Chapter 2
613words
Alexander"s car cut through Manhattan"s night. Rain lashed the windows. I tracked our attackers while our blood connection hummed between us—his heartbeat echoing in my veins, his emotions rippling through me.
"The Council structure," I demanded.
"Twelve Elders." His eyes never left the road. "Oldest vampires, werewolf Alphas. They maintain order."
His scent—pine, cedar, primal musk—made my predator instincts both alert and calm.
"Why you?" I pressed. "The Council has dozens of bodyguards."
"Five years ago, I lost my mate to an ancient vampire. I swore vengeance."
"So you hate vampires, I despise werewolves. Perfect match." Sarcasm dripped from my words.
"I used to think all vampires deserved death," he admitted. "Now I know Victor is more dangerous than you imagine."
Thunder cracked. We stopped at a remote motel. One room left.
In the cramped space, his presence overwhelmed me. Through our connection, each heartbeat felt like a drum against my skin.
"Your wound is still bleeding." I noticed silver poison seeping from his neck.
"It"s fine."
"Don"t be stupid. I feel your pain." I took out a first aid kit. "I need to remove the silver."
When my fingers touched his wound, heat radiated from his skin. Silver fragments glittered like stars in his flesh. Through our connection, I felt his pain and his effort to hide it.
"Why risk yourself for a vampire?" I asked softly.
His eyes met mine. "Initially, Council orders. Now… I"m not sure."
"Your mate was killed by vampires. Why don"t you hate me?"
"I did," he confessed. "Then I discovered truth is more complex than hatred."
I shared, surprising myself: "I understand revenge. I spent 50 years hunting Victor"s followers."
The moment felt too intimate. I quickly rebuilt my walls. "We"re temporary allies, nothing more."
My computer decrypted: "the union of blood and wolf will break the ancient curse."
"What does marking mean to werewolves?" I asked.
"In werewolf culture, marking is sacred—protection, not control. Some Alphas twisted its meaning."
"In my experience, all marking concerns control," I said bitterly. "Victor used it to enslave me."
He moved closer. "Not all connections are about control, Isabella. Some make both parties stronger."
His sincerity vibrated through our connection. I stepped back. "Pretty words for potential prey."
A noise woke me. Shadows moved outside.
We prepared for battle with unexpected synchronicity.
He shielded me. I pushed him away. "I"ve killed more enemies than your years alive."
He smiled. "In my pack, we protect each other. It"s about team."
The battle erupted. We moved together perfectly—my speed complementing his strength. Like dancers who"d performed together for centuries.
After defeating them, we discovered the attackers bore Victor"s mark but also had modern technology implants.
"Three hundred years have taught you impressive skills," he said with newfound respect.
I smiled, rare for me. "First survival lesson: never rely on others. Though… you"re not so bad yourself, wolf."
"Have you really been alone for three centuries?" he asked softly. "No lovers?"
Memories flashed: brief connections ending in betrayal or loss. The painter. The musician. The doctor. Everyone I cared for, eventually destroyed because of me.
"Dependence brings weakness," I answered. "Weakness brings death."
"Sometimes, the right connection brings strength," he whispered. "My pack makes me stronger because we choose to support each other."
"Maybe for werewolves. I"ve yet to find a connection that makes a vampire stronger."
"Maybe you haven"t given it a chance."
In half-sleep, I found myself drifting toward his warmth. Most shocking—I didn"t pull away.
For three hundred years, I"ve never allowed myself to need anyone. But in his warmth, I felt something I"d forgotten existed—safety. Perhaps the most dangerous feeling of all.
