The Scent of Ruin

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Her eyes snapped open.

A sharp gasp tore from her lungs as she jerked upright—

Only to cry out, a broken hiss escaping her lips as pain ripped through her side.

"Ah—!"

Her body gave out instantly, collapsing back onto the bed as her hand flew to her wound.

"Easy—!"

Callum was already there, his hands gripping her shoulders gently but firmly, stopping her from moving further.

"You are going to tear it open again," he warned, voice tight.

Her chest heaved, eyes wide and unfocused as reality slowly seeped in, pushing the bad dream away.

Recognizing the familiar walls and dim lighting—this was Callum's apartment.

"…Callum…" she breathed.

"I'm here," he said immediately.

He'd been waiting for her to wake up—judging by the exhaustion in his eyes and the little stubble on his chin.

Her breathing slowed gradually, but her grip on his shirt was still tight.

Her body was shaking, still visibly frightened by the dream.

Callum's expression softened, something protective flashing in his gaze.

His hands, still on her shoulder, slid slightly—before settling more firmly, grounding her.

"It's alright, take deep breaths," he said.

Their eyes met. They were close, and the moment felt intense between them.

A faint, tired smile tugged at her lips.

His gaze dropped—briefly—to her lips then back to her eyes.

He leaned in slightly—

Ring ring!!!

His phone rang.

The sudden sound shattered the moment instantly.

Callum froze, his jaw tightening as he pulled back, with clear irritation.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before pulling out his phone.

She blinked, still dazed, watching him.

He glanced at the screen—and sighed.

"My sister." He answered.

"What?" He said flatly.

A loud voice burst through the speaker.

"Don't 'what' me, Callum! I just heard something happened and you didn't tell me?!"

He winced slightly, pulling the phone away from his ear.

"She's fine," he replied.

"I want to hear that from her," his sister snapped immediately. "Put her on the phone."

Then he glanced at her. "She's awake," he admitted.

"Of course she is—give her the phone!" He handed it over reluctantly.

She took it, still weak, but a small smile appeared on her lips.

"Hi…"

The voice on the other end softened instantly.

"Oh my God Celeste!, are you okay? He didn't tell me anything! I swear, if you weren't breathing right now, I'd have flown over there and beat the living s**t—"

"I'm okay," she said gently. "If you beat the living s**t out of him, who's gonna cry at my funeral."

Callum scoffed quietly and she shot him a weak glare.

"I'll deal with him later," his sister continued. "You just rest, alright? And don't let him boss you around."

"I heard that," Callum muttered.

"Good." The call ended shortly after, and it was finally peaceful.

The city stretched endlessly, light glittering like fireflies—restless.

Inside the penthouse, everything was quiet. Steam hung thick in the air, clinging to the marble and glass, rising from the surface of the bath where he lay completely still.

The bath sat positioned at the floor-to-ceiling window — he lay with his head tilted back against the rim, water gliding over the hard lines of his body, eyes closed.

A sharp knock broke the tranquility.

"Enter."

The door opened and Reis stepped in—calm and composed, he had the bearing of a man who had worked his way up.

"The search came up empty," Reis reported, his tone steady. "We covered the whole area twice. No sign of her."

Silence.

Reis continued.

"But… we found something."

The man finally made some movement; there was a faint ripple of water as he moved slightly.

"She wasn't registered with any known group. No official records linking her to rival packs, syndicates or surveillance networks."

"That's not all," Reis added. "She's friends with Russ."

The man moved, water slid off his skin as he rose up from the tub in one fluid motion.

Completely naked.

Water streamed down his body, built with precision—lean muscle layered under his explosive frame and broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist.

Across his back, a ferocious, hyper-realistic snarling wolf head centered between his shoulder blades, with its gaze directed down towards the spine.

The fur was rendered in heavy black and grey shades blending into a sinister forest scene that wraps around the torso.

The wolf eyes were the only color—a piercing, vivid amber appearing to glow against the dark ink.

As he moved, the muscles in his back tightened, making the black ink of the snarling wolf seem to snap to life, its amber eyes burning in the dim light, grabbing a towel briefly before reaching for a robe hanging nearby.

Reis had his eyes cast down, not out of fear but respect.

"Anyone assigned to watch her?" He asked, his voice calm, almost detached as he slid into the robe.

"Yes."

"Punish those who let her escape, make sure they understand where they went wrong," he added. "Pain tends to improve memory."

The robe settled over his shoulders as he tied it loosely.

"Yes."

He moved past Reis, walking toward the glass wall overlooking the city.

"Now," he said, gaze fixed outward, "tell me everything you have on her."

*

"Three days." She blinked.

"…What?"

The doctor adjusted his glasses slightly, clearly uncertain.

"You were unconscious for approximately seventy-two hours," he repeated. "Your vitals were unstable at first, but then they normalized faster than expected."

Callum leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching her closely.

She sat there in silence, trying to process it.

Three days? Gone?

"How's that possible?" She asked quietly.

The doctor hesitated.

"…I don't have a clear answer."

And that didn't help at all.

Later, after the doctor left, Celeste stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.

She looked pale and tired. Her fingers rested lightly on the edge of the sink as she leaned in closer.

Her eyebrows creased as she made herself focus; there had been something important, something she needed to remember.

Altar.

Chants.

Mother—

A sharp pain suddenly burst behind her eyes.

"Ah—!"

She staggered slightly, gripping the sink harder as the pain intensified, like something inside her head was rejecting the memory.

The pain worsened.

She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as her breathing turned uneven.

"Stop—just stop—"

It disappeared.

Shaking.

Her hands slowly lifted to her temples, massaging them gently.

"What the hell… was that…?"

Feeling much better, her gaze dropped down to the wound, which was still wrapped in a bandage.

She reached for the bandage, peeling it back carefully.

The wound was sealed, stitched with a thread, but it felt like something was crawling on it; it was itchy.

She grabbed the antiseptic, her hand slightly unsteady, and began to clean it.

The moment she was done, the crawling intensified and right in front of her—

The edges of the wound moved, skin drawing together, sealing itself.

Her breath hitched and her eyes locked on it, waiting, to prove what she had seen wasn't imagined.

The skin smoothed over slowly, leaving behind only a faint mark.

Her hands trembled.

"What… is happening to me…?"