Chapter 3
1421 Words
Elara stood frozen on the pavement, heart racing, senses buzzing.
Someone brushed past her, and she startled violently, skin prickling.
There are people watching you.
She forced herself to move, scanning the street. Everything looked the same. Ordinary. Safe.
But the feeling wouldn’t leave.
That night, as darkness fell and the city lights flickered on, Elara stood at her apartment window and stared down at the street below.
A black car sat parked across the road.
Engine off.
Lights dark.
It hadn’t been there earlier.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, a text.
Rowan: Don’t open your door for anyone tonight.
Rowan: Lock your windows.
Rowan: And Elara—
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Her screen went dark.
She backed away from the window, heart pounding, the echo of his voice ringing in her head.
Somewhere, miles away, Rowan Blackthorne stood beneath the night sky, eyes glowing faintly silver as the wolf inside him lifted its head.
The hunt had begun.
And this time—
He wasn’t running.
Elara slept with the lights on.
She hated herself for it, but every shadow felt too deep, every sound too sharp. The city outside her window hummed as usual, but the black car across the street never moved.
Not at midnight.
Not at two a.m.
Not when the rain began to fall.
She checked the locks for the third time and stepped back into the living room, phone clutched in her hand.
You’re being paranoid, she told herself.
Then her phone buzzed.
Rowan: Are you alone?
Her fingers trembled as she typed back.
Elara: Yes.
Elara: There’s a car outside.
The reply came instantly.
Rowan: I know.
Her heart dropped.
Elara: Then why is it still there?
Several seconds passed.
Too many.
Rowan: Because they want you scared.
Rowan: And because they think I won’t cross the line again.
Her stomach twisted.
Elara: Again?
The typing dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Rowan: Stay where you are. I’m coming.
She stared at the screen, pulse racing.
Elara: Rowan, you said not to—
The phone rang.
She answered without thinking.
“Do not argue with me,” Rowan said quietly. No calm this time. No polish. Just raw command. “You are not safe.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered.
“You will,” he replied. “But not tonight.”
A sound echoed faintly through the call.
Wind.
Movement.
Running.
“Elara,” Rowan said, voice lower now. “Listen to me carefully. If anyone knocks on your door—anyone at all—you do not answer.”
Fear curled tight in her chest. “And if they break in?”
A pause.
Then, softly, “They won’t.”
The call ended.
She stood frozen in the centre of the room.
Then—
A knock.
Three sharp raps against her front door.
Her breath caught in her throat.
“M-Miss Vale?” a man’s voice called. “Building security. We’ve had a report of suspicious activity.”
Her pulse roared.
Security never came at night.
Another knock. Louder.
“Please open the door.”
She backed away slowly, heart hammering, remembering Rowan’s words.
Do not open your door.
The handle rattled.
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
Rowan: Do not move.
The lights flickered.
The knocking stopped.
Silence stretched—thin and dangerous.
Then a scream tore through the night.
Not human.
Not fully.
Elara clapped a hand over her mouth, tears springing to her eyes as something massive slammed into the street below. Metal crumpled. Glass shattered.
She rushed to the window despite herself.
The black car was gone.
In its place—twisted steel, shattered doors, and claw marks gouged deep into the pavement.
And standing in the middle of it all…
Rowan.
No—not quite.
His suit was torn, his posture wrong, too powerful, too still. His eyes glowed unmistakably silver in the streetlight, inhuman and burning as he lifted his head and looked straight up at her window.
Their gazes locked.
Her breath hitched.
Slowly, deliberately, Rowan raised a hand—not in threat, but in warning.
Stay inside.
Then he turned, melted into the darkness, and vanished.
Elara slid down against the wall, heart racing, one truth crashing through every doubt she’d had:
Rowan Blackthorne wasn’t just protecting her.
He was hunting for her.
And whatever he truly was…
He’d just shown her the first glimpse.
Elara didn’t remember sitting up.
One moment she was on the floor, back against the wall, lungs burning like she’d forgotten how to breathe. The next, dawn light was creeping through the windows and her phone was vibrating relentlessly in her hand.
She stared at the screen.
Rowan (7 missed calls)
Rowan: Answer.
Rowan: Now.
Her thumb hovered before she swiped.
“Tell me I imagined it,” she said hoarsely the moment the line connected.
Silence.
Then Rowan exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself.
“You didn’t.”
Her chest tightened. “What were you?”
A long pause.
Not avoidance.
Consideration.
“When I was taken,” he said quietly, “they didn’t just try to kill me. They experimented.”
Her skin prickled.
“On you?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
The word was flat. Controlled. But beneath it—something wounded and furious.
“They were looking for a way to weaponise power,” Rowan continued. “They didn’t realise what they were waking.”
Elara pressed her forehead to her knees. “You’re telling me you turned into… into that.”
“I didn’t turn,” he corrected. “I survived.”
Her stomach churned. “You said they won’t come for me again.”
“They won’t,” Rowan said, certainty hardening his voice. “Because I’ve made it very clear what happens when they get close to what’s mine.”
Her heart skipped painfully. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he interrupted. “Even if you don’t understand why yet.”
Fear and something far more dangerous tangled in her chest.
At the sound of a key turning in her lock, she froze.
“Rowan,” she whispered. “Someone’s—”
“It’s me,” he said. “Stay where you are.”
The door opened.
Rowan stepped inside like the night followed him in.
His clothes had been changed, but there were faint scratches along his knuckles, half-healed, and his eyes—still too bright, too watchful—tracked every movement she made.
Up close, the difference was unmistakable.
This wasn’t just a powerful man.
This was something built to dominate.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said weakly.
He shut the door behind him. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
They stood there, a careful distance between them. Rowan didn’t approach. Didn’t touch her.
Didn’t need to.
“You could have been killed,” she said, anger finally breaking through the shock. “You didn’t think that mattered?”
His jaw tightened. “I thought it was worth the risk.”
“For me?” she snapped.
“For what you mean,” he corrected.
Silence fell again, heavier now.
“I didn’t betray you,” Elara said quietly. “I need you to believe that.”
Rowan studied her, senses flaring, searching for deception that wasn’t there.
“I know,” he said at last.
Her breath hitched. “You… do?”
“Yes.” His voice softened, just slightly. “And that’s the problem.”
She frowned. “How is that a problem?”
“Because if you’d been lying,” Rowan said, stepping closer, fighting the pull in his chest, “I could destroy you without consequence.”
Their gazes locked.
“And now?” she whispered.
“Now,” he said, voice rough, “I have to protect you from people who will use you to get to me.”
Her pulse raced. “Then what happens to us?”
Rowan’s eyes darkened, something ancient stirring behind them.
“There is no us,” he said carefully. “Not yet.”
He turned away abruptly.
“But there will be,” he added, voice low and unmistakably certain. “If fate has already chosen.”
Elara watched him move through her apartment like he belonged there—like he belonged with her—and for the first time since seeing him in the street below, she wasn’t just afraid.
She was pulled.
And whatever Rowan Blackthorne truly was…
She was already caught in his orbit.
- Writer
