Chapter 106 106
THORNE
The silver forest burns in my vision, Aidan’s flames licking the trees, golden leaves falling like ash.
He’s not a vampire, not a wolf, but I don’t care what he is. He’s a threat, a stain on my territory, and I won’t let him run anymore. Does he think he can come and go as he pleases?
My body ignites, fire roaring through my veins, and I leap at him. Aidan staggers back, his collar glowing, but he’s slow, clumsy—no match for me. My fist connects, a brutal blow to his head that hurls him to the ground; his fire snuffs out like a candle in the rain. A groan escapes his lips, blood dripping from his forehead, and his body lies still—badly injured, barely conscious.
Did he think we were going to have a real fight? He doesn’t stand the slightest chance against me.
Enzo moves—fast—fangs gleaming under the silver light, circling the boy like a vulture. My growl stops him cold, deep and animal, and I plant myself between him and Aidan, my shadow covering the broken body.
“Don’t come near the boy,” I warn, voice a thunder that shakes the clearing.
“He’s my prey,” Enzo hisses, red eyes narrowing, hand rising as though he could touch him. “He’s a vampire, and he’s mine.”
“This has caused enough trouble already,” I reply, fists clenching, the heat of my fire still crackling on my skin. “We all want answers. But after what happened in human territory, Aidan’s fire… I don’t think you can keep him, Enzo. I need answers first. He was raised and lived in wolf territory. We investigate him first.”
Enzo paces like a restless crow. I watch him, yellow eyes locked on, waiting—almost hoping he’ll attack. His hesitation is an insult, a game I won’t tolerate.
Does he want him or not? Will he strike first, or realize it’s not worth it?
Either way, I’ve already started a fight and I want to keep going—this barely satisfied me. Knocking the boy out took almost nothing.
“Want to fight, Enzo?” I ask, stepping toward him, voice low and dangerous. “Want to fight over this?” I’m not trying to persuade him… just egging him on.
He looks at me for a moment and smiles—a flash of fangs that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a retreat, not surrender.
“When you’re done with him… give him back,” he says, voice soft and sharp. “And I want him alive. Don’t damage him too much.”
He vanishes, figure dissolving among the trees, and the air lightens—but not my chest.
I would have preferred a real fight.
At least I came myself and saw with my own eyes that Aidan can wield those flames.
I crouch beside him, his breathing shallow, blood staining his sweat-slick face. My hand brushes the collar on his chest; it burns at the touch, a sting that makes me pull back with a growl. My fingers trace his face—damp, pale—and for an instant, I swear he’s a wolf. I feel it: his scent, his strength. But he isn’t. He’s a vampire—or something I don’t understand—and that infuriates me more.
Not wolf, yet I sense him as one. What the hell are you? And what if he isn’t even a vampire?
I hoist him up, limp body slung over my shoulder, and run—the silver forest falling behind, trunks glowing until I cross back into my territory. My men find me; their eyes widen at the sight of Aidan. Darius steps forward.
“Take him,” I order, handing over the body. “To the hospital. Now.”
We run, cold air whipping my face, the smell of earth and blood thick in my nose. I call Morgana. “Morgana, hospital. I need you to examine someone. Now.”
We arrive; the stone-and-metal building looms ahead. Doctors scatter, faces tense at the sight of me. They wheel Aidan into a room—his body bare under harsh lights, dried blood marking his skin.
They restrain him—heavy ropes, designed for a vampire—but I’m not sure they’ll hold. His tattoos—dark lines across his chest and arms—glow faintly, as though breathing. Morgana enters, eyes fixed on Aidan; the doctors leave, leaving us alone.
She approaches, steps silent, and studies him, face hardening. She touches his stomach, fingers pressing carefully, searching for something she doesn’t name. Her eyes narrow; she shakes her head.
“There’s no wolf inside him,” she says, voice low and precise. “He’s not one of ours. No matter how much he seems like it.”
“But you feel it, don’t you?” I growl, pacing. “I sense him as wolf, Morgana. His scent, his strength. But he’s a vampire.”
She doesn’t answer, fingers tracing Aidan’s tattoos. She sits beside him, hand pausing near the collar we don’t touch. Aidan moans weakly; his eyes move beneath closed lids, but he doesn’t wake.
“Thorne,” Morgana says, voice cold—almost fearful—and I stop, staring at her. “He’s very different from a vampire. This boy… he was born. He wasn’t made.”
Her words hit like a blow I didn’t expect. Born? Vampires aren’t born—they’re made, blood and curse. But Aidan—this boy who burns, who grew up among us, who lived right under our noses—was born?
“How old do you think he is?”
“He’s very young,” she answers. “About the same age as our sons, more or less.”
My chest tightens—rage and confusion twisting together—and I look at his battered body: swollen shoulder, bleeding head. I want to break him, rip the truth out, but something stops me. He isn’t just a vampire. He isn’t just a threat.
How have we lived so long without knowing he was among us? That terrifies me.
“What does that mean?” I ask, voice low and hard, stepping closer.
“I don’t know,” she admits, eyes meeting mine. “But he’s not like us. Not like Enzo. He’s… something new. I’m certain he’s something new. He can’t simply be a vampire. It’s more complicated than that.”
“The collar. We should take it off.”
The collar pulses faintly. My hand rises, wanting to touch it, but the memory of the burn stops me. Aidan moans again, head shifting, and whispers a name that cuts me like a blade.
“Lois…”
My fist clenches; I want to smash him, crush that name, that weakness infecting my sons, binding them to that… omega. But Morgana places a hand on my arm—soft, firm—and I shake my head, stepping back. I can’t lose control. What I need is answers. The humans—Valyerek—want answers for the fire, for the chaos Aidan left at their border. And I want them too. For my sons, for my pack, for this abomination that appeared out of nowhere.
One problem after another. I hardly know where to start.
“Should we remove the collar?”
“It hurts, Morgana. I think it’s best not to touch it.”
“But I want to see whatever other form he takes. If he’s weak now, this is the moment to take it off and study the collar. It could mean something important.”
I don’t know why I let her convince me—maybe because she’s right and the collar is the source of something. And now that he isn’t fully unconscious, it’s better to do it immediately.
She approaches, hand almost trembling as it moves toward the collar.
“I’ll do it,” I tell her, but Morgana doesn’t give me time. She grasps the collar, fingers closing around it—and suddenly I feel what she feels. Her body jerks backward; mine reacts instinctively. I catch her before she hits the wall—or try to. My feet skid, dragging me until we slam into the wall together. The stone cracks and gives way; we crash through into the hallway. I don’t hit the floor, but I’ve punched straight through with Morgana in my arms. Her body limp. Unconscious.
“Morgana!” I touch her cold, pale face while people peer out—doctors, patients—trying to understand what happened. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that damn vampire.”
“Calm down, don’t be so grumpy,” Morgana’s voice soothes me instantly; her eyes open, weary. “I think we shouldn’t take the collar off,” she says with a half-smile. “And we need to get him out of here. He could be dangerous. We need better precautions. A hospital isn’t the place for him… We have to isolate him.”