The Hollow Pact

Shadows in the Blood

The silence in the forest felt wrong.

Killian could still feel Lucian’s grip on his wrist, a phantom sensation that burned like an invisible brand. Marked. The word wouldn’t leave his head. He wasn’t a superstitious man. He had spent years grounding himself in facts, in evidence, in what could be measured and proven. And yet, everything in his gut told him that something had shifted.

Rowan led them through the dense underbrush, her movements sharp, hurried. Carson followed closely, throwing wary glances over his shoulder as if expecting another attack.

Killian’s pulse hadn’t slowed. “Tell me what the hell just happened back there.”

Rowan didn’t stop moving. “Not now.”

Killian grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Now.”

She yanked her arm free with a growl, her eyes flashing gold for half a second. “Lucian’s never marked a human before,” she said, voice tight. “That means something. And I don’t know what yet.”

Killian clenched his fists. “He said I was different. What the hell does that mean?”

Rowan exhaled sharply. “It means we need to get somewhere safe. Now move.”

They made it back to Killian’s apartment without incident, but the entire way there, his skin felt electric, charged with something unseen. He wasn’t sure if it was paranoia or something worse.

The moment they were inside, Rowan locked the door behind them, checking the windows before finally turning to face him. “Strip.”

Carson choked on his own breath. “Excuse me?”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “You want to run that by me again?”

Rowan rolled her eyes. “Lucian touched you. I need to see if he left anything behind.”

Killian hesitated but finally unbuttoned his shirt, letting it slide off his shoulders. Carson muttered something about needing a drink and turned away. Rowan stepped forward, her fingers trailing over his forearm, then his wrist, where Lucian had grabbed him. Her touch was cool, clinical.

Then she froze.

Killian frowned. “What?”

Rowan’s lips parted slightly. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small silver blade, pressing it lightly against his skin. The moment the metal touched him, his entire body tensed. A sharp, electric pain shot through him, like something deep inside him was recoiling from the contact.

Rowan’s gaze snapped to his. “Shit.”

Killian yanked his arm back. “What the hell was that?”

Rowan’s voice was low, urgent. “Silver burns infected wounds. Or—” she hesitated, “—those who are turning.”

Killian’s breath caught in his throat. “You think I’m—”

“No,” Rowan said quickly. “Not yet. But this…” She gestured to his wrist. “This isn’t normal.”

Carson turned back to them, eyes wide. “Okay, hold on. So, what? Lucian bit him in some mystical way? That’s not how werewolves work, right?”

Rowan’s face was unreadable. “Lucian isn’t a normal werewolf.”

Killian sat heavily on the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. His mind was racing, trying to process everything. He needed answers. “Then what is he?”

Rowan hesitated before answering. “An Alpha, yes. But not just any Alpha. He’s old, Killian. Older than any werewolf has the right to be.”

Carson scoffed. “What, like immortal?”

“Not immortal,” Rowan said. “But close enough.”

Killian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “And what does he want with me?”

Rowan’s expression darkened. “That’s the part I’m trying to figure out.”

Killian didn’t sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw silver eyes in the darkness. He felt the pull of something inside him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

At some point, he got up and went to the bathroom, splashing water on his face. He stared at his reflection, half-expecting to see something different. Something monstrous.

Then he saw it.

A shadow moved behind him in the mirror.

Killian spun around, gun drawn, but the bathroom was empty. He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair.

He was losing it.

Or something far worse was happening.

And he wasn’t sure which scared him more.