Chapter 143 Teach You

Chapter 143 Teach You
Molly moved before she finished thinking about it.

She ran towards both men as her hand shot out and grabbed Zion's arm. "Let him go, Zion! He's not worth it!"

She was not strong enough.

The momentum of pulling back his arm to land a blow on Clark's face caused her grip to loosen and she stumbled forward, catching herself on a tree trunk, she looked up and watched him deliver another blow to Clark.

Clark was also struggling to gain the upper hand beneath him, but Zion wasn't letting up.

They began to roll around till Clark was able to get Zion off of him, both men sized each other up as they circled each other.

Somehow, Molly knew this wouldn't go well, Clark was caught off guard the first time. Now, Molly couldn't help but worry for Zion.

Her father was not a young man. He was not built the way Zion was built, did not carry the mass or the height or the specific physical quality of someone whose body had been shaped by something other than ordinary life. But from the way he moved, she knew he had cunning.

Zion made the first move. Clark sidestepped.

He didn't stumble aside.

He didn't flinch.

He simply moved.

One clean step carried him out of Zion's path, as though he'd seen the attack coming long before it happened. Zion's body sailed past him, the momentum already committed.

His arm came up.

The dagger slid between Zion's ribs with practiced precision.

It wasn't luck, but purely experience.

Zion made a sound that barely resembled a voice.

His eyes widened. He remained standing for a heartbeat, disbelief written plainly across his face. Then his knees buckled.

He hit the forest floor hard.

"Molly..."

She was already moving.

She dropped beside him, her knees digging into the damp earth. Her gaze darted from the wooden handle jutting from his chest to his pale face.

No.

'No, no, no...'

Everything inside her wanted to panic, but panic never came.

Only focus.

Zion's eyes were still open.

He was breathing, though each breath caught painfully in his chest.

"Zion," she whispered.

His gaze found hers. He tried to reach for the dagger.

"Don't." Her hand caught his wrist. "Leave it."

Heavy footsteps crunched through the leaves behind her.

She looked up.

Her father stood a few paces away, staring at Zion's fallen body.

There wasn't an ounce of shock on his face.

Only quiet satisfaction.

As though the outcome had gone exactly as he'd planned.

Then his eyes shifted to Molly.

His expression softened, attempting to become something fatherly.

It didn't quite make it.

"I didn't come here to kill your friend," he said. His voice was completely level. "Not yet. But if he makes that choice again the outcome will be different."

Molly got to her feet slowly.

She stopped in front of him.

Every emotion she was trying to bury sat plainly on her face. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment.

She didn't bother hiding any of it.

She was too exhausted to pretend, it took energy and she'd long since stopped wasting composure on people who hadn't earned it. 

He wasn't worth spending what little energy he had left.

"You stabbed him," she gritted out.

"He came at me."

"He's a wolf." Her voice was not loud. It was very precise. "You knew that when you put the blade in. You knew what he was and you knew he would heal but you chose where to put it, to slow that healing."She looked at her father steadily. "So don't make it sound like self-defence. You were making a point."

Clark Marsh stood quietly, his eyes fixed on his daughter.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

His expression shifted almost imperceptibly. The hard edges around his face softened before tightening again, as though two different men were fighting for control. One was the hunter who had survived by refusing to hesitate. The other was the father who had once carried a little girl on his shoulders and promised to keep her safe.

The hunter won.

A slow breath escaped him.

"You know," he said, his voice calmer now, "another reason I came back was because there are things you should've learned years ago."

He glanced away for a brief second, his jaw tightening.

"Your mother loved you." There wasn't bitterness in his voice, only certainty. "She wanted you to have a normal life. A happy one."

His eyes found hers again.

"But love doesn't keep people alive."

He stepped closer before lowering himself into a crouch until they were at eye level.

The movement was intentional, almost gentle.

He rested his forearms on his knees, studying her face as though trying to see traces of the child he'd left behind.

"I've spent years hunting creatures that don't deserve mercy." His voice dropped. "I've buried friends who thought kindness would save them. It never did."

He held her gaze.

"I won't let the same thing happen to you."

Silence settled between them.

Then, quietly, almost like a promise, he said,

"I'm going to teach you what your mother never could."

His eyes hardened once more.

"The way of a hunter."