The Hollow Pact

The Awakening

Killian woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding against his ribs like a caged animal. The room was dark, save for the dim light of the streetlamp outside, casting eerie shadows against the walls. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to shake the lingering nightmare—except it hadn’t felt like a dream at all.

He could still hear the whisper.

A voice, ancient and guttural, had slithered through his mind like smoke. It wasn’t his own. It wasn’t human.

You are mine.

Killian sat up abruptly, running a shaking hand through his damp hair. The burn on his wrist was still there, a dull ache pulsing beneath his skin. He didn’t dare look at it. He was afraid of what he might see.

A sudden knock at the door made him jump.

“Killian?” Rowan’s voice was hushed, urgent. “Open up.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed his gun from the nightstand, and moved cautiously toward the door. When he cracked it open, Rowan and Carson stood outside, both looking far too alert for this hour of the night.

“We need to go,” Rowan whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “Now.”

Killian frowned. “What’s going on?”

“No time,” Carson muttered, pushing past him into the apartment. “Lucian’s wolves are on the move. And I don’t think they’re here for a friendly chat.”

Killian’s pulse spiked. He grabbed his jacket and followed them out into the night, his mind racing. If Lucian had sent his wolves, it meant only one thing—whatever was happening to Killian, the Alpha wasn’t going to wait any longer.

They moved quickly through the alleyways, Rowan leading the way with the confidence of someone who had done this before. Carson kept close, his hand resting on the gun holstered beneath his jacket. Killian followed, hyperaware of every sound around them.

Then, all at once, the air shifted.

A deep, guttural growl echoed through the darkness.

Killian barely had time to react before something massive lunged from the shadows. He caught a brief glimpse of golden eyes, sharp fangs, and thick, matted fur before Rowan shoved him hard to the side. He hit the pavement just as the creature tackled Carson to the ground.

Gunshots rang out.

Carson grunted as he struggled beneath the weight of the beast. Its claws raked across his chest, but he managed to shove the muzzle of his gun against its side and fire. The wolf yelped, stumbling backward, but it didn’t go down.

Rowan was already moving. She pulled a blade from her belt—silver, gleaming under the moonlight—and slashed at the creature’s throat. It let out a strangled howl before collapsing onto the pavement, twitching as the silver burned through its flesh.

Killian scrambled to his feet, breathless. “What the hell was that?”

Rowan wiped the blood off her blade. “A scout. Which means the rest aren’t far behind.”

Carson groaned, pressing a hand to the wound on his chest. “Great. Just what we needed.”

Killian swallowed hard. The night was far from over, and something told him that whatever was coming next would be worse. Much worse.

And deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucian was watching.

Waiting.

For him.