Chapter 29 Amaya
Scarlet's POV
"Amaya," I whispered, my voice rough, still adjusting to the constraints of human vocal cords.
Her eyes snapped open, wide and startled, dark pools reflecting the motel room's dim light. She scrambled upright, her hand flying to her chest, a primal gasp escaping her lips. Fear, a cold, metallic tang, flooded the small space.
"Who… who are you?" Her voice trembled, a thin thread against the silence. "How did you get in here?"
I took a step back, raising my hands in a placating gesture. My human form was less imposing, but the wildness still clung to me, a faint scent of pine and untamed forest.
"Hey. Easy. It's me." I gestured to my leg, still faintly bruised, but now set straight. "The wolf."
Her eyes widened further, disbelief warring with a dawning comprehension. She stared at my now-human leg, then back at my face. The fear didn't vanish, but a flicker of something else replaced it—curiosity, then a flash of genuine wonder.
"The… the wolf?" she stammered, her gaze sweeping over my auburn hair, my amber eyes. "You… you can do that?"
"It's called shifting," I said, a wry smirk tugging at my lips. "Turns out, you're not the only one with secrets, human."
She stared, a long, assessing look, before a slow, hesitant smile touched her lips. "I guess not." She patted the space beside her on the sofa. "Sit down. Please. My head can only take so much today."
I settled beside her, the springs groaning in protest. The air between us thrummed with unspoken questions, with the raw, fresh energy of impossible things.
"I need to thank you," I said, my voice softer now, more genuine. "For what you did. For healing me."
She waved a dismissive hand. "It was nothing. You were hurt."
"It was everything," I countered, meeting her gaze. "That was no 'nothing,' Amaya. You put me back together. And not just my leg." I inhaled, letting the scent of her, the power within her, fill my senses. "You radiated pure light. I've never felt anything like it."
She looked down at her hands, turning them over, as if expecting them to glow. "I… I don't know what it was. It just… happened. I just wanted to help."
"That's the thing about you," I mused, nudging her gently with my elbow. "You just want to help. Even when every instinct screams to run. That's why they came for you. The creatures in the alley. Different from the ones that hurt me, but fundamentally the same. I saw a bit when your light touched me." My voice hardened, the memory a bitter taste in my mouth.
Her head snapped up. "The ones that hurt you? Who… who did this to you?" Her eyes, usually shadowed, blazed with a fierce, protective fire. My instincts had been right. She was a storm, waiting to break.
"Others like me," I admitted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Wolves. My own pack."
Her brow furrowed. "Your pack? But… why? Why would they do that?"
"Because I'm a halfblood," I stated, the word still carrying the sting of shame, even though it wasn't true, not entirely. "I can't shift. Not fully. They see it as a weakness. An abomination. They thought I was… corrupted." I gestured vaguely to the lingering ache in my phantom paw, the memory of the cruel blows, the gnawing hunger. "They left me for dead. Or for the dark entities to finish the job. Said I wasn't worthy of their moon."
Amaya's hand reached out, brushing my arm in a gesture of pure, unthinking comfort. The simple touch sent another jolt of that comforting warmth through me. "That's… that's awful. Cruel. They're wrong."
"Maybe," I conceded, a cynical edge to my voice. "But their cruelty led me to you, so maybe it wasn't all bad." I paused, then continued, the words tumbling out now that the dam was broken. "That's why I'm going to Salvation. To find a place where 'wolfless' doesn't mean 'worthless.' Where I can learn to use what I do have. My strength, my speed, my senses… even if I can't fully shift. Malik, he said, he could help me."
"Malik?" Amaya's voice was tight, a strange note of apprehension. "The… the angel? The one with the golden hair?"
"That's the one," I confirmed, a flicker of amusement stirring. "So you've met him, then? My instincts tell me it wasn't a casual coffee date."
She let out a short, incredulous laugh, devoid of humor. "A coffee date? I was bleeding out in an alley, surrounded by ghosts, and then he whisks me away to a secret world full of magic and impossibly beautiful, intimidating beings." She scrubbed her face with her hands. "He thinks I'm a Saint, or something. Thinks I'm some kind of beacon of light. He wants me to follow the Architect's path, whatever that means. All purity and order and… truth."
"He's not wrong about the light," I said, recalling the blinding warmth that had flowed from her. "You have it, Amaya. In spades. It's like a sun."
She shook her head, a desperate gesture. "It's too much. The pressure. The expectations. I'm just… I was just a pharmacist. I filled prescriptions. I liked things ordered. Predictable." Her gaze met mine, a flicker of raw vulnerability. "And then there's the other one. Ryker."
My ears, still more attuned to human than wolf, perked up. Ryker. The name tasted like danger. "Ah, the Sinner," I purred, a low, knowing sound. "I heard about him. The demon with a penchant for… unorthodox methods. He also wants you, doesn't he?"