The Scarred Huntress

Wanted Wolf

I barely slept that night. I woke up very early the next morning and headed straight to the station where Icar was kept. I was just in time for the interrogation that was to take place, and thankfully my supervisors had left me in full charge.

I walk past the hallways in my crisp uniform, which is a black leather jumpsuit held by a silver utility belt. Eyes meet mine with reverence and respect. It amplifies the power in my step. I feel like a queen when I stop at the door of the cold room.

"He's inside," the guard says beside me, getting up from his seat and supplying me with a thermo jacket.

The heat burns my skin, but I hold the lapel close. The door clangs open.

"Good luck." He salutes.

I step inside, and a biting chill seeps into my bones. It's incredible—even with the thermo jacket. There's a hiss, and the white haze clears.

Icar is chained to his seat by the table, in minimalist prison wear.

I walk over and take the vacant seat before him.

He meets my gaze, and his stare is colder than the room.

"You will hang if you do not cooperate."

"Good morning to you too, Elsa."

"It's Officer to you."

He yawns.

I put my balled fists on my lap to stop them from meeting his face.

"You know… if you'd killed me, you wouldn't be going through this. Your mind would have been at peace."

He says it in that casual manner of his that makes me angrier than I should be.

"The more you do this, the more I want to keep you alive so I can flay you."

The words slip out before I can stop myself, surprising me.

He licks his lips.

"What if it's too late? What if you can't contain me?"

I snort. "Like now?"

Something shifts in his jaw. His molten gold eyes glint, and a wave expels from him—so heavy I wince. That aura… cold sweat licks my spine.

He cracks a grin. "Like now."

"Threats don't work here."

The air feels like it's about to explode into action at any moment.

"Actually, doing what I said I'd do too soon would be boring, don't you think?" he finally says, and I blink. "The world needs a show. You need to feel like you're on top when really I could f**k you over."

Disgust fills me at how my flesh heats up at the image. My stupid wolf is buzzing.

I slam my fists on the table and lean forward. He does not flinch.

I open my mouth, but what escapes is a vicious snarl.

"You regret it," he says. "Not killing me when you had the chance."

"Stop."

"You don't even care about them, those weaklings you called teammates."

I hold his gaze in the uncomfortable silence before letting out quietly:

"You have no right to say that."

"They attacked me first." He snaps. "Call it a bloody m******e. I call it self-defense. And stop acting like you weren't rooting for me to win."

The table screams with the force of my push. He winces when the edge strikes his chest. I apply pressure.

His teeth grit. I have him against the wall—the steel table between us, the pressure mounting on his ribs.

"This isn't… a fair fight."

"Then resist!" I yell. "Break free and act on your so-called threats!"

He chuckles. "It should be you and me against the world, Elsa. Think about how liberating that would be."

I want to insult him—anything to make him feel this rage I'm feeling—but I'm speechless.

His golden eyes keep assessing me.

I finally exhale and shudder. It is only then I realize just how dangerous this man is, the power he has over my emotions.

He smirks.

I want to ram him through the wall. The image of both of us falling and landing in the sea, with me on top, fills me with a dark thrill.

A hiss cuts through my fantasy, and I snap to the door behind me. The guard remains at the threshold.

"f**k off. I'm not finished," I shoot before he can open his cowardly mouth.

He flinches. A man falls into step beside him—much bigger, sterner, his uniform ridden with badges. My insult catches in my throat.

"Inspector." I salute.

He remains stoic. "Come."

I look at him, then back at Icar, whose head is down.

"But sir, I haven't—"

"I said, come with me."

I can only sigh, knowing my time is up. Before I leave, I give Icar one final glare.

This isn't over. I swear.

But he doesn't meet my gaze—and that throws me off more than it should.

I exit the cold room with my boss in tow. His eyes are calm and steady as we traverse the hallways. He's beside me when he finally speaks.

"That monster shouldn't be alive."

Something twists inside me. "Death will be too easy for him."

"His death will solve ninety-nine percent of our problems."

I can't counter that without sounding like I'm shielding a murderer.

The memory hits anyway: I'm staring down the barrel of a gun held by my squadmate. His head rolls off his body before he can pull the trigger. The darkness shifts, birthing Icarus. Then the rest of the team storms in—shouts, gunfire, teeth and fur exploding everywhere. I'm knocked out before I can see it all. When I come to, the air reeks of copper and wet concrete, my friends lie shredded on the floor, and Icarus is barely breathing, golden eyes dim but still locked on me.

I should have ended him right there. Instead my hands shook as I snapped the wolfsbane cuffs around his wrists.

He'd already wiped out half the Jackals in that same warehouse weeks earlier. Scum, every last one of them—predators who deserved the grave. But Icarus… he was something worse.

My thoughts remain my own during our silent walk, and my mind won't stop flashing back to the past. My mistakes. Guilt eats at me.