Chapter 15
2136 Words
Chapter 15
Amara’s POV
The world spun on a nauseating, bloody axis.
The sound of the severed limb hitting the wet pavement with a heavy, sickening thud was still echoing in my ears when the rest of the violence erupted around me.
The guard who had been holding my arms released me so fast I collapsed onto my knees, my palms scraping against the sharp asphalt. The man who had lost his arm was writhing on the ground, high-pitched, gargled screams tearing from his throat as crimson sprayed uncontrollably over the brick wall.
"Who the f**k—!" the surviving guard yelled, frantically reaching for the tactical pistol holstered at his hip.
He never drew it.
Out of the dense, rain-soaked shadows of the alley, a figure materialized. He didn't walk; he moved like a phantom, a dense aura of ancient, predatory violence rolling off him in suffocating waves.
Raymond.
His dark coat was unbuttoned, his silver-gray eyes glowing in the gloom with a terrifying, unnatural light. Before the Silver Moon guard could even clear his gun from the leather sheath, Raymond’s hand shot out. His massive, calloused fingers wrapped around the warrior's throat like a vice, lifting the two-hundred-pound man off the ground with terrifying ease.
The guard’s boots dangled uselessly in the air, his hands clawing at Raymond’s iron wrist.
"You lay your hands on her," Raymond said. His voice wasn't a roar. It was a low, terrifyingly calm rumble that vibrated through the damp brick walls, so cold it made the blood in my veins freeze solid. "You dare touch what is mine?"
"A-Alpha..." the guard choked out, his eyes bulging in pure, unadulterated terror as his wolf recognized the absolute, crushing dominance of the creature standing before him. "Please... we were... Alpha Michael sent us—"
"I don't give a damn who sent you," Raymond growled softly.
CRACK.
With a simple, effortless twist of his wrist, Raymond snapped the guard’s neck. The snap was deafeningly sharp. Raymond released his grip, letting the lifeless body drop carelessly into the puddle beside his bleeding partner.
The guard on the floor, his face pale as death as he clutched his spurting arm stump, tried to crawl backward away from Raymond. "No—no! Stay back! We didn't know—we were just following orders! She’s an escaped Luna! She belongs to—"
Raymond stepped forward, his heavy tactical boot coming down directly onto the guard’s chest, pinning him to the earth. Raymond reached into his inner coat pocket, pulled out a sleek, suppressed firearm, and aimed it straight between the man’s eyes.
"She belongs to no one," Raymond whispered.
Pfft. Pfft.
Two quiet double-taps rang out. The guard went instantly limp.
Silence descended on the alleyway, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the steady pitter-patter of rain and the harsh, ragged sound of my own hyperventilating breath.
I was trembling so violently my teeth were chattering. Blood was splattered across my chest, my face, and my hair. The metallic scent was overwhelming, triggering a deep, feral panic inside my inner wolf, Naya. My hands were slick with rain and dirt as I backed away on all fours until my back slammed against the cold brick wall.
He killed them. He killed two elite Silver Moon warriors in less than thirty seconds without batting an eye.
Raymond slowly lowered the gun, engaging the safety before slipping it back into his tailored coat. He didn't look at the bodies. He turned his gaze toward me, his glowing silver eyes locking onto my shaking frame pinned against the brick.
The dark, lethal aura surrounding him began to recede, suppressed by sheer force of will, but the sheer size and danger of him remained. He stepped over the dead men, walking slowly toward me, his heavy boots splashing in the red-tinted water.
"Don't..." I squeaked out, my voice completely broken as tears finally spilled over my lashes, washing streaks through the blood on my cheeks. "Don't come near me..."
Raymond didn't stop. He dropped to one knee in front of me, completely unbothered by the mud and rain ruining his expensive trousers.
"Jasmine," he murmured.
His voice had shifted entirely. Gone was the ruthless executioner; in its place was a deep, velvet softness that made my heart leap erratically in my chest. He reached out a gloved hand, but paused mid-air when he saw me flinch away, my head pressing hard into the brick wall.
A sharp, painful shadow passed over his silver eyes.
"I am not going to hurt you," he said gently, his fingers hovering inches from my cheek. "Look at me. Look at my eyes."
I forced myself to meet his gaze. The feral, glowing light was gone, replaced by an intense, overwhelming warmth that pulled at something deep inside my soul.
"They were going to take me back," I sobbed, my composure entirely shattering as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind a hollow, agonizing exhaustion. "He... he crushed my medicine. I can't go back there, Mr. X... I can't..."
Raymond glanced down at the pulverized plastic and crushed pills lying in the mud a few feet away. His jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his cheek flared, a dark flash of fury passing through his features before he forced his expression back into calm gentleness.
"You are never going back," he promised, his tone absolute and unwavering. "No one is taking you anywhere."
Carefully, slowly, as if approaching a wild, injured animal, Raymond reached behind my knees and back. In one smooth motion, he gathered me up into his massive arms, lifting me off the wet pavement and tucking my shivering body against his broad chest.
I should have fought him. I should have screamed at this terrifying stranger who had just slaughtered two men right in front of me. But as his dark, intoxicating scent of pine, rain, and expensive whiskey enveloped me, my body betrayed me. I buried my face into the wet crook of his neck, clinging to his dark lapels as he carried me out of the nightmare alley.
Waiting at the street corner was a massive, pitch-black armored SUV with tinted windows. A tall man in a tactical suit opened the rear door, bowing his head in total submission as Raymond approached.
