SCRATCHES IN THE DARK

CHAPTER 3 : THE SCENT

Silence again.

Only me. And him.

Cade turned to me slowly.

Still gold eyes. Still teeth. Still blood on his claws and his shirt.

He was shaking.

“Lyra,” he said. My name sounded wrecked.

I nodded. Couldn’t speak.

He dropped to his knees in front of me.

Careful. Like I was glass.

His claws cut the ropes. Gentle.

The second I was free I fell forward.

He caught me.

I didn’t mean to.

But I buried my face in his chest.

He smelled like winter. Pine. Snow.

And under it, blood. And something warm.

Safe.

His arms came around me. Tight.

One hand went to the back of my head.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low. Rough. In my hair.

“No.”

“Liar.”

He pulled back just enough to look at my wrist.

His thumb brushed the bruises.

A low sound came from his chest.

Not a growl. Not quite.

Something broken.

He lifted my wrist to his nose. Inhaled.

Then, before I could think, he pressed his forehead to mine.

That scent flooded me.

Winter. Storm. Him.

And underneath, something new.

Warmth.

It felt like coming home to a place I’d never been.

My body reacted before my brain did.

I leaned into him.

His breath hitched.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

“If I touch you like this, I won’t be able to stop.”

I should’ve pulled away.

I didn’t.

“Stop what?”

His clawed hand lifted my chin.

His eyes were still gold. Still wild.

But looking at me like I was the only real thing in the world.

“Cade”

His mouth was inches from mine.

I could feel his breath. Cold.

I could feel his heart pounding against me.

And then his phone buzzed.

On the floor. In the blood.

We both froze.

Cade pulled back. Grabbed it.

His face went blank.

A text. Unknown number.

PHOTO ATTACHED: LYRA’S MOM IN HOSPITAL BED.

IV PULLED OUT. TUBES ON THE FLOOR.

24 HOURS, ALPHA. OR SHE PAYS FOR YOUR CHOICES.

Cade’s whole body went rigid.

He showed me the screen.

My mom.

Pale. Unconscious.

Tubes everywhere.

“Victor has your mother,” Cade said. Voice dead.

“And the Blood Moon just moved up.”

“What?”

“He moved the challenge. It’s in 27 days now.”

He stood. Pulled me up with him.

“We have to go. Now.”

I didn’t sleep.

How do you sleep when the man next to you just ripped through three wolves in a warehouse and is now driving 140mph through empty streets like the devil is behind us?

Because he is.

His name is Victor.

Cade hadn’t said a word in 20 minutes.

Both hands on the wheel. Knuckles white.

Those gold eyes kept flicking to the rearview, to the side mirrors, to the shadows.

Like he was expecting claws to come through the glass.

“She’s alive,” he finally said. His voice was rough. Used.

“The photo was 6 minutes old. She’s alive.”

“That’s not the point,” I snapped. My hands were shaking.

“Victor pulled her IV. He could’ve killed her.”

“I know.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped.

“This is my fault. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve put guards on her.”

“It’s not your fault.”

The words came out before I could stop them.

He glanced at me. Fast. Surprised.

“You don’t get to take the blame for monsters, Cade.”

He didn’t answer.

But his hand moved.

Across the center console.

And found mine.

No contract. No cameras. No reason.

Just his hand. Warm. Too warm.

Calloused. Steady.

And the second he touched me, the ache i

n my wrist from where that guy grabbed me dulled.

Like his skin was a painkiller.

I didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.