Chapter Ten- Hide
744 Words
Steam curled off Silas’s skin as he stepped out of the shower, his wolf humming a low, resonant purr that vibrated in his very marrow. For the first time in his life, the constant, jagged edge of his Alpha temper had been blunted. He felt... complete.
Mate, the beast whispered, a sound of pure satisfaction. Ours. Let’s go back. Taste her again. I want her marked so deeply the whole territory knows she belongs to the Thorne line.
Silas chuckled, a rare, genuine sound, as he reached for a towel. He was already planning the breakfast he’d have brought up—something heavy, something to restore her strength after the night they’d shared. He wanted her scent so thick on his sheets that it would never truly wash out.
Then, the floorboards groaned. A distant, frantic slam echoed through the heavy oak of the bedroom doors.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Silas didn't just walk; he exploded out of the bathroom, the towel anchored low on his hips. He stormed into the bedroom, his eyes already sweeping the bed. "Little one?"
The bed was empty. The silk sheets were a tangled, cooling mess of silver and shadow.
His wolf didn't just growl; it let out a jagged, agonizing scream that tore through his mind. GONE. STOLEN. FIND HER.
"No," Silas rasped, his lungs suddenly feeling too small. He ran to the door, throwing it open so hard the handle dented the plaster. He made it three steps down the grand hallway, his bare feet slapping against the wood, before the cold reality of the morning hit him.
He was standing in the center of his own mansion, nearly naked, dripping water onto the carpet, and his mate—the woman who carried his mark—had fled like he was a monster.
A snarl ripped from his throat as he spun back into the room. He didn't have time to be a gentleman. He dressed with a violent efficiency, tugging on jeans and a dark shirt, his hands shaking with a cocktail of adrenaline and territorial rage.
He didn't wait to find his phone. He slammed his eyes shut, forcing his mind into the wide-range frequency of the Pack Link.
"MARCUS!" he roared into the psychic connection, a command so powerful it likely brought every wolf in the vicinity to their knees.
"Alpha?" his Beta’s voice shot back, sharp and panicked. "What’s happened? Are we under attack?"
"I found her. My mate. And she’s gone," Silas growled, his voice a dark vibration. "She fled the mansion minutes ago. I want every camera in the district pulled. I want the gates checked. Someone must have seen her."
"Give me a description," Marcus replied, his professional tone snapping into place.
Silas paused, his heart twisting as he looked at the discarded champagne gown on the floor. He hadn't even seen her face without the mask. He didn't know her name. He only knew the fire.
"Red hair," Silas commanded, his wolf clawing at his chest to be let out. "Deep, dark red. About five-foot-four. Athletic. Pale skin. Last seen wearing a gold-shimmer gown and a filigree mask. Her eyes... they were hazel, but she's marked, Marcus. She’s carrying my scent and my Brand."
"The gold dress from the ball?" Marcus sounded confused. "Alpha, there were dozens of guests—"
"I don't care if there were thousands! Find out who she is! Find out where she went! If anyone so much as looks at her before I get there, I’ll have their head!"
Silas cut the link, his breathing ragged. He walked over to the desk, his eyes falling on the signet ring she had clearly seen. He realized then why she had run. The realization that she was mated to the Alpha—to a man who could be a god or a tyrant depending on the day—must have terrified her.
But Silas Thorne didn't care about her fear. The bond was pulling at his gut like a tether made of barbed wire. She was his, and in this territory, there was nowhere a little red-headed wolf could hide that he wouldn't find.
"Run while you can, little mate," he whispered to the empty room, his amber eyes flashing with a dangerous, golden light. "The hunt has already begun."
- Writer
