Chapter 3: Bound by Blood
1586 Words
POV Zane
He’s slipping.
I can see it in the way his hands twitch when she’s mentioned, in how his patrols get longer and his words get shorter. Dorian Blackwood — the coldest, most ruthless Alpha I’ve ever followed — is losing control over one thing, and that one thing wears a hoodie and smells like fresh rain and trouble.
Beatrice.
I’ve seen her. Once, from a distance. She was laughing with a professor about something unimportant, but Dorian stared at her like she was made of glass and he was made of fire. I don’t get it. Not yet. But I know that look. I’ve seen it before — on wolves who fall, not rise.
I follow him through the trees after he bolts out again in the middle of the night, shirt half-on, expression unreadable. He thinks I don’t notice. He’s wrong. I’ve been watching him since I was sixteen, since he pulled me out of the ruins of my old life and said, You’re pack now. I owe him everything. My loyalty. My breath. My fists.
But not my silence.
Back at the ridge, I stand in the cold and stare at the path he took. The scent he chased. The girl who’s got the entire forest snarling. I run a hand through my hair and sigh.
“If you’re going to lose your damn mind over a human, at least tell me why.”
But I already know the answer. She’s not just a girl.
She’s marked.
Which means we’re all in deep.
—
I don’t sleep that night either.
Instead, I run the perimeter of our land, stretching my senses, searching for anything out of place. And I find it. Just past the northern tree line — a torn scrap of fabric. Not hers. Male. Faded gray, reeks of blood and something else.
Ash.
I growl low.
No one from the pack uses this route anymore. It’s the old path — the one we abandoned after the war with the Hollowclaw rogues. The place we swore never to return to.
But someone’s been here.
And I know who.
My claws extend before I realize it, rage boiling under my skin. If it’s him — if he’s really back — then this isn’t just about a girl. It’s about vengeance. It’s about betrayal. It’s about old ghosts clawing their way back to the surface.
I shift and run.
My paws tear through leaves and mud, breath sharp in my throat. I follow the scent for over a mile before it fades into nothing. Vanished. Like smoke. Like he always does.
Coward.
I shift back, breathing hard, leaning against a tree.
Whoever’s hunting Beatrice isn’t doing it alone.
And if Dorian doesn’t start thinking with his head soon, we’ll all burn for it.
—
By the time I get back, he’s pacing the lodge like a caged animal. He looks at me, sees the dirt and blood on my hands, and knows I’ve been out.
“You found something?” he asks.
I nod. “Old trail. Familiar scent.”
He stiffens. “Hollowclaw?”
“Worse. Fenric.”
His jaw clenches.
That name is poison in this place. Fenric — once a brother to us. A beta. My mentor. Dorian’s right hand. Until he turned rogue and nearly destroyed the pack from the inside. We thought he was dead.
We were wrong.
“Why now?” Dorian asks.
“Why her,” I correct.
He falls silent.
I don’t push. Yet.
Instead, I hand him the cloth. He sniffs it, snarls, and crushes it in his fist.
“We need to move her,” I say. “Bring her into the circle. Protect her.”
“No,” he snaps. “Not yet.”
“You’re risking too much. If Fenric touches her—”
“He won’t.”
“Dorian.”
“She’s not pack.”
“She’s not ready. There’s a difference.”
He stares at the fire for a long time before speaking again.
“You don’t feel it?” he finally says. “That pull. Like gravity. Like your own bones humming when she’s near.”
“No,” I lie. “I feel danger. And I feel the pack. That’s all I need.”
He smirks, but there’s no humor in it.
“You’ll feel it eventually,” he murmurs. “They always do.”
—
That night, I stand alone on the edge of the forest, eyes locked on the campus beyond. Beatrice Moore. The girl who doesn’t know what’s inside her. The girl who might save us or destroy us. The girl who made my Alpha forget what fear tastes like.
I clench my fists and whisper to the dark, just in case Fenric’s out there listening.
“If you touch her, I’ll rip your f*****g heart out.”
I don’t do undercover.
I’m the guy who kicks down doors, not the one who politely knocks. But that morning, standing in front of the admissions building in a hoodie and jeans that didn’t belong to me, pretending to be a transfer student named Nathan, I realized how far this thing had gone.
And how far I was willing to go to keep her safe.
Dorian didn’t know. Wouldn’t approve. But I needed to see her. Without shadows. Without the Alpha’s voice in my head. Just her. Just me.
I walked the halls like I belonged there. Head down. Confident. The scent of too much coffee, cheap perfume, and young anxiety filled the building. But beneath it all — hers.
Warm. Bright. Like sun after rain. And something else… like thunder behind it.
I spotted her outside a classroom, leaning against the wall, reading something on her phone. Her lips moved silently — either memorizing something or talking to herself. That was interesting. And adorable.
She didn’t see me at first. Which gave me time to study the details.
Hair messy but deliberate. Hoodie that looked like it had a story. Big eyes that didn’t miss much.
I walked up slowly and leaned against the wall beside her.
“Let me guess. You’re either cramming for Psych 101 or texting someone you hate with passive-aggressive memes.”
She looked up, startled, then smirked. “Both.”
That voice. Yeah. It hit just like Dorian said.
I grinned. “New here. Name’s Nate. You?”
She narrowed her eyes, but something about me didn’t set her off. Yet.
“Bea,” she said, offering her hand. “Short for Beatrice.”
I shook it. Her skin was cool. Smooth. Electric.
“Nice to meet you, Bea.”
“You picked a weird time to transfer.”
“I specialize in bad timing.”
She chuckled. “At least you’re honest.”
I leaned in a little. “You always this friendly to strange guys who show up out of nowhere?”
She tilted her head. “Only the ones who look like they’re hiding something.”
Damn. Smart.
I liked that.
We chatted a bit — light stuff. Classes. The food on campus, which she hated. The weather, which she also hated. She had this dry humor that didn’t quite match her soft features. It made her sharper. Realer.
She didn’t flirt. Not really. But she didn’t pull away either.
I could see what was happening, even if she didn’t. A bond, slow and subtle, forming between us.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop it.
But then — I smelled it.
The same ash-and-iron scent from the forest.
Someone else was watching her.
I scanned the courtyard casually. Students. A few teachers. But behind the science building — movement. Too still. Too focused.
I took a step closer to Bea.
She noticed. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just… you might want to avoid the woods around here.”
She blinked. “You sound like someone I met two nights ago.”
My heart skipped.
“Tall. Dark. Broody?” I asked.
She nodded.
Great.
Dorian had already made his impression. And now I was walking the same line. Bad timing, remember?
I offered a grin. “Well, consider this the non-broody version of the same warning.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You people really hate the woods.”
I smiled. But inside — I wasn’t smiling.
Because the man behind the building was no student. And the glint in his hand wasn’t a pen.
I had to get her out of here.
Now.
“You want to grab coffee?” I asked suddenly.
She hesitated. “Now?”
“Now.”
“Are you always this pushy?”
I gave her a wink. “Only when someone might be trying to kill you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Joking,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
She narrowed her eyes.
But I saw the tiniest crack in her wall. A decision made.
“Fine. But I pick the place.”
“Lead the way.”
As she turned and walked toward the street, I followed closely — one eye on her, the other on the shadow slipping back into the trees.
He was testing the waters.
I’d make sure he drowned in them.
But first — I had to make sure Bea didn’t see the monster standing next to her.
Because if she looked too closely… she might not run away.
She might run toward me.
And that would be worse.
Much worse.
- Writer
