Chapter 2 Desert Stray
Five years later, the Ironfang Pack still thrived in the desert region.
Headlights shone through the desert night, two silver beams burning across the empty road.
The rumble of motorbike engines growling like thunder sounded and a pack of black motorcycles raced under the moon. The Iron Fangs didn’t slow for anything. Not cops, not enemies, not corpses.
Until they saw her.
A figure, crumpled in the middle of the asphalt.
Ryker Kael braked hard. Tires screeched, sand and dust spinning up behind him. He swung off his bike, boots thudding as the rest of the riders pulled up beside him.
“Hell is that?” one of them muttered, killing his engine.
“It's a body!" Another hollered.
Ryker walked forward and his eyes caught the shimmer of pale skin under moonlight. It was a body no doubt, a woman, barefoot, dressed in almost nothing, her body streaked with blood and sand. She wasn’t moving, but she wasn’t dead either.
Her chest rose, barely.
He crouched. “She’s breathing.”
“Human?” someone asked.
Ryker’s jaw tightened. “Nothing human smells like that.”
He reached for her wrist, checking her pulse. The moment his skin brushed hers, a faint jolt shot up his arm. It was sharp, electric. He jerked back, frowning.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She gasped, sucking air like it burned. Her pupils were dilated, her lips cracked. She stared up at him, terrified, confused, trembling as if she’d crawled out of a nightmare.
“Easy,” Ryker said quietly, raising a hand.
She flinched at his voice, scrambling away desperately.
“You’re safe.”
Her gaze darted from him to the bikes, to the strange men circling, their leather vests marked with a silver fang insignia. Wolves. Her pulse quickened though she didn’t know why.
“Where—” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard. “Where am I?”
“The border,” Ryker said. “Ashvale territory.”
She frowned, disoriented. “Ashvale? I don’t know where that is.”
Ryker studied her face. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated. Her lips parted. Nothing came out. Her mind was blank, a clean void where her life should’ve been.
“I don’t know.”
The men exchanged wary glances.
“Boss, she reeks of blood,” one said. “Maybe she’s bait.”
“Or bitten,” another muttered.
Ryker ignored them. “Who did this to you?”
She shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temples as if trying to push the answers out. But it was all blank.
“I can’t remember,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Please, I don’t remember anything.”
Ryker’s wolf stirred uneasily beneath his skin. Her scent hit him again, sweet, sharp, painfully familiar. It crawled under his ribs, made his pulse skip. He hated it.
She was maybe some whore left on the road. But the way his wolf reacted left him curious.
He stood, barking an order. “Get her on the bike.”
“Alpha Ryker, she could be a trap.”
“Then I’ll deal with it,” he snapped. “Move.”
They lifted her carefully, though she flinched from every touch. When Ryker swung onto his motorcycle, she froze, instinct screaming to run. But her legs gave out, and the only thing left was trust or death.
He pulled her up behind him. “Hold on.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, weak and trembling. The engine roared to life, shaking the night apart. Her heart pounded in sync with the vibration of the bike, her skin burning where it touched his.
They rode into the darkness, wind tearing through her hair, headlights cutting across the barren road. She clung to him, not knowing why the scent of leather and smoke felt both terrifying and safe.
She pressed her forehead to his back, shaking. Somewhere deep in her chest, a mark she didn’t know existed began to throb faintly, a crescent pulse beneath her skin.
By the time they reached the compound, she was barely conscious.
The Iron Fangs’ headquarters loomed like a fortress. Wolves watched from the shadows as Ryker dismounted and carried her inside.
He dropped her gently on a table in the med bay. “Patch her up.”
The woman who was dressed as a nurse hesitated. “She’s not one of ours.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
He turned back to her. “You remember anything yet?”
She blinked at him. “No. Only pain.”
Ryker’s expression hardened and he seemed disturbed by her reply. “You’re safe now,” he said, though his voice was slightly upset.
She looked at him, her throat raw. “Why are you helping me?”
He met her gaze. For a moment, the world seemed to still. He didn’t know how to answer. Her scent twisted in his lungs like a memory, something lost, something he should have buried long ago.
“Because you were on my road,” he said finally. “That makes you my problem.”
Her lips trembled. “What if I am dangerous?”
His mouth twitched. “Then I’ll deal with it.”
The nurse approached with gauze and disinfectant. When he pressed it to her shoulder, she screamed, not from pain, but from the sudden flare of light beneath her skin. A faint crescent mark burned through the cloth, glowing like silver fire.
Everyone froze.
“What the hell,” the nurse whispered, stepping back.
Ryker stared. “That mark—”
“I didn’t do anything!” she cried, panicking. “It just hurts.”
“Get out,” Ryker growled to the others. His voice was low and dangerous. “Now.”
The room cleared instantly.
He crouched beside her, eyes locked on the pulsing symbol. It beat like a heart, in rhythm with his own.
He touched her shoulder carefully. The glow brightened. The bond mark beneath his own skin, long dormant, flared to life. A sharp burn seared through his chest. He hissed, pulling back as the truth clawed at him.
Impossible.
It couldn’t be her. She was dead. He’d buried her empty coffin, mourned her, damned her name a thousand times over.
Yet when he looked at this girl, this broken, terrified stranger, he felt his wolf kneel.
The girl sobbed, clutching her head as pain enveloped her. Her body convulsed, the mark pulsing wildly.
Ryker caught her before she fell off the table. “Hey, stay with me!”
She slumped in his arms, breathing shallow, her lashes fluttering. The scent of her blood filled the air, sweet, metallic, intoxicating.
He didn’t notice his hand trembling until he saw his fingers stained with her blood, the same scent that had haunted his nightmares for five years.
He stared down at her face, suddenly unsure whether he was looking at a stranger or a ghost.
And on the table, the girl’s lips parted
, her voice barely a whisper.
“Who am I?”
Ryker didn’t answer.
Because for the first time in years, the Alpha who feared nothing felt afraid.