CHAPTER2
1289 Words
STELLA’S POV.
The first rule of surviving a council-born mess?
Run before someone can stuff you into the middle of it.
Which is exactly what I did.
The moment I heard the roar of Moon Howl engines tearing toward us, I yanked my wrist free, swung onto my bike, and moved out of there like hell itself had nipped at my tires. Maybe it had.
Because whatever that moment with Jace was—it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t safe. And it sure as s**t wasn’t something I could let my father sniff out in front of the entire troop.
My wolf whined, furious at the retreat. She wanted to turn back, to press herself into that impossible heat again, to drown in it. My body wasn’t helping. Every nerve still hummed with his scent, with the memory of his chest caging mine in. My skin burned where he had touched me, where he had held me, tingling.
“Shut up,” I muttered, even though I wasn’t sure if I was talking to her or myself. “We don’t want him.”
A lie, and we both knew it.
I didn’t slow until I drove through the highway and into the outskirts of town, the smell of fried oil and damp pavement curling under my nose. The adrenaline began to ebb, leaving me raw. My wolf paced, restless, scent-drunk. The mate-bond buzzed in my bloodstream like a fever, mocking me.
I had thought bullets had been the worst part of tonight. Turned out, it was biology.
By the time I swung into the garage tucked behind our house, my hands still shook on the handlebars. I parked, killed the engine, and leaned forward, forehead against the grips. Just breathing.
One. Two. Three.
Nothing helped. His scent clung stubbornly, wrapped around me, woven into my skin. My wolf purred, satisfied in ways I refused to acknowledge.
I wanted to scream.
Mate.
The word hissed again through my head, uninvited, relentless.
“Nope,” I said out loud, as if stubbornness could drown it. “Absolutely not. We’re not doing this.”
My wolf didn’t argue. She just licked her chops and curled smugly inside me, like she knew I would cave eventually.
Of course, while I was trying to scrub his ghost off me, Jace was probably back at his little den of outlaws, answering to the wolves he shouldn’t even be running with. Bloodfang brothers didn’t tolerate “little moonlight rescues.” Especially not if the damsel was their enemy Alpha’s daughter.
A smarter wolf would’ve let me die on that highway. Or at least pretended not to see.
But Jace had never been a smarter wolf. He was instinct first, consequences later. And now? His instincts had tied us together with a bond I hadn’t asked for, hadn’t wanted, couldn’t escape.
My wolf disagreed, but she wasn’t the one who would have to live with the fallout.
The house was dark when I slipped inside. My father was probably still with the reinforcements, sniffing blood on the road, piecing together the attack. My boots were silent against the kitchen tile, my jacket felt heavy with the scent of gasoline and smoke.
I should have gone to bed. Pretended nothing had happened. Let exhaustion drown me.
But something itched under my skin, a prickle that wasn’t just bond burn.
I went back out, flashlight in hand, padding across the yard to the garage wall. The night was quiet, but my wolf’s ears twitched. She wanted me looking, sniffing.
And there it was.
Carved into the bark of the old oak by the corner—deep, deliberate, fresh.
A sigil.
Not ours.
A fanged crescent slashed across the wood, the grooves wet with sap.
Bloodfang.
I froze, the flashlight beam trembling in my grip.
They had been here. Not out on the highway. Not hidden in the forest. Here. Watching me. Watching us.
My pulse kicked up hard, but it wasn’t fear that filled my chest. It was fury.
Because they hadn’t just ambushed me on the road. They had stalked me home.
And I couldn’t shake the worst part—the possibility that they hadn’t only come for me. That maybe they knew about Jace.
About us.
The wolf inside me growled low, teeth flashing.
I should’ve gone inside. Locked the door. Pretended the carving didn’t exist.
But I couldn’t.
I crouched, tracing the grooves with a fingertip. Sap stuck to my skin, tacky. The lines were too neat to be careless. This wasn’t some random scrawl from a wannabe tough. It was a message.
To me.
My wolf pressed against the surface, nostrils flaring. The scent curled up my throat—iron, sweat, and something that smelled like rusting chains. It wasn’t old. Hours at most.
Which meant while I had been at the council, snarling at the council members, someone had been here. Close enough to scent me. Close enough to carve their mark like they owned the place.
A shiver skated down my spine. I straightened, scanning the dark edges of the yard. Trees moved with the wind, nothing was out of place but once you have smelled a rogue, the forest never feels the same again.
“They’re taunting me,” I whispered.
My wolf growled in warning.
The thought landed like a stone in my gut.
Because rogues didn’t warn. Bloodfang didn’t carve art unless it was bait.
Which begged the real question—who was the prey?
Me? Or Jace?
No, it couldn’t be Jace. He was their Alpha.
I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing under my breath. Of all the wolves the universe could have knotted me to, it had to be him. A man balanced on the knife-edge between my pack and the monsters stalking us. A man whose secrets might already be written into that sigil.
I scraped my hand down my face, suddenly exhausted.
“Moon help me,” I muttered. “Because no one else will.”
I didn’t sleep that night. Not really. Every creak of the house had my wolf snapping to attention, every gust of wind carried Jace’s scent.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the press of his chest, the rough heat of his voice.
Mate.
The word didn’t fade.
It circled. Mocked. Burned.
By dawn, I was pacing my room barefoot, nails digging crescents into my palms. I wanted to scrub the bond out of me. I wanted to claw the carving off the oak. I wanted to march into Bloodfang territory and return their little warning carved into someone’s skull.
But mostly, I wanted answers.
Why tonight? Why that road? And why, of all the wolves in the world, did the goddess decide to tie me to a man like Jace—someone half my pack would shoot on sight if they knew the truth?
The questions buzzed louder than any thoughts.
And beneath them, my wolf purred, smug.
Because he’s ours.
I swore, grabbed a jacket, and stormed downstairs before I broke something.
The sigil was still there in the gray morning light, gleaming faintly with sap. Proof carved into bark. Proof no one else had seen yet.
But they would.
And when they did, my father would double the guard, call more useless council meetings, and demand obedience while the Bloodfang rode circles around us.
I leaned against the garage door, staring at that crescent fang like it might blink back at me.
The bond burned low in my belly, insistent. The sigil was still there.
And between the two, I realized something I probably shouldn’t have admitted out loud.
I wasn’t just furious. I was hooked.
Because whoever carved that mark wasn’t finished.
And neither was Jace.
- Writer
