Chapter2
1377 Words
Blood on Asphalt
Nyx Calder's POV
The rain turned to sleet somewhere past the county line. I didn't care about it anyway. All I could feel was the tearing.
The bond between Ronan and I, that golden thread that had connected us since the night he chose me, was ripping apart with every mile I put between us. It felt like someone was pulling my ribs open, reaching inside, and shredding everything soft and vital.
My wolf was screaming. Howling. Begging me to turn around. I gripped the handlebars tighter and pushed the bike faster. The road blurred beneath me. Trees became shadows. The world narrowed to just a patch of asphalt illuminated by the headlight and the sound of the engine drowning out everything else. Every thought. Every memory. Every piece of my breaking heart.
I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't even care. I just knew I couldn't stop. By the time I crossed into human territory, the pain was so bad I could barely see straight. The bond snap was worse than I'd imagined. Worse than the stories. Add early pregnancy to the mix, and my body was at war with itself.
My wolf wanted her mate. Wanted to go back. Wanted to submit. But the human part of me, the part that had been humiliated and betrayed in front of the entire pack, that part was made of steel and rage.
I was five miles past the border when the bike started sputtering. I looked down. The fuel gauge was empty. Of course it was. Ronan never filled his tank after joyrides.
The engine died with a pathetic cough, and I coasted to the side of the road, my legs shaking as I tried to hold the bike upright. Everything hurts. My muscles felt like they were dissolving. My bones ached. The place where the bond had been was just a gaping wound now, raw and bleeding.
I let the bike fall. Couldn't hold it anymore. It crashed to the asphalt with a sound that should have bothered me more than it did. I sank down beside it, my back against the cold metal, and tried to remember how to breathe.
That's when I heard the motorcycles.
Three of them. Maybe four. The sound was different from pack bikes. Rougher. Meaner. Human machines that had seen too many illegal modifications and not enough maintenance.
They appeared out of the darkness like vultures circling carrion. Circling me.
The bikes formed a loose semicircle, trapping me against the guardrail. Five men. Leather cuts with patches I didn't recognize. Human gang colors. The kind of bikers who thought they owned these roads just because they were willing to break more laws than the next guy.
"Well, well." The one in front killed his engine and climbed off. Big guy. Scarred face. A smile that made my skin crawl. "What do we have here? A little girl broke down in the wrong neighborhood."
I didn't answer. I was trying to calculate if I could shift. If I could fight. The bond snap had left me weak, and the pregnancy was making everything harder. My wolf was there, but she felt distant. Wounded.
"That's a nice bike," another one said, walking a slow circle around Ronan's custom ride. "Real nice. Grimfang works, if I'm not mistaken."
My blood went cold. They knew pack markings.
"You steal this, sweetheart?" The leader crouched down in front of me, his breath reeking of cheap beer and cheaper cigarettes. "Or did your boyfriend let you borrow it before you ran away?"
"Walk away," I said quietly. "While you still can."
He laughed. They all laughed.
"Tough girl. I like that." His hand reached for my face.
I moved. My claws came out halfway, not a full shift but enough. Enough to rake across his arm and open it to the bone. His scream was satisfying. So was the shock on his friends' faces.
"She's a f*****g freak!" one of them yelled.
They came at me all at once. I fought like something feral. Like something with nothing left to lose. Claws flashed. I felt bones break under my hands, and heard the wet crunch of a nose shattering. Someone grabbed my hair and I twisted, my teeth finding his wrist. The taste of blood filled my mouth.
But there were too many of them, and I was too weak. A fist caught me in the ribs. Another in the jaw. I went down hard, asphalt scraping skin off my palms. One of them raised a tire iron. The gunshot cracked through the night like thunder.
The tire iron fell. So did the man holding it, clutching his shoulder and screaming.
"That's enough."
The voice was female. Cold as winter. Final as a grave. I looked up through my blood-matted hair and saw them. Six motorcycles, pristine and deadly. Riders in black leather, every one of them a woman. At the front was their leader, her bike idling smooth and quiet, a smoking gun in her hand.
She had dark hair pulled back severely, eyes like chips of ice, and a presence that made even my dying wolf take notice. Her cut read "Red Widow Crew" across the back, and "President" across the front.
"You boys lost?" she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
The men scrambled. Grabbed their wounded. Fled into the darkness like the cowards they were.
The woman holstered her gun and turned those ice-chip eyes on me. She studied me for a long moment. Seeing the claws, I couldn't quite retract. Saw the blood on my hands that wasn't all mine. Saw the way I was shaking but still ready to fight.
"Not fully human," she observed.
It wasn't a question.
"Not begging either." A small smile touched her lips. "Interesting."
I tried to stand. I tried to tell her I was fine. I tried to do nothing other than what I did.
I collapsed. The last thing I remember was strong arms catching me, and a voice saying, "Get her to the compound. Now
I woke up three days later. The room was small, clean, and smelled like motor oil and coffee. Nothing like pack territory. Nothing like home.
A woman sat in the corner. Not the leader. Younger. She had bright red hair and more piercings than I could count.
"You're awake," she said. "Boss will want to know."
"Where am I?" My voice came out like gravel.
"Safe. That's all you need to know right now." She stood up, headed for the door, then paused. "She's going to ask your name. What do you want me to tell her?"
I thought about it. About Nyx Calder, the Luna-to-be. About the girl who'd been betrayed and broken. About the woman I'd been just days ago. That person was dead.
"Just Nyx," I said. "Tell her my name is just Nyx."
The woman nodded and left. I put my hand on my stomach. Still flat. Still secret. Still mine.
A decision crystallized in my chest, hard and sharp as a diamond. My child would never grow up under Alpha law. Would never know the hierarchy that put bloodlines over people. Would never be a pawn in pack politics.
I would make sure of it. Whatever it took.
Meanwhile, Grimfang Territory
Ronan stood in the center of the ritual circle, his hands clenched into fists as the pack chanted in the old language. Candles flickered. Herbs burned. The air grew thick with power.
"Alpha blood calls to Alpha blood," the witch murmured, her gnarled hands moving over the bowl of Ronan's blood. "Bond is broken but blood remains. Show us the lost."
The blood in the bowl began to move. Swirling. Reaching. Then it twitched.
Just once. Just enough.
"She's alive," the witch whispered.
Ronan's eyes flashed gold. "Where?"
The blood went still. The witch shook her head. "Too far. Too protected. Or..." She looked up at him. "She's blocking you, Alpha. Deliberately."
His wolf snarled. His hands shook.
"Find her," he commanded. "I don't care what it takes. Find her."
The spell twitched again. And somewhere, miles away in a hidden biker compound, Nyx's hand
moved unconsciously to her stomach. The hunt had begun.
- Writer
