Chapter 9: Maximus: 2. Chasing Her

–Maximus–

“Do—don’t move.”

I tasted my own blood, warm and metallic, running from my mouth. She was trembling, yet she steadied herself, her eyes locked on me.

“Do… don’t hurt yourself,” I murmured, voice ragged.

“You—you are hurt.” Her cry broke, trembling, her tears spilling onto my cheeks. I stared at her beautiful face, wet with grief, weeping for me.

My gaze roamed over her body. The wooden spines hadn’t pierced her—I prayed they hadn’t. I inhaled softly. She was bleeding, but not from wounds. The scent told me everything. She was bleeding down there, and it made my hunger coil into arousal.

Fuck. She was so beautiful, even when she cried.

“Demetrius,” I whispered.

“Papá!” His voice thundered from above. The damn hole was a trap, sharpened wooden spikes meant for intruders. But why so close to the lakehouse? She didn’t know this place. She could have died here.

It was fate. She was brought here to die. And I will never forgive the bastard who led her here.

“Take her!” I commanded.

Demetrius slid down carefully, scooping her from me. I stayed behind, staring at the crescent moon—the only light in this cursed pit.

“Is she hurt?” I asked, forcing myself to push against the spikes.

“She broke her ankle!” Demetrius called.

“Alexandria…” My voice softened. “Don’t run again. Please. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Help him!” she screamed at Demetrius, her voice sharp with frustration. I chuckled, even as pain gnawed at me. My bride was worried for me. Damn… hearing her cry for me, I was over the fucking moon.

“He’s fine,” Demetrius tried to calm her, laughing.

“He’s dying, dumbass!” she scolded, her voice fierce. “Take him out! Call a doctor!” Still commanding, still protective.

“Take her back to the cabin,” I muttered, my strength draining. My eyes closed, surrendering to exhaustion. She was near another tragic death, but this time, I saved her. I was almost too late.

Her cries echoed in my mind, a melody of worry and love.

Sylus appeared above, grinning.

“Wow, Dad. You look happy!”

“Get me out, Sy!” I roared. He laughed, slid down, scooped me up, and tossed me out of the pit like I was nothing.

I landed hard, grunting, my body already repairing—cells knitting together, wounds closing fast.

“You need blood?” he asked.

“No.” I rose, steady. “Prepare our path. We’re leaving.”

“Got it.”

I walked toward the lakehouse, senses sharpened, every sound magnified–the pacing of werewolves nearby, restless, waiting. They knew. We came only to retrieve my bride.

“Grayson!” My voice thundered, echoing through the night.

He stepped from the shadows, topless, scarred, smug. His olive skin gleamed under the moonlight, his grin mocking.

“You put traps around the lakehouse?” My words were cold, deliberate.

“Protection,” He muttered, as if it were nothing. As if nearly killing her was a joke.

He thought this was funny?

My gaze darkened, colder than the grave. “Protection?” I growled, stepping closer, my presence pressing down on him like a storm. “You call it protection when my wife nearly died in your pit of spikes?”

The wolves shifted uneasily, sensing the tension. Grayson’s smirk faltered, but he held his ground.

In a blink, I was inches from him, my hand crushing his throat. He struggled, but my magic froze him in place, like telekinesis. The wolves snarled, but he signaled them to stand down.

I released him. He coughed, smiling like a madman.

“Apologies. She wasn’t supposed to roam here.”

Deliberate. Calculated. My rage burned. How could Vincent Mortalis not know there were traps near the lakehouse?

I glared at Grayson and his wolves. They might be the strongest pack in this region, but to me, they are nothing.

“You should be grateful she suffered only a broken ankle. Because if she had died here, your pack would already be ash.” My voice was low, lethal. “I would have wiped you out–pregnant women, children, elders. None spared. That would be the payment for your clumsiness.”

That simple statement made them all snarled, the sound ripping through the night as realization struck. They knew now. They knew who I truly was.

I stepped closer toward Alpha Grayson, my presence pressing down on him like a storm. “And you should know me better, Alpha. I do not forgive. I do not forget.”

I turned away, heading back inside. Outside, I heard her sobbing, scolding Demetrius. I chuckled. That motherly instinct—always scolding, always protecting. My wife had done the same with our firstborn.

Demetrius was enjoying it. He missed her. Though the woman before him was not his mother’s blood, her soul was the same.

“Why didn’t you help him?” she cried.

“Ma…” Demetrius sighed. “He’s fine. His injuries heal fast. I promise.”

I knew. Demetrius missed his mother more than Sylus or Ophelia ever could. He had lived longer with her, back in the day. And now, he saw her soul again. He’s doing his best to hold himself back.