with.
The British man.
The man whose bed I snuck out of.
The man that kept reappearing in my life again and again.
And now he was standing here.
Naked.
A werewolf.
A king.
Looking at me like fate had dragged us back together.