Chapter 6: Break
1419 Words
“Stay with me.”
His hand tightened at the back of my neck, not forcing, not hurting—just there, anchoring me as the world snapped back into motion.
The man at the threshold raised a silver weapon.
Everything inside me screamed.
Then—
He moved.
Not fast.
Faster.
One heartbeat he was in front of me, the next he was across the room, his hand closing around the attacker’s wrist before the blade could fall. Metal shrieked as it was crushed from his grip, silver bending like it had forgotten how to be solid.
The man screamed.
It didn’t last long.
He was thrown backward into the darkness outside, his body hitting something hard with a sickening crack.
The others rushed in.
Too many.
Boots over broken wood. Shadows swallowing firelight. Blades flashing. Teeth bared.
My breath hitched.
This wasn’t a fight.
This was a storm.
And he stepped into it like he was the storm.
“Don’t move,” he said without looking at me.
Like I could.
Like my legs weren’t locked in place, my body caught between fear and something far more dangerous.
Him.
The first attacker lunged.
He didn’t dodge.
He caught the man mid-strike and drove his elbow into his throat. The sound that followed was wet and wrong. The second came from the side. He turned just enough to let the blade graze his coat, then slammed his fist into the man’s jaw hard enough to send him spinning.
No hesitation.
No wasted motion.
No mercy.
The cabin filled with violence.
Wood splintered under impact. Firelight snapped and danced wildly across the walls. Someone shouted. Someone screamed. Blood hit the floor in dark, spreading lines.
And through it all—
He never lost control.
That was the worst part.
He wasn’t fighting like someone desperate to survive.
He was fighting like someone who had already decided no one else would.
A man rushed me from the side.
I didn’t think.
I moved.
The poker swung hard, catching him across the shoulder. He stumbled, cursing, but his hand still shot out, fingers brushing my arm—
He never finished the motion.
The man beside me appeared out of nowhere, catching the attacker by the back of the neck and slamming him face-first into the floor.
Hard.
Too hard.
The body didn’t move again.
Silence cracked through me.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
I hadn’t even realized.
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
“You’re not.”
His voice was different now.
Lower.
Rougher.
Like something inside him had slipped its leash.
Another man charged from the doorway.
He turned, caught the blade, twisted—
Bone snapped.
The man howled.
And then—
It was over.
Too fast.
Too brutal.
The remaining attackers dragged themselves back into the dark, pulling the injured with them, their retreat uneven, frantic.
One last glance thrown over a shoulder.
Not at me.
At him.
Fear.
Real fear.
Then they were gone.
The forest swallowed them whole.
The silence that followed was worse than the fight.
I stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, the poker still clutched in my hand, my entire body trembling with the aftershock.
He didn’t move.
Not at first.
Then slowly, he turned.
And looked at me.
The air shifted again.
This time—
It wasn’t control.
It was something breaking through it.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Before I could answer, he stepped closer.
Too close.
His hand found my side, fingers brushing the thin line where the claw had torn skin.
I sucked in a breath.
“Don’t—”
He ignored me.
His touch was careful.
Infuriatingly careful.
Like I was something fragile.
Like I mattered.
His thumb brushed just beneath the wound, and something sharp and electric shot through me, making my breath hitch in a way that had nothing to do with pain.
His eyes lifted to mine.
Dark.
Focused.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good.”
My breath caught.
His gaze didn’t waver.
“It means you’re still here.”
Something twisted in my chest.
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe.”
The word came softer this time.
Closer.
His hand didn’t leave my side.
If anything—
It tightened.
Just slightly.
Like he was reminding himself I was real.
“Why didn’t you run?” I asked.
He studied me for a long moment.
Then—
“Because you didn’t.”
My heart stuttered.
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is to me.”
The words landed too deep.
Too easily.
Dangerously.
I should have stepped back.
I didn’t.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Then back to my eyes.
The memory of the kiss flickered between us like heat.
Alive.
Waiting.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly.
“Kissed you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because now I don’t want to stop.”
The air left my lungs.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
His mouth curved.
Dark.
Sharp.
“It is.”
Then—
his expression changed.
His hand stilled against my side.
Completely.
I felt it before I understood it.
That strange heat again.
Low.
Deep.
Pulling.
My breath caught.
“What is that?” I whispered.
His eyes dropped.
To my stomach.
Again.
But this time—
there was no restraint in his expression.
Only certainty.
And something dangerously close to awe.
“It’s waking up,” he said.
My pulse spiked. “What is?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he moved.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
His hand slid from my side to my stomach.
Flat.
Firm.
Claiming.
The contact sent a shock through me, sharp and immediate, like something inside me had just recognized him.
I gasped.
His eyes snapped back to mine.
“There it is,” he murmured.
My heart slammed.
“Stop doing that,” I said, my voice unsteady.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you already know how this ends.”
His thumb moved slightly against my stomach.
A small motion.
Too small.
But it made my entire body react.
“I do,” he said.
Something in my chest tightened painfully.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
His gaze held mine.
Unyielding.
“I already did.”
My breath came shallow.
“You keep saying that.”
“And you keep not leaving.”
That hit harder than anything else.
Because he was right.
Again.
I should have run.
I should have put distance between us.
Between me and whatever this was.
But I hadn’t.
And now—
I couldn’t.
The forest outside had gone quiet again.
Too quiet.
Like it was holding its breath.
Waiting.
He felt it too.
I saw it in the way his body shifted slightly, his attention pulling toward the door, toward the broken window, toward the dark beyond.
“They’re not gone,” he said.
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
“They don’t retreat like that unless—”
He stopped.
His expression went still.
Then colder.
Then—
dangerous.
“What?” I pressed.
His eyes snapped to mine.
“They weren’t here to take you.”
Ice flooded my veins.
“Then why were they here?”
A beat of silence.
Heavy.
Loaded.
His jaw tightened.
“To confirm it.”
My breath hitched.
“Confirm what?”
He didn’t answer.
Not with words.
His hand pressed more firmly against my stomach.
His gaze locked onto mine.
And when he finally spoke—
his voice was low.
Certain.
Possessive.
“They know what you’re carrying.”
The world tilted.
Again.
My pulse roared in my ears.
“That’s not possible,” I whispered.
But even as I said it—
something inside me shifted.
Answered.
Reacted.
Like it had been waiting.
Outside—
a low, echoing howl cut through the night.
Not from the pack.
Not from the men who had just attacked.
Something else.
Something older.
Something that made the man in front of me go completely still.
And then—
slowly—
he smiled.
Not amused.
Not kind.
Something far worse.
Recognition.
“They’re here,” he said.
My throat went dry.
“Who?”
His eyes darkened.
“The ones who don’t ask.”
The howl came again.
Closer.
And this time—
something inside me answered it...
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