Chapter 55 Fifty five
I watched them scramble like rats in a trap.
Samantha clung to Darius’s arm, her nails digging into his sleeve as if he could still protect her. “What are we going to do, Darius?” she whispered, voice cracking on his name. The Alpha—useless, trembling Alpha—didn’t answer. He just stared at the yellow eyes pressing against the broken windows, at the black shapes slipping through the jagged holes in the glass. His face was gray. He looked older than I’d ever seen him.
The sight pulled a memory to the surface, sharp and bright.
My mother.
Nineteen years ago.
She’d held him the same way that night—desperate, trusting—while he drove the silver blade through her chest. I could still see the shock in her eyes when the life left them. Still hear the wet sound the knife made coming out. Still feel the cold rush when he tore my soul free and shoved it into the dead boy’s body on the floor.
They all deserved to die.
All of them.
Except her.
I found Harper in the corner near the overturned couch, back pressed to the wall, eyes wide and glassy with terror. She hadn’t even noticed the beasts weren’t advancing on her. They circled wide around the space she occupied, heads lowered, ears flattened—instinct telling them she carried something older, something that commanded them even if she didn’t know it yet.
The mating bond.
My mark on her soul.
She could have tamed them with a word. Could have sent them slinking back into the dark with a glance. But she was too busy looking for somewhere to hide.
I stepped over broken glass and a spilled bottle of vodka, boots crunching softly.
“Really, princess?” I said, voice low enough that only she could hear. “Why are you running? They won’t harm you.”
She jerked at the sound of my voice. Her gaze snapped to mine—fear, anger, something softer flickering underneath.
“Stop this now, Koda,” she said, voice trembling but steady. “You can’t do this.”
I frowned.
“Koda is—”
Pain lanced through my skull.
Sharp. Sudden. White-hot.
Let me out of here.
The voice was faint, ragged, but unmistakable.
Koda.
Inside me.
Still fighting.
Still alive.
My vision blurred. I pressed the heel of my hand to my temple, teeth gritted.
How?
I’d completed the bond. I’d taken her—body, soul, everything. The ritual was finished. His consciousness should have been crushed under mine, drowned in the dark where it belonged.
Let. Me. Out.
The voice was louder now. Closer.
I snarled.
“Stop!”
The word ripped out of me.
The beasts froze mid-step. Yellow eyes blinked, confused. Growls died in their throats.
“Go back,” I ordered.
They obeyed instantly—tails low, heads bowed—retreating through the broken windows and doors like scolded dogs. Glass crunched under their paws as they vanished into the night.
Silence returned, broken only by Samantha’s choked sob and the distant wail of sirens finally reaching the driveway.
I exhaled slowly.
The pain in my head receded to a dull throb.
Koda was quiet again—for now.
I looked at Harper.
She was staring at me, eyes wide, lips parted.
“Come with me,” I said.
I held out my hand.
She stared at it like it might bite.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, voice small.
I didn’t answer.
Just waited.
She hesitated—glanced at her mother, at Kai, at the wreckage of the room—then placed her trembling fingers in mine.
I closed my hand around hers.
Gentle.
Possessive.
I started walking toward the stairs.
“Harper!” Samantha’s voice cracked like a whip.
Kai was already moving—shoving past the overturned furniture, blood still drying on his temple from the wall impact earlier.
“Where are you taking her, The One?” he demanded.
I glanced over my shoulder.
First time someone had called me by name tonight.
“None of your business, kid,” I said.
He took another step.
I tilted my head.
“Don’t.”
The warning was quiet.
But the shadows in the corners of the room thickened, curled toward him like smoke.
Kai stopped.
Harper tugged at my hand.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt him again.”
I looked down at her.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears and dust. She was shaking.
But she wasn’t running.
She wasn’t begging for herself.
She was begging for him.
For them.
I felt something twist in my chest—something that wasn’t rage, wasn’t hunger.
I hated it.
I ignored it.
I pulled her closer.
We climbed the stairs together.
Behind us, Samantha sobbed once—sharp, broken.
Darius’s voice followed, low and defeated.
“Harper…”
She didn’t look back.
Neither did I.
At the top landing I turned left—toward my room.
She didn’t fight.
Just walked beside me, fingers still laced with mine.
I pushed the door open.
Dark.
Quiet.
Mine.
I led her inside.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
Then I turned to her.
She looked small in the middle of my room—too small for the storm she carried.
I stepped closer.
Cupped her face with both hands.
Tilted her chin up.
“You’re shaking,” I said softly.
“I know.”
“You’re scared.”
“I know.”
I brushed my thumb across her lower lip.
“Then why are you still here?”
She closed her eyes.
“Because I can’t leave you,” she whispered. “Even when I should.”
I exhaled—slow, ragged.
“Then don’t.”
I kissed her.
Slow.
Deep.
Not claiming.
Not punishing.
Just… needing.
She kissed me back.
Hands sliding up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
We tasted like blood and tears and something sweeter underneath.
When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers.
“Koda’s still in here,” I said quietly. “Fighting. He won’t win. But he’s still here.”
Harper opened her eyes.
Tears slipped free.
“I know.”
I wiped them away.
“I won’t let him take you from me,” I told her.
She smiled—small, sad, beautiful.
“I know.”
I kissed her again.
And for the first time in nineteen years,
I didn’t feel like a thief in someone else’s body.
I felt like I belonged somewhere.
Even if that somewhere was burning down around us.
The next morning arrived like a bruise—slow, aching, impossible to ignore.
Monday. School day. The house smelled faintly of bleach from the frantic cleanup the night before; someone had mopped up the blood, swept the glass, taped cardboard over the broken skylight. It didn’t matter. The damage was deeper than shattered windows.
I lounged at the kitchen island, legs stretched out, black hoodie zipped to my chin, watching the family move around me like I was a bomb with a frayed wire. Samantha kept her distance, wiping the same spot on the counter over and over. Darius stood by the coffee maker, shoulders rigid, pretending the mug in his hand required his full attention. Kai hovered near the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes flicking between me and the front door like he expected me to lunge at any second.
Then Harper appeared.
She came down the stairs in dark jeans and an oversized sweater that swallowed her frame. Hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Eyes red-rimmed, but steady. She didn’t look at me right away—just grabbed an apple from the bowl and bit into it like it was armor.
Kai followed a step behind her, silent.
Samantha cleared her throat.
“Aren’t you also going to school, Koda?” she asked. Her voice was too high, too careful.
I turned my head slowly.
She flinched.
The reaction pleased me more than it should have.
“You know I’m not your darling stepson,” I said, words dripping with mock sweetness, “so stop the pretense like you want me here.”
Samantha’s knuckles whitened around the dish towel.
“You’re right,” Darius cut in before she could speak. He set his mug down with deliberate calm. “We don’t want you here. But if you’re going to live under our roof—in our son’s body—you’re going to have to go to school like him.”
I barked a laugh—short, sharp.
“You mean my body. My rooftop.”
I pushed off the stool and stood.
Darius didn’t step back.
I liked that.
“Do you think I like this face?” I continued, gesturing lazily at my reflection in the dark window behind him. “My face was much hotter.”
Harper’s apple paused halfway to her mouth.
She looked at me—really looked.
Then she spoke.
“Dad is right,” she said quietly. “You have to come to school.”
I frowned.
The room went still.
Even Samantha stopped wiping the counter.
I studied Harper’s face—searching for the lie, the fear, the manipulation.
All I saw was exhaustion. And something stubborn.
“Fine,” I said.
The word tasted like surrender.
I hated it.