Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Killian’s POV
They thought they could just disappear.
Like they were ghosts or something, and I’d never catch up to them.
Honestly? Idiots.
You don’t run from me. Not Larisa. Not Damien Ace. Not when I’ve got revenge burning through me. Every breath I take is laced with the need to ruin them both.
Especially him.
I knew Larisa had left the pack. I let her slip away, pretending not to notice when her scent began to fade from the halls. I knew she’d run right into the arms of that bastard—the one who touched her first. The one who dared to mark her before I even got a taste of what was supposed to be mine.
It was all about timing, really.
Let her feel free. Let her think I was backing off.
Just enough to make her comfortable.
And then—snap.
Just like that.
No one escapes.
It all kicked off with a broken patrol. One of my outer-ring scouts stumbled into the safehouse looking like he’d been torn apart. Claws bent awkwardly, slashes on his back like lightning strikes. He nearly bled out before he could say a word. But he said enough.
“Larisa… rogue… amber eyes…”
Amber eyes.
That was all it took.
The black wolf with the golden eyes. Everyone knew that bastard’s description. The infamous Damien Ace.
He was close.
Closer than I thought.
And suddenly, the pieces started falling into place.
Larisa’s scent near the northern ridge, mixed in with ash and crushed pine needles. Clever move. But not clever enough. She wasn’t moving like someone hiding from me—no, she was moving like she was trying to reach someone else.
Someone worth the risk.
I knew it then.
She found him. Or maybe he found her. Either way—they were together.
And that meant one thing.
She’s mine to break, but he’s mine to bleed.
I called in the Shadows—wolves trained to kill without question and never be seen. They don’t ask why. Just nod and disappear.
“Find them,” I said. “Quietly. Don’t engage. Watch. Wait.”
Two days later, they found a trail—barely there, like smoke wafting away. Some scattered footprints that didn’t belong to rogues. A burnt campfire. The remains of a deer carcass ripped apart too cleanly. Wolf work. But not just any wolf.
His wolf.
Fast. Precise. Brutal.
I knew it was him because my tracker—Jace—lost his lunch behind a tree after sniffing the area. Said the scent made his skin crawl. Said it wasn’t natural. That it smelled like rage and ruin and heartbreak.
That sounded like Damien.
And Larisa… she’d left behind a scrap of her tunic. Torn. Probably unintentional.
But it had her scent all over it.
God, I’d spent months pretending not to care. But the second that scent hit me again, something snapped inside me. I crushed the fabric in my fist, smiling like a devil at a funeral.
Time to bait the trap.
I didn’t need to chase them down. I just needed Damien to come to me.
So, I crafted this illusion of a safe path—a whispered rumor dropped in rogue bars, passed from lips to ears like gold dust.
> “A healer’s moving near Dead Hollow. Rare herbs. Silent services. No names. No questions.”
Exactly the kind of myth someone desperate would follow.
And Damien? He’s got this hero complex wrapped in wolf fur. He’d come running if he thought Larisa needed him. Or if he sensed I was getting close.
The Shadows set everything up in Dead Hollow, just outside rogue territory. I sprinkled the ground with silver dust—hidden under moss and leaves. I planted scent markers with pieces of Larisa’s shirt, mixed in old blood, even carved markings in the trees like it was her doing.
He was cautious at first.
Watched for two days. Circled.
We pretended we didn’t see him.
Then, just before dawn on the third day, he moved in. Fast. Focused. Too focused.
Right where I wanted him.
He stepped on the trigger, and the silver net snapped up around him so hard it knocked the wind right out of his lungs.
He shifted mid-air, claws tearing, fangs snapping, trying to break free.
But he wasn’t fighting regular wolves.
We were ready.
Silver cuffs. Chains laced with mountain ash. A tranquilizer mix brewed by a dark witch three towns over.
He thrashed until he couldn’t anymore.
And when he finally stilled—bloody, snarling, defeated—I stepped out from the trees and crouched beside him.
“You came for her,” I murmured, wiping away the blood from his cheek with my gloved hand. “How sweet of you. Too bad she’ll never know what it cost you.”
He lunged at me, even then, trying to gnash his teeth through the chains that bound him.
But honestly, it was too late.
He was mine now.
And Larisa?
Oh, she’d come running as soon as she figured out he wasn’t coming back.
She always does.
And when she shows up… I’ll be right here, waiting.
Killian stood over Damien, the poor guy all bloodied and tied up, while the moon slipped behind a cloud. Out of the shadows, a wolf appeared from the tree line—another figure, just lurking there, watching quietly.
Killian whipped around, feeling that presence.
He squinted, trying to catch a glimpse.
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
But the wind brought in a scent, something totally unfamiliar.
It wasn’t Larisa’s, and it sure wasn’t Damien’s.
Killian frowned, tension creeping into his shoulders.
Someone else was in the mix.
Someone unexpected.