"Clean the alley," Raymond ordered the driver in a low tone as he slid into the plush leather backseat with me still cradled in his lap. "Burn the bodies. I want no trace of their scent left in this city."
"Yes, Alpha," the driver replied, quickly shutting the door.
Inside the quiet, heated cabin of the SUV, Raymond didn't set me down on the seat beside him. He kept me pulled tight against his chest, adjusting my head so it rested over his steady, heavy heartbeat.
He reached into a compartment, pulled out a soft, warm towel, and began to gently wipe the rain and blood from my face. His massive hand was incredibly tender, his thumb carefully brushing over my lower lip where the guard had split it open.
"Ow," I winced softly.
Raymond froze, his eyes darkening as he stared at the red mark. "He struck you."
"It... it doesn't matter," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut as a wave of dizziness hit me. The physical trauma of my fall down the stairs, combined with the stress and the lack of my recovery medication, was rapidly pulling me under a dark tide of exhaustion. "Why did you follow me?"
"Because you walked out of my medical facility while you were still bleeding, little bird," Raymond said quietly, his large palm cupping the back of my head, pressing me closer to his warmth. "You think I would let you wander the streets alone in this condition?"
"I don't even know you," I choked out, a faint, bitter laugh escaping my cracked lips. "We had... we had one night together. A stupid, desperate mistake in a hotel bar. You don't owe me anything. You don't even know my real name."
Raymond paused, his fingers lightly stroking through my copper-tinted hair.
"I know enough," he murmured, his deep voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket. "I know you were terrified. I know someone hurt you deeply enough to make you flee across an ocean. And I know that as long as you are under my roof, no one on this earth will touch a single hair on your head again."
The sheer sincerity in his voice hit me like a physical weight. It was a stark, bewildering contrast to the brutal man who had chopped off a warrior's arm seconds ago. He was a dangerous, lethal creature—a monster to the rest of the world—yet in this quiet back seat, he was holding me as if I were made of fragile glass.
My eyelids grew impossibly heavy. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heart lulled my shattered nerves.
"Thank you... Mr. X," I mumbled, my voice trailing off into a slur as darkness crept into the edges of my vision.
"Sleep, Jasmine," Raymond whispered into my damp hair, his grip tightening protectively around my waist. "I have you."
Raymond’s POV
The SUV glided silently through the iron gates of my private estate, winding up the long, heavily guarded driveway that snaked up the cliffside.
In my arms, the copper-haired girl was fast asleep, her breathing shallow and uneven. Her small hand was still clutched tightly in the fabric of my wet shirt, clinging to me even in her unconsciousness.
I carried her upstairs myself, striding into my private master suite and carefully placing her onto the massive king-sized bed. My head physician, Dr. Vance, quickly administered an IV drip of specialized healing nutrients to stabilize her internal bleeding and replenish her lost blood.
"She is resting comfortably now, Alpha," Vance said quietly, adjusting the line before bowing. "The sedative will keep her asleep until morning."
"Leave us," I ordered.
Once the room was cleared, I sat on the edge of the mattress, my eyes fixed on her sleeping face.
She was a complete mystery. An enigmatic, fragile woman who went by "Jasmine," who carried the weight of a shattered past in her eyes. Yet my wolf—a beast that had remained cold, dormant, and ruthless for years—was practically clawing at my ribs, demanding that I tear the world apart to keep her safe.
My satellite phone vibrated heavily against my hip. I pulled it out, sliding the screen open to see an encrypted message from my head of intelligence, Marcus.
File retrieved on the Silver Moon Pack enforcers and the target profile. Documents attached.
I stood up, stepping out onto the private balcony overlooking the stormy Mediterranean Sea, and opened the attached file.
The screen illuminated my face in the dark night as I scrolled through the intelligence brief.
Target: Silver Moon Pack Enforcers.
Mission: Retrieval of high-value fugitive on behalf of Supreme Alpha Michael of the Silver Moon Pack.
My eyes narrowed at the name. Michael.
My estranged, arrogant son. The boy who had turned his back on my strict lineage, choosing instead to rule his pack through fear, arrogance, and cheap politics. I hadn't spoken to him in six years—not since he made it glaringly obvious that he cared more about pack status and territorial expansion than honor.
I scrolled further down to the fugitive profile attached to Michael's search warrant.
Fugitive Name: Amara.
Status: Former Luna of the Silver Moon Pack (Fled territory 3 weeks ago).
Note: Rejected Mate and Ex-Wife of Alpha Michael.
My thumb froze over the screen. Below the text was a high-resolution photograph of a woman standing beside Michael at a pack summit years ago, looking gentle, beautiful, and utterly miserable.
My breath hitched in my throat. A wave of pure, violent shock slammed into my chest like an iron bar.
I looked at the photograph. Then I turned my head, looking through the glass balcony doors at the delicate woman lying sound asleep under the heavy duvets of my bed.
"Jasmine"... was Amara.
She wasn't just a random stranger who had walked into a hotel bar in Italy. She was the woman my son had abused, neglected, and driven out of his pack. She was the woman Michael had publicly humiliated and discarded.
And she had run straight across the world, straight into my territory... straight into my bed.
A dark, dangerous smile slowly spread across my face as I stared at the sleeping woman who had completely unraveled my cold, impenetrable world.
Michael was hunting for his escaped ex-wife.
He had no idea she was currently lying safely inside the fortress of the one man he feared most—his own father.
- Writer
