Chapter 8: Quinn

After I woke up to see my chain was broken, I didn’t look back. I took the opportunity and literally ran with it.

Branches whip at my arms, tearing into skin that shouldn’t be this soft, shouldn’t bruise this easily, but I push forward anyway, lungs burning, dress torn, feet bleeding.

The cold air stings my face as I run, hair plastered to my cheeks, heart pounding so hard I think it might crack my ribs open and burst out entirely.

I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a direction. Just the singular, all-consuming knowledge that he’s coming.

Kieran.

The bond pulses inside me like it knows exactly where he is, like it’s enjoying this game of predator and prey while I’m choking on panic and adrenaline. The farther I go, the more the forest closes in, thick and dense and impossibly vast. I could’ve sworn I knew this landscape—I wrote it.

But now it all feels different. The trees are taller. The shadows stretch longer. And every time I think I’m gaining distance, something in my chest tightens, like a leash being drawn taut.

I stumble over a root, slam hard into the dirt, and hiss as the chain on my ankle catches on something and drags. Pain flares, but I bite it down and crawl to my feet. I don’t have the luxury of pain. Not with the way the air is changing around me.

He’s close.

I can feel him.

The trees go still before I hear him. Like they’re holding their breath. Like the forest knows what walks through it now. The wind dies. The usual sounds—birds, insects, rustling leaves—vanish in an instant.

All I hear is my pulse and the blood in my ears and the low, predatory thud of boots against earth. He doesn’t need to run at all.

He’s behind me, I know it. I don’t hear or see him, but I feel him. That bond between us stretches like a wire in my ribs, tugging tighter with every mile I put between us. He’s not just chasing me, he’s tracking me. Hunting me the way I always said he would. The way I wrote that he would.

I stumble on another root, catch myself with scraped palms, and push forward, biting down a cry of pain. There’s no room for weakness here. Not in this world. Not with him.

The gown I’m wearing is torn and bloodied, barely holding together in shreds of sheer fabric, and I’m barefoot, the soles of my feet raw and aching. I don’t care. I keep moving. Because the second I stop, the second I let him catch me, this ends.

And not in a good way.

This world doesn’t run on logic, it runs on instinct. And I underestimated just how predatory Kieran Volkov really is.

The wind shifts and my stomach drops. The bond doesn’t just pull, it yanks so hard it knocks the breath from my lungs.

I risk a glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing. But when I turn back, I slam straight into him.

The impact knocks me onto my back, the air shoved violently from my lungs as I hit the ground hard. I scramble, clawing at the dirt, trying to kick out and twist away, but he’s already on me.

He slams me gently against the nearest tree trunk, pinning me there like I’m nothing but weightless fabric caught in a storm.

His body presses close, not crushing, but tight enough that escape is off the table. My wrists are caught in one hand above my head, pinned against the bark, the other gripping my hip with a possessive force that makes my mouth go dry.

His eyes find mine in the dark. Red. Burning. Furious as fuck.

“You ran,” he says, voice low, gravel dragged over steel.

“I escaped,” I spit, shoving at him with my free knee. “Don’t twist it into something noble just because it gives you a hard-on.”

His mouth twitches, but it’s not a smile. “You don’t get to talk about hard-ons, Omega,” he murmurs, leaning in until his lips are near my ear. “Not when you tore a steel chain off the bed just to get away from me.”

“Your lock was broken when I woke up,” I fire back. “So I took the chance and ran. I think we’re past the part where etiquette matters.”

“You smell like panic.”

“You smell like ego.”

That earns me a low laugh. It’s not warm. Not amused. It rolls through him like thunder, like something ancient and pleased, and I hate the way it makes my skin tingle.

“You are in so much trouble, little Omega,” he says softly, tilting his head like he’s already planning the punishment. “I gave you time. I gave you a choice. And you decided to lie to my face and run the second I turned my back.”

“I told you the truth,” I breathe, trying to pull my wrists free. “I don’t know how I got here. I’m not a spy. I’m not a threat. I’m just—”

“Wrong?” he finishes, voice suddenly cold again. “You’re not just anything. You walked into my territory without a scent, without a name, without a story that holds under pressure. And now you want me to believe you’re innocent?”

I blink hard, my throat tight, every nerve lit up with exhaustion and fury and something else.

“I didn’t choose to come here,” I whisper. “I didn’t ask for this. I was at my desk. One second I was writing, and the next I was standing on your damn gallows with the wind knocked out of me and your bond clawing its way through my spine. You think I wanted this?”

His eyes stay locked on mine, unblinking, unreadable. Then he leans in, the tip of his nose brushing my jaw, and every hair on my body stands up. “I think you’re a liar who doesn’t realize how close she is to being ruined.”

“Then ruin me,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “Because I’m not going back to that room.”

His grip tightens on my wrists, just for a breath. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind me that he could.

“Don’t tempt me,” he says against my skin. “You have no idea how little control I’m holding onto right now.”

And for once, I believe him.

Because even though his voice is calm, his body is tensed. His breathing is deeper now. The bond between us pulses, hot and possessive, dragging heat through my limbs even as fear clings to my spine.

He holds me there for another heartbeat, then his hand drops from my hip, and my wrists fall free. I stumble back, caught by the tree again, arms shaking, breath ragged, but he doesn’t move. He just watches me like he already knows how this ends.

“You’re coming back,” he says simply. “Whether you walk or I carry you. But you’re done running. Do you understand me?”

I meet his eyes, chin lifting. “And if I say no?”

His smile is slow. “I’ll drag you back by your throat.”