Jayde POV:
Five days left.
I went to "The Howl," a dive bar on the edge of territory. Stale beer and sawdust.
I ordered a shot of Wolfsbane Whiskey. Synthetic. Strong enough to knock a wolf on its ass.
I was three shots deep when the atmosphere shifted.
Brendan walked in with his elite guard. The room went quiet. Respect. Fear.
I shrank into the corner booth.
They took the center table.
"To the new Alpha!"
"And to the Luna!" a warrior shouted. "Chloie is a catch, boss. Strategic match."
Brendan swirled his drink. "Strategy is key. Love is for poets and humans. Wolves need bloodlines."
My glass cracked in my hand.
"What about the stepsister?" a warrior laughed. "Jayde? Is she still... you know?"
"Defective?" Brendan finished.
The word hung in the air like smoke.
"She's fine," Brendan said dismissively. "She's weak. Can't shift. Diluted blood. She'd break under the Pack Link in a week."
I stood up. I couldn't breathe.
I rushed toward the restrooms.
The men's room door opened. Brendan stepped out.
We collided.
Small hallway. No escape. My chest against his. His hands on my waist.
The alcohol lowered his barriers. His scent exploded-thunderstorm, ozone, raw power.
His pupils blew wide, swallowing the grey.
Mate, his wolf roared. I felt the vibration in his chest.
He leaned down, nose brushing my pulse point. He inhaled, shuddering.
"Jayde," he groaned, voice rough. "You smell like..."
"Like what?" I whispered. "Like a defect?"
He froze.
His hands tightened, bruisingly hard. The man warred with the beast.
"Brendan?"
Chloie's voice cracked the whip.
She stood at the end of the hall.
Brendan ripped himself away, stumbling back. The gold faded from his eyes, replaced by steel walls.
"I... I tripped," he stammered. "Jayde was helping me."
Chloie narrowed her eyes. She sniffed the air. She smelled the pheromones.
She looped her arm through his. "Let's go, baby. Cheap whiskey makes you confused."
She shot me a look of pure venom.
"Go home, Jayde," Brendan commanded, looking at the floor.
They walked out.
I followed a minute later. It was raining again.
Outside, Brendan held an umbrella over Chloie, getting soaked himself to keep her dry.
He looked up and saw me shivering under the awning.
He hesitated. For a second, he looked like he wanted to cross the distance.
"Bren, come on. I'm cold," Chloie whined.
He got in the car.
The taillights faded into the red mist.
My Inner Wolf, who had been screaming for him, suddenly went quiet.
We are done, she said. He is dead to us.
