Emmie Blackwell POV:
The alley exploded into chaos. Bullets whizzed past, tearing into the grimy brick around us. We were being ambushed. Before I could even process the danger, Hayden moved. His reaction was instantaneous, a blur of protective instinct. He spun me around, shoving my face into the hard muscle of his chest and covering my head with one hand. His other arm wrapped around me like a shield of steel, his entire body becoming a barrier between me and the bullets.
A grunt of pain was torn from his throat.
I twisted my head, peering over his shoulder. A thin line of red was welling up on his bicep, staining his dark shirt.
Hayden's warriors, who had just begun to disperse, immediately returned fire.
Even amidst the chaos, Hayden's focus remained razor-sharp. He didn't release me, didn't even seem to notice the men beyond a cursory glance. His burning gaze was still locked on me.
Hayden didn't stay to fight. He grabbed my uninjured arm, but the sudden jerk sent a fresh wave of white-hot agony through my shattered left wrist, making me gasp. I had to cradle my limp left hand against my chest, every step a jarring reminder of the bone-grinding pain. His grip was non-negotiable, and he pulled me deeper into the labyrinth of back alleys. "Move!" he roared over the chaos.
He moved with an unnatural speed and grace, pulling me along in his wake.His body always positioned to shield me from the ongoing firefight.
We burst out of the other end of the alley onto a quieter side street. A black, heavily armored SUV was idling by the curb. The door swung open before we even reached it.
Hayden practically threw me into the plush leather of the back seat and slid in after me, slamming the door shut.
"Go!" he barked at the driver.
The SUV shot forward with a squeal of tires, pressing me back into my seat. The sounds of the gun battle faded behind us, replaced by the oppressive silence inside the vehicle.
I scrambled to the opposite side of the seat, putting as much distance as I could between us.
Hayden ignored me, casually inspecting the wound on his arm. He ripped the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the gash. To my astonishment, the bleeding had already stopped. The edges of the wound were puckering, knitting themselves back together before my very eyes.
I finally managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper. "Who were those people?"
He lifted his gaze from his arm. Those intense, golden-brown eyes met mine, and for the first time, he seemed to be truly seeing me.
He didn't answer my questions. Instead, he said, "Your scent. It's clean. Not like a Rogue's. It’s high-born... Blackwood. You’re not a spy; you’re a runaway." He narrowed his eyes. "Whatever game you're playing with that dwarf, I'll find out. But for now, I'm returning you to the wolves who lost their pup."
I bit my lip, refusing to answer.
He leaned back against the seat, a predator at rest, and gave an order to the driver. "Stop at the Blackwood Pack border."
A jolt of pure shock went through me. My blood ran cold. How could he possibly know?
As if reading my mind, he added, his voice a low, chilling murmur, "You smell of them. Blackwood dust and old pines. It's faint. But you can't hide a scent from an Alpha."
The rest of the drive was short and silent. The SUV ate up the miles, leaving the city behind for the dense, dark forests that marked the edge of my old home. The vehicle slowed to a stop before a barely-there dirt road that disappeared into the trees.
"Get out," Hayden said, his voice flat.
I hesitated for a second, then scrambled out of the car. The cool night air was a relief after the tension inside. I was standing on Blackwood land for the first time in fifteen years. The familiar scent of damp earth and pine needles filled my lungs, bringing with it a flood of memories I had long suppressed.
I turned back to the car, one last desperate attempt in my voice. "My locket..."
He cut me off. He stood in the open doorway of the SUV, his tall frame casting a long, intimidating shadow. "I'll find out who you are." he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And this." he pulled the silver locket from his pocket, letting it swing from his fingers, "stays with me. A reminder."
He stared at me, his golden eyes seeming to glow in the darkness. He paused, a ghost of that cruel smile touching his lips. "We'll be seeing each other again, sweetheart."
He slid back into the SUV. The door slammed shut, and the vehicle sped away, its taillights disappearing into the night.
I was left alone in the suffocating silence of the forest, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I turned and walked down the dirt path, toward the heart of the Blackwood Pack.
The Pack House loomed out of the trees, a sprawling log and stone structure that looked smaller and less grand than I remembered. A woman was waiting on the porch, her arms crossed, her face set in a permanent scowl. Brenda White, the head housekeeper. She froze as I stepped into the light, her eyes widening as they searched my face. "Emmie?" she whispered, the name sounding like a curse.
"The Alpha and Luna are at dinner," she said, her tone dripping with disdain. "They expected you'd crawl back eventually. You're to wait in the parlor."
She led me into the house, into a room I knew all too well. My father, Alpha Alistair Buchanan, sat at the head of a long dining table. His mate, the acting Luna Georgiana, sat at his right hand. My half-sisters, Isabelle and Felicity, were there too, picking at their food.
Alistair glanced up as I entered. For a split second, his fork hovered, a flicker of recognition—and disappointment—crossing his features. Then, his eyes flicked over me with cold indifference before returning to his plate, as if I were nothing more than a stray dog wandering in from the rain. Georgiana offered a smile that was all teeth, poisonously sweet. Isabelle and Felicity stared at me with open contempt.
This was my homecoming. After fifteen years, it was colder and more venomous than I could have ever imagined.
