Chapter 11 I’m coming with you
The moment Fred says my name, the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding escapes me in a shaky exhale. He’s standing in the doorway, looking between me and the crumpled note on his kitchen table. His expression is a mixture of disbelief and concern,
He stands in the doorway, still in his work clothes, hair a mess, eyes wide and disbelieving. His hand tightens on the doorknob like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he moves too fast.
I don’t move. I can’t.
The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.
Then his eyes drop to the duffel bag by my feet, and his voice breaks through, low and unsteady. “Are you leaving?”
The question slices through me sharper than any blade.
I grip the strap of the bag tighter, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Fred.” My voice is hoarse, a whisper scraped raw. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He frowns, confusion flickering across his face. “This is my apartment.”
Right.
I close my eyes, cursing under my breath. “Fred… I’m sorry.” The words feel small, meaningless against the weight of what I’m about to do. “I have to go.”
He steps closer, confusion turning to something that looks a lot like hurt. “Go where?”
“I can’t tell you.” My throat burns as I speak. “You just have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” His voice cracks. “You disappear for the whole day, you don't answer your phone your apartment is locked and you show up half-crazed, and now you’re sneaking out my damn window?” He shakes his head, disbelief flickering into anger. “I've been worried you can't expect me not to be worried.”
“It doesn't matter,” I whisper.
But when I move toward the window, he moves faster. His hand closes around my wrist, not rough, but firm enough to stop me. “Don’t.”
The single word carries so much weight that I almost crumble under it.
“Fred, let go,” I whisper, eyes fixed on the floor. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand,” he says, voice breaking. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me who you’re running from. Tell me why you look like you’ve been through hell.”
I can’t. I wish I could. But the truth would destroy him. If he knew what I was, if he even guessed, he’d never look at me the same way again. The Council would hunt him for helping me. Darius’s wolves would tear him apart just for being near me.
“I can’t tell you,” I whisper again, softer this time, almost pleading.
His grip doesn’t loosen. His other hand comes up, brushing against my cheek, smearing away a streak of dirt. His thumb lingers there, trembling slightly. “Then don’t go,” he says. “Please, Lyra. Don’t leave me .”
Something inside me cracks.
He’s always been the one constant in my life, the quiet voice in the chaos, the small light in the dark. And standing here, with his eyes full of worry and desperation, I realize how much I’ve needed that light.
I try to pull away again, but he doesn’t let me. His hand slides to the back of my neck, gentle, grounding. “Tell me what I have to do to make you stay,” he whispers. “Because I can’t… I don’t know how to live without you.”
That’s when I do it, the thing I’ve thought about a hundred times but never dared to.
I kiss him.
For a second, he freezes, startled. Then he exhales, a sound somewhere between relief and heartbreak, and kisses me back. It’s soft at first, hesitant, but then the desperation breaks through, the fear, the longing, the years of unspoken what-ifs.
It’s wrong. Gods, it’s so wrong. But I can’t stop.
His hands tangle in my hair, and I press closer, memorizing the warmth of him, the steadiness. I know this will be the last time I’ll ever feel it. The last piece of peace I’ll have before everything collapses again.
When I finally pull away, I’m breathless. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling, the silence pulsing between us like a heartbeat.
“Don’t leave,” he murmurs again.
I close my eyes, my voice breaking. “I have to.”
“Why?”
Because I’m a monster. Because the Council would kill you if they knew you were helping me. Because Darius is hunting me, and if he finds me here, he’ll destroy you just to make a point.
But all that comes out is, “Someone’s after me.”
His hands tighten on my shoulders. “Who?”
“I can’t tell you.”
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. “You won’t tell me.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, and the pain in his face feels like a knife to the chest.
He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. “You’re scared,” he says slowly. “Whoever it is, whatever it is—you’re terrified. And you think you’re protecting me by running.”
He looks at me again, and there’s something new in his gaze. Resolve.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
My breath catches. “What?”
He squares his shoulders. “You heard me. I’m not letting you do this alone again.”
“Fred, no.” I shake my head, panic rising. “You don’t understand. You can’t come. It’s dangerous.”
“So what?” he says, voice rising. “You think I care about that? You think I can just stay here, pretending everything’s fine while you’re out there—” He gestures toward the window, frustration crackling through him. “—running from whatever the hell this is?”
I take a shaky breath. “Fred, being near me will destroy your life.”
“Then let it,” he says quietly.
That silences me completely.
He steps closer, his voice softening. “I don’t care what kind of danger you’re in. I don’t care what you’ve done or what’s chasing you. I’m not losing you.”
My throat tightens. I want to tell him the truth, that I’m half wolf, half vampire, a walking abomination. That I’ve killed before. That if he stays with me, the people hunting me will make him bleed for it. But the words won’t come. I can’t say them.
Instead, I whisper, “You’ll regret it.”
He smiles faintly. “I regret a lot of things, Lyra. But not you.”
Before I can stop him, he’s already moving. He grabs his old duffel from the corner, throwing in a few clothes, a flashlight, and a pocketknife. Then he turns, looks at me, and starts pulling out things for me—a hoodie, a cap, an old pair of jeans that might fit. “Put this on,” he says briskly. “You’re too recognizable like that.”
I stare at him, still frozen between wanting to scream and wanting to cry. “Fred…”
“Either you go alone and I follow anyway,” he says, not looking up, “or we go together. Your choice.”
He’s serious. Completely, absolutely serious.
And deep down, I realize that part of me, some selfish, broken part, wants him to come. Wants not to be alone anymore.
So I nod. Just once.
He exhales softly, like the world has settled for a moment. “Good,” he says. “Then we move fast.”
Within minutes, we’re both dressed. I tug the cap low over my face while he slings the duffel over his shoulder. The early morning light spills through the blinds, painting the room in pale gold. It feels fragile, fleeting, like the calm before the storm.
When we step outside, the air is cold and sharp, carrying the hum of city life just beginning to stir. But something’s off.
There’s movement.
Too much movement.
Across the street, two black SUVs idle near the curb. A figure leans against a lamppost, talking into a comm piece. My pulse spikes instantly. I know that posture. That stillness. That predatory patience.
Darius’s men.
They’ve already found me.
Fred doesn’t notice at first. He’s locking the door, adjusting the strap on his bag, muttering something about train tickets. But I see the glint of metal at a guard’s hip—the holster. The earpiece. The faint shift of his head as he scans the street.
“Fred,” I whisper sharply.
He looks up at me, confused. “What is it—”
I grab his hand. “We have to go. Now.”
Something in my tone makes him freeze. He doesn’t question it. Just moves.
We dart down the alley, shadows swallowing us whole. My heart’s pounding again, the same rhythm it always takes when the hunt begins. Only this time, it’s not just my life on the line.
And as the howls rise faintly in the distance, low, echoing through the city, I realize something terrifying.
Darius isn’t far.
He’s close.