Contract With My Ex's Brother

Fangs In The Night

Marcus’s POV

Fragments of glass scatter throughout the cabin, reminiscent of a tempest of sharp stars, while a scream—something neither human nor wolf but disturbingly twisted—pierces through me like a knife. Vivian grips my arm tighter, her nails digging into my skin, and my wolf is roused, growling, ready to rip apart whatever has shattered my window. The air hangs heavy with an acrid ash-and-iron odor, suffocating and wrong. I push Vivian behind me, knife raised, confronting the gaping void where the window once was. Whatever lurks outside isn't here for a friendly chat, and I’m finished with merely playing defense.

"Marcus!" Vivian gasps, her voice trembling yet fierce, pressing close enough I can feel her heartbeat against my back. "What is that?"

"No clue," I growl, my eyes fixed on the shadows beyond the broken frame. The firelight glimmers off something tall and sleek, slipping just out of sight. My wolf is on high alert, every instinct screaming danger, but I maintain my ground, knife angled for defense. "Stay behind me. If I move, you move."

"I’m not helpless," she snaps back, though there’s a quiver in her voice that reveals her fear—I’m not feeling particularly calm myself. After three years evading rogues and rival packs, I’ve never encountered a scent like this one. Kathryn’s warning echoes in my mind—the other one’s already here—and I curse myself for failing to press her harder. It’s too late for that now.

Another low, guttural sound resonates outside, vibrating through my bones, and then it stirs. A shadow—too tall, with limbs that seem to stretch unnaturally—darts past the shattered window, moving quickly enough to become a blur. Vivian stifles a gasp, and I tighten my grip on the knife, my wolf eager to shift. But not yet. Shifting means leaving Vivian vulnerable, and I won't take that risk.

"Talk to me," I say, keeping my voice low and steady as we cautiously edge toward the hallway. "What’s it doing?"

She glances over my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. "I—I can't see it. It’s gone, but… Marcus, the smell. It’s getting stronger."

She’s correct. The scent of ash has intensified, wafting into the room like a thick smoke, making my head spin. We need to escape—back door, into the woods, anywhere but this cabin—but the entity is circling us, and I can't decipher its intentions. "We’re heading for the back," I whisper. "Slow and quiet. Hold onto my belt."

Her fingers fumble and then latch onto my belt loop, a small comfort that steadies me more than it should. We creep backward, my eyes flicking between the window and the door, which rattles softly as if teasing us. A loud pop from the fire makes Vivian flinch, her grip tightening.

"You’re doing great," I murmur, partly to her, partly to myself. "Just stay close."

"Don’t patronize me," she hisses, yet there’s a hint of fire in her voice—underneath that fear is a spark—and I can’t help but smile slightly, despite the chaos we’re facing.

"Noted," I reply, easing us past the couch. The hallway looms close, maybe ten feet away, but it feels like a mile with that creature outside. Just as I’m edging toward the corner, a new sound freezes me—a slow, deliberate tapping, like claws scraping against wood, coming from the roof. My blood runs cold. It’s now above us, and the back door suddenly feels like a gamble that might not pay off.

"Marcus…" Vivian’s voice is barely audible, her fingers trembling against my belt. "That’s not normal."

"No kidding," I mutter, scanning the ceiling. The beams creak, dust drifting down, while my wolf howls to shift and fight, but I need to figure this out first. What is this monster? A rogue? Some kind of demon? Something even older? The pack elders used to whisper about creatures tied to the land that would hunt those wolves who broke sacred pacts. Clayton’s rejection of Vivian—his fated mate—may have provoked something dark, but that’s speculation for another time.

"We’re not going out there," I decide, my voice low. "Basement. It’s fortified. We hold out until dawn."

"Basement?" she echoes, incredulous. "You want to trap ourselves down there?"

"Trust me," I say, turning just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes are wide, hazel flecked with gold, and for a moment, I’m caught—her fear, her determination, everything about her. "I’ve got you."

She swallows, nodding, and it’s enough for me. I pivot, guiding her toward the kitchen where the basement door hides behind a pantry. The tapping above grows louder, faster, like the thing is prowling overhead, and then—silence. A heavy, oppressive quiet that feels worse than before. My wolf loathes it, and I do, too.

We’re halfway to the kitchen when the front door explodes inward, splintering into matchsticks. Vivian screams, and I whirl around, knife raised, as a shape lunges through the wreckage. It’s not a wolf—not anything I’m familiar with. Tall and gaunt, its limbs bend at unnatural angles, its skin gray and mottled, eyes glowing red in a face that is too smooth, too featureless. The smell of ash washes off it in waves, and my wolf howls, pure instinct kicking in.

"Run!" I shout, shoving Vivian toward the kitchen. She stumbles but pushes herself forward, and I s***h at the creature, my knife glancing off its arm. It hisses, like steam escaping, and swings its arm, moving faster than it should. I barely dodge, its claws grazing my shoulder, sharp pain igniting. Blood drips, but I don’t hesitate, lunging again, aiming for its chest.

"Marcus!" Vivian yanks open the basement door. "Come on!"

The creature spins, red eyes locking onto her, and my heart stops. "No you don’t," I snarl, tackling it low. We crash into the couch, wood splintering, and I drive the knife into its side. It shrieks, thrashing, but doesn’t bleed—just oozes a black, tar-like substance that burns my hand. What on earth is this?

Vivian’s screams reverberate in my ears as I kick the thing off and scramble toward the kitchen. It’s back on its feet, moving like a spider—jarring and angular—and I slam the basement door behind us, locking it as we stumble down the stairs. The steps are narrow, the air damp and musty, but it feels safe—for now. At least, I hope it is.

The basement is small, with concrete walls lined with crates and an old cot. A single bulb swings overhead, casting harsh shadows. Vivian’s breathing is heavy, her dress torn higher now, and she grabs my arm, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay? You’re bleeding!"

"I’m fine," I lie, ignoring the sting in my shoulder. The cut is deep, but I’ve experienced worse. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head, but she’s trembling, and I guide her to the cot, sitting her down. "Breathe," I say, kneeling in front of her. "We’re alright for now."

"Alright?" Her laugh is a mix of hysteria and disbelief. "That thing—it’s not a wolf, Marcus! What the hell was it?"

"I don’t know," I confess, and it crushes me to admit it. I’m supposed to have answers, to keep her safe, but this is beyond anything I’ve encountered. "But it’s not getting in here. The door’s steel, the walls are solid. We just need to wait it out."

She nods, but her gaze drifts to my shoulder, blood soaking my jacket. "You’re not fine," she says gently, and before I can stop her, she tears a strip from her dress, pressing it against my wound. Her touch is soft, steady, and it hits me harder than the pain itself.

"Vivian," I say, catching her wrist. "Stop. I’ll heal."

"Not fast enough," she shoots back, her voice fierce despite the tears shimmering in her eyes. "Let me do this."

I relent, mostly because I’m too damn exhausted to argue, and because her hands on me—gentle and warm—feel like a lifeline. "You’re stubborn," I mutter, a grin trying to break through my grim demeanor.

"Takes one to know one," she retorts, and even in this chaos, there’s that spark again. She ties the fabric tightly, fingers lingering, and we lock eyes. For a brief moment, the basement, the monster, the blood—they all fade away, and it’s just us.

A thud above disrupts the stillness, the steel door rattling. Vivian freezes, and I stand, knife in hand, my wolf growling. The low hum slithers back in, tauntingly echoing through the walls.