Chapter 3: Crash Landing
1018 Words
its three days.
Three days since the bite.
Caroline didn’t count them by sunrises. She counted them by how many times she woke up tasting blood that wasn’t hers.
The forest had become a blur of pine and shadow and hunger. She didn’t sleep so much as collapse—body curled against roots, back to bark, claws digging into whatever soft thing she could reach when the pain got bad. The wound on her shoulder had closed too fast, leaving a puckered silver scar that shimmered when the moon hit it. She hated looking at it. Hated the way it pulsed like a second heartbeat.
She was filthy. Hair was matted with dirt and leaves and things she didn’t want to name. Clothes torn at the seams. Bare feet bleeding from thorns, she no longer felt. Every step hurt less than the one before, which terrified her more than the pain ever had.
She was changing.
Not just the claws—though those came and went now, sliding out when she was angry or scared or starving. Not just the eyes—silver when the light was low, fading to dull brown when she forced herself to remember who she used to be.
It was deeper.
Her hearing had sharpened until the rustle of a single leaf sounded like thunder. Her sense of smell was worse—better—worse. She could track blood on the wind from miles away. Fear had its own scent now, sharp and sour. Lust smelled like smoke and iron. And hunger—
Hunger smelled like everything.
She’d killed twice more since the deer.
A rabbit. Too fast, too small. She’d snapped its neck before she even realized she’d moved.
A fox. Smarter. Meaner. It bit her wrist before she crushed its throat.
Both times she cried after.
Both times, she ate anyway.
The third night, she woke with her mouth full of fur and her stomach full of something warm and wrong. She vomited until there was nothing left but bile and shame.
She didn’t know how far she’d run. Didn’t know where the pack’s territory ended, and the real world began. She only knew she couldn’t go back.
Not like this.
Not with claws instead of fingernails and silver where brown used to be.
Not when every time she closed her eyes, she saw Greyson’s face—cold, perfect, pitying—and heard his voice say *too weak*.
So, she kept moving.
Until the sound hit her.
Engines.
Dozens of them.
Roaring up from the east like a storm made of metal and gasoline.
Caroline froze.
The noise was overwhelming—too loud, too close, too alive. She dropped to a crouch behind a fallen log, claws sinking into the moss. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Part of her wanted to run deeper into the trees. The other part—the new part—wanted to see what made that sound.
She crept forward.
The trees thinned. Moonlight spilt onto the blacktop.
A highway.
And on it—
Bikes.
Dozens of them.
Black and chrome and matte, engines snarling, headlights slicing the dark. Riders in leather and denim, some with helmets, some bare-headed, hair whipping in the wind. They rode in loose formation—predatory, confident, like they owned the night.
The scent hit her next.
Wolf.
Not pack wolf. Not Crescent wolf.
Rogue.
Wild. Unchained. Dangerous.
Her nose flared. She could separate them—leather, motor oil, sweat, blood, pine, smoke, and underneath it all, something raw and male and alive.
Her mouth watered.
She hated herself for it.
She should have run.
Instead, she stepped out of the trees.
Onto the shoulder.
Into the moonlight.
The first bike noticed her.
Then the second.
Then the whole formation slowed.
Engines growled down to a menacing rumble.
Caroline stood there—filthy, barefoot, blood on her chin from the fox she’d eaten hours ago, claws half-extended, eyes flashing silver in the headlight glare.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stared.
A big black bike eased forward—custom, matte, no chrome to catch the light. The rider cut the engine.
Silence fell like a blade.
He swung a leg over the seat.
Tall. Broad. Dangerous.
The leather jacket is worn soft at the elbows, with dark jeans and boots that have seen blood. Dark hair cropped short, stubble on a jaw that looked like it had been broken once and never set quite right. A scar sliced across his left eyebrow, another along his cheekbone.
He didn’t take his helmet off.
Didn’t need to.
She felt him before she saw his face.
Felt him the way she’d felt Greyson once—only this was different.
Hotter.
Harder.
Like a fist around her lungs.
The bond.
Not the broken one.
A new one.
Fated.
Impossible.
She took one step back.
He took one step forward.
The pack watched—silent, coiled, ready.
He stopped ten feet away.
Tilted his head.
Sniffed the air.
His voice rolled out—low, gravel, smoke.
“Who the hell are you?”
Caroline opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Her claws slid out another inch.
His eyes—dark, unreadable—dropped onto them.
Then lifted to hers.
Silver met brown.
The bond snapped taut.
A freight train hit him square in the chest.
She felt it—felt the jolt go through him, felt his breath catch, felt the exact moment his wolf woke up and said *mine*.
Jackson “Razor” Steele staggered half a step.
Then steadied.
Then smiled—slow, dangerous, nothing kind in it.
“Well,” he said, voice rougher now, “this just got interesting.”
Caroline’s heart slammed against her ribs.
She should run.
She should fight.
She should do anything except stand there letting a stranger’s wolf look at her like she was already his.
But she didn’t move.
Because deep down—under the fear, under the rage, under the blood and the venom and the broken mating bond—
A tiny, treacherous part of her wanted to be looked at like that.
Just once.
- Writer
