Chapter 4
650words
Our pack was small and weak, constantly getting squeezed out of territory by the Steel Claw gang—the most vicious werewolves in New Sea City.
The Steel Claw operated like typical thugs, treating independent packs like ours as problems to be eliminated.
That night after my shift, several Steel Claw members cornered me in an alley behind the nightclub district.
"Layla, our alpha's patience is running thin." The scarfaced leader grinned, revealing too many teeth. "Your pack's territory—you handing it over nicely, or do we need to help you 'relocate'?"
"That land has belonged to our pack for generations. We're not giving it up!" Despite my racing heart, I stood my ground.
"Doing this the hard way, then!" Scarface snarled, signaling his goons forward with a flick of his wrist.
Just then, a figure materialized between us like a ghost—Cael, who'd come to walk me home.
"Leave." Just one word, spoken softly.
"Who's this pretty boy? Got a death wish?"
The Steel Claw thugs advanced, cracking knuckles and baring teeth.
What happened next burned itself permanently into my memory.
Cael moved with inhuman speed. No flashy martial arts—just brutally efficient strikes targeting pressure points and joints with surgical precision.
Like a dancer of death, he dropped each werewolf in seconds, his movements almost beautiful in their lethal efficiency.
Though clearly holding back to hide his true nature, the display was terrifying enough.
Scarface and his crew scrambled away, practically crawling over each other in their haste to escape.
The alley fell silent again.
When Cael turned to me, his face was ashen.
Even that small taste of his sealed power had triggered a vicious backlash.
He swayed dangerously, and I rushed to support him.
"Galen, how did you—"
"Former martial arts training," he mumbled, leaning heavily against me as cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
I stopped questioning.
I half-carried him home, watched over him all night as he shivered on the couch, gently dabbing the cold sweat from his brow.
Remembering how he'd stepped between me and danger without hesitation, all my doubts melted away, replaced by something warm and terrifying.
In the darkness, I took his ice-cold hand in mine.
And with what seemed like his last ounce of strength, he squeezed back.
After that night, something shifted between us—the air charged with unspoken possibilities.
But one question haunted me: who was he, really?
Deep in the night, muffled groans from the living room jolted me awake.
I crept from my bedroom to find a scene that shattered my heart.
Cael sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes screwed shut, face contorted in agony.
On his bare chest, what I'd mistaken for an elaborate tattoo pulsed with sickly crimson light.
His entire body trembled violently, as if enduring torture beyond human comprehension.
He was attempting to break the seal through sheer mental force.
With each attempt, the runes flared brighter and his face grew more deathly pale.
Finally, with a choked sound, blood trickled from his lips and he collapsed like a marionette with cut strings.
I rushed to catch him, tears springing unbidden to my eyes.
I finally understood—the amnesia, the calm facade—all carefully constructed lies.
Beneath his cold exterior raged a private hell I couldn't begin to comprehend.
I gently wiped the blood from his lips and made him comfortable.
Then, as if guided by some unseen force, I opened his laptop.
This time, he'd forgotten to lock it.
An email remained open on screen.
The sender: Lilith.
"…'Moonlight Breath' is your only key, but the price is steep. Cael, be certain of her feelings. Only genuine love will break your bonds."
The email revealed nothing about Cael's true identity.
But ice spread through my veins. Whatever his identity, he was using me.
Moonlight Breath? Werewolf? Key?
These words sliced through my newly-built trust like razor blades.
