Chapter 49: Fury and Misunderstanding

Seraphine's POV

My feet left the ground.

The world tilted. My stomach lurched as Kaelen's fist twisted in the fabric of my tank top, yanking me upward. The hem rode up, exposing my midriff to the cold air, and the neckline dug into my throat like a noose. I couldn't breathe. The cloth pressed against my windpipe, cutting off my air supply with every second he held me there.

My lower back stayed pinned against the desk's edge. My legs dangled uselessly, toes barely scraping the floor. The position was wrong—stretched between the desk and his grip, suspended in a way that made my spine scream in protest. I grabbed at his wrist with both hands, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve, trying to pull myself up enough to ease the pressure on my throat.

He didn't move. Didn't budge. His arm was solid as iron.

I tilted my head back, forced to look up at him. His face was half-hidden in shadow, the lamp behind me casting everything above his jaw into darkness. But I could see his eyes. God, I could see his eyes.

They weren't black anymore. They were gold. Pure, molten gold. But not steady. Not controlled. The color flickered and jumped like sparks dancing in the dark, wild and untamed. The wolf was pushing through. Breaking past whatever control he usually kept locked down tight.

And then I noticed the rest.

Blood. Dark stains on his shirt, some dry, some still wet. His jacket was torn at the shoulder, the fabric hanging in shreds. A thin cut ran across his cheekbone, shallow but fresh, already starting to close. I watched the edges of the wound knit together, skin sealing itself in real-time.

He'd been in a fight. Recently. And whatever happened out there, it hadn't ended well.

The bond pulsed. Anger. Rage. So much of it I could barely think straight. It wasn't mine. It was his. Pouring through the connection like gasoline on a fire.

"Why?"

His voice was low. Dangerous. Each word ground out between clenched teeth.

My brain went blank.

The diary. He saw the sketchbook. He knows. But how—no. He couldn't have seen. I covered it. I threw my shirt over everything. He couldn't have—

"Why?" he said again, louder this time. His grip tightened, pulling me higher, forcing me onto the tips of my toes. The tank top dug deeper into my throat. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. "Why did you do that?"

He bit down hard on the last two words. Do that. Like I'd committed some unforgivable crime.

"Sorry," I gasped. The word came out strangled, barely audible. My hands were still locked around his wrist, nails digging into his skin. "I... I just..."

I couldn't finish. Couldn't think. My lungs burned. My throat was on fire. And all I could think about was the diary behind me, hidden under my shirt, seconds away from being discovered.

The moment the word sorry left my mouth, everything changed.

His eyes exploded.

The gold didn't just flicker anymore. It consumed. Flooded his entire iris until there was nothing left but burning, molten light. The wolf wasn't pushing anymore. It was winning.

He spun.

One violent, powerful motion.

And he threw me.

Not pushed. Not shoved. Threw.

My body sailed through the air. For half a second, I was weightless, suspended in nothing. And then—

CRACK.

My injured hand shot out instinctively—terrible idea. My wrist buckled on impact, doing nothing to break my fall. The scabs split open, wetness spreading across my palm. Then my left shoulder slammed into the floorboards. The half-healed wound exploded in white-hot agony. I felt something tear, something give.

My ass hit next, the impact so brutal it shot straight up my spine. My teeth clacked together. The air punched out of my lungs in one sharp gasp. My back followed, slamming flat against the wood, sending a wave of pain radiating through my ribs.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. My tailbone throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to it. Tears sprang to my eyes—hot, stinging, involuntary. Not from fear. From pure, blinding pain.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I rolled onto my side, gasping, trying to force air back into my lungs. Every muscle in my body screamed.

And then I heard it.

A soft scraping sound. Fabric sliding against wood.

My head snapped up.

The desk. I'd hit it on my way down. My body had collided with one of the legs, and the whole thing had shaken. The shirt I'd thrown over the diary had shifted. Slid.

The corner of the book was visible. Just a sliver of worn leather peeking out from under the crumpled fabric.

No. No no no.

Kaelen was standing behind me. His back to the desk. He hadn't turned around yet—but if he does—

I tried to push myself up. My arms shook. My shoulder screamed. I needed to move. Needed to block his view before—

Something metallic glinted in the lamplight.

I froze.

Kaelen's hand moved to his waist. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of a blade. He pulled it free in one smooth motion, spinning it once in the air. The silver edge caught the light, flashing like lightning.

And then he threw it.

THUNK.

The sound echoed through the room. Sharp. Final. The blade buried itself in the floorboards, the hilt vibrating from the force of the impact.

Less than two inches from my thigh.

I sucked in a breath. My eyes locked onto the knife. The handle was worn, the leather grip cracked and faded from years of use. The blade had a small chip near the tip, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

I knew that chip. I knew that handle.

That's mine.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

How did he—I lost it when I ran.

My mind raced. The night I tried to escape. When I'd stumbled through the woods, desperate and half-dead. I'd dropped it. Left it behind.

He found it. He kept it.

And now he was using it as a weapon. A warning.

Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Closing in.

I didn't have time to think. Didn't have time to react.

Kaelen was in front of me. Crouching. His face inches from mine. So close I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin. So close I could see every flicker of gold in his eyes, every spark of rage burning in the depths of his gaze.

His hand shot out. Grabbed the front of my tank top again.

We were face to face. Less than four inches apart. I could feel the bond thrumming between us, wild and unstable. Could feel the fury radiating off him in waves.

"Tell me, Seraphine."

His voice was low. Deadly. Each word clipped and precise.

"Why did you betray the pack?"