salvage hearts

Chapter One: The Rogue in the Rain The city of Raven Hollow wore its secrets like fog—low, thick, and impossible to escape. Neon lights blinked across wet pavement as thunder cracked above the skyline. Rain drizzled steadily. Riven Thorne stood at the boundary line, already soaked , his eyes full of praise beneath the hood of his jacket. After ten years of been away, the city still smelled the same. He inhaled slowly. Blackmoor wolves. Close. Riven’s jaw clenched. He should’ve kept going. Should’ve turned south into the woods and disappeared again. But something kept pulling him back. Her scent. He didn’t know her name, only that it was human—faint but intoxicating. It had clung to the alley two nights ago, during the full moon, just before everything went to hell. He'd been hunting a deer just beyond the city line when he lost control and shifted without warning. Something had triggered the curse—something he hadn’t felt in years. Someone had watched him. Now he had to find out who. He pulled his hood lower and crossed the street, boots slapping the wet concrete. The buildings loomed overhead, tall glass tombs hiding a thousand lives. He could hear them all—laughter, music, crying, hunger. Human. So unaware. Raven Hollow had always been the Blackmoor territory. Their wolves ran the courts, the banks, the police. They owned politicians. Controlled the clans. Broke laws and made new ones when it suited them. And ten years ago, they had tried to wipe Riven’s bloodline from existence. The Thornes hadn’t been warriors or royalty. They were Healers—peacekeepers in a world ruled by teeth and power. But one night changed everything. Riven still remembered the fire. The smell of burning fur. His mother’s scream. Cassian Blackmoor had ordered it. And Riven had survived. Barely. Now, Cassian ruled as Alpha. And Riven was back. The hunger inside him stirred. He ducked into a narrow side street and froze. Someone was there. A flash of movement on the fire escape above. Then silence. The hairs on his arms stood up. “Come out,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Or I’ll come up.” No answer. With a growl, Riven leapt upward—inhuman speed carrying him halfway up the fire escape. A figure slipped backward, gun drawn. He paused. She wasn’t wolf. She was human. And stunning. The woman had dark eyes that didn’t flinch, even when staring down a stranger from five feet away. Wet hair clung to her jaw. Her coat was torn, blood staining the sleeve. And yet she held that pistol steady—like she’d used it before. “Who the hell are you?” she asked. Riven grinned despite himself. “I could ask you the same.” “I’m the one with the gun.” He took a step closer. She fired. The bullet scratched his shoulder, and he didn’t even move. He touched the wound, and smiled. “Silver-jacketed. Impressive. Most hunters these days go cheap.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re one of them.” “Not anymore.” “You shifted two nights ago,” she said flatly. “In the woods behind Glenrow. I saw you.” “You should’ve run.” “I was raised to chase monsters, not run from them.” Riven’s smile faded. “May I know your name?” She hesitated. “Ayla.” “Your scent’s been driving me crazy for two days, Ayla.” “That’s not charming. That’s disturbing.” “It’s the truth.” Riven stepped back, raised his hands, then climbed down slowly. He could still smell her—a mix of vanilla and danger. She followed him down, not lowering her weapon. “You’re not Blackmoor, are you?” she asked. “No.” “Then why are you here?” “To find out who you are. And why you were in the woods on a full moon.” “I’m a journalist.” He chuckled. “That’s new. Most reporters don’t carry silver.” She glanced at his bleeding shoulder. The wound was already healing. “Who are you really?” she asked. “Riven Thorne.” Her eyes widened slightly, just enough to give her away. “That name’s dead.” “Not quite.” Lightning lit the sky again. She stepped back instinctively. “Your pack was wiped out.” “So the stories go.” “Why come back? You should be hiding.” “I was,” he said. “Until I smelled war in the air. And until I saw you.” Ayla didn’t like the way her stomach fluttered. She’d heard his name once, years ago, whispered in a hunter’s bar by a drunk man with burn scars. A child who survived a m******e. A wolf with a curse. A ghost. And now he was real. Moving in front of her. Beautiful. Broken. Dangerous. “dont come close,” she warned. “I can’t,” Riven said in a lowered voice. “You’ve already pulled me into something I don’t understand.” She lowered the gun—just slightly. He turned and walked into the shadows, vanishing into the rain. Ayla stood there for several minutes, heart pounding, finger still on the trigger. Something in her blood had awakened when he looked at her. And it scared her more than any monster she’d ever