Chapter 12 12
The alley turned into a slaughterhouse. Garbage cans shattered, lids clanged, blood smeared across the pavement. The air stank of iron and wet fur.
One by one, they fell. Some under Gregor’s merciless claws, others under my half-panicked, half-instinctual strikes.
And then—it was quiet.
Ten bodies littered the alley. Blood pooling, steam rising from torn flesh in the cold air.
Gregor stood in the center, fur slick with gore, chest heaving, dominance radiating like fire. His eyes burned into mine, commanding, devouring.
My smaller dark wolf stood opposite, fur bristling, sides heaving. My chest pounded with adrenaline. I hadn’t just survived—I’d fought. I’d killed.
He padded closer, his voice sharp in my head. Your instincts are undeniable. You are a Dark Warrior. But your movements… too naive. Too loud. Too reckless.
I growled, rolling my eyes. Yes. My wolf rolled her eyes at the biggest, most terrifying Alpha in the kingdom.
Excuse me, I snapped back, I was not trained to fight, okay?!
His wolf’s dominance pressed down like a storm, making my fur bristle. He was so powerful, so overwhelming, that my paws trembled. The sheer weight of him made my instincts scream submit.
But I refused. I lifted my head higher, baring my teeth in stubborn defiance.
We shifted back, panting, human again. “Don't you dare look!” I growled. Blushing. Sighing.
Because…damn those muscles. Those abs!
He rolled his eyes proudly. He was not even ashamed that he was too naked, too hard, too muscled, too arrrggg…beautiful.
Except—naked. Handsomely naked.
And …Me, also naked. Always naked.
“Great,” I muttered, stepping over a shredded body. “Another fight, another round of naked alley chic.”
Gregor didn’t respond, already ripping apart a garbage bag until he found something vaguely wearable. A tattered shirt, someone’s ruined jeans. He tossed me a filthy jacket that smelled like mold and fried onions.
I held it up with two fingers. “Really? What is this, the couture collection of Dumpster 2025?”
“Wear it,” he growled.
I sighed, sliding it on. “Fine. But when I die of fashion crimes, that’s on you.”
Blood still dripped down the alley walls, corpses at our feet, and yet somehow, the only thing I could think was: I’m alive. I fought. And I didn’t completely suck.
And maybe… that terrified me more than the killing itself.
And…
We didn’t even bother sneaking back into the inn. Too risky. Too bloody. Too late.
Instead, we ended up creeping into a nearby parking lot, my bare feet leaving faint smears of drying blood on the asphalt. And that’s when Gregor—big, scary, all-powerful Alpha Gregor—looked around like he was window shopping.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
He pointed his chin at a squat little silver Kia minivan. “We’re taking that.”
I blinked. “You’re kidding.”
He wasn’t kidding.
Five minutes later, the most feared Alpha in America was hotwiring a soccer mom van while I stood there, clutching my ripped dumpster jacket, muttering about karma.
“I killed someone tonight,” I said to myself, voice shaky but angry. “Multiple someones. And now I’m a car thief. A naked car thief in a moldy jacket.”
“You did what you had to do,” Gregor said flatly, wires sparking under his fingers. The engine coughed to life.
“Run or die,” I echoed, my stomach twisting. “Except now I’m adding grand theft minivan to my list of crimes. Fantastic. Maybe next we can rob a candy store or jaywalk aggressively.”
He glanced up at me, eyes flashing. “Get in the car, Marigold.”
I huffed but climbed in, slamming the door. The Kia smelled like crayons and french fries. There was even a stray pink sippy cup wedged under the seat. “Wow. Nothing says badass fugitive like fleeing in the official car of preschool pickup.”
Gregor ignored me, peeling out of the lot like the van was a getaway Lamborghini.
I leaned back, pressing my hand against my side where the claw marks had been. To my shock, the wounds were already knitting together. Wolf healing. Still, the sting made me wince.
Gregor noticed. His jaw tightened. “You’re bleeding. I should lick it.”
I whipped my head around so fast my neck cracked. “I—EXCUSE ME? Did you just say lick it? Like some discount doggy band-aid?”
He gave me that infuriatingly serious Alpha look. “Wolf saliva speeds healing.”
“Ew!” I shoved his massive shoulder. “Hell no! I’d rather limp around looking like roadkill than have your slobber on me. Gross. Absolutely not.”
He grunted. “You’ll change your mind when it gets worse.”
“I’d rather die,” I shot back. “Which, you know, might happen anyway since apparently we’re on the Fang Death Wish Tour 2025.”
He growled low in his chest, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “We don’t have time for your mouth.”
“Oh, we always have time for my mouth,” I said sweetly. “It’s the only thing keeping me from a full mental breakdown right now. Do you want me sobbing in the corner, or do you want me to sass my way through our murdery road trip?”
He clenched the wheel, knuckles white, clearly regretting every decision that led him to me. I almost felt bad. Almost.
We rifled through the minivan’s emergency kit while Gregor drove like a maniac. There were two water bottles, a pair of ancient granola bars, a busted flashlight, and a fluorescent green poncho.
I tugged it out and held it up. “Great. We’ll die in style. Do you want the garbage poncho or the puke-jacket?”
He ignored me, eyes scanning the highway. His wolf energy spiked suddenly, sharp and hot.
“They’re following us,” he said.
My stomach dropped. I twisted to look out the back window. Sure enough, far down the dark stretch of road—headlights. Too steady. Too close.
“Of course they are,” I muttered, snapping the granola bar in half and shoving one piece in my mouth. “Can’t even steal a crappy Kia in peace.”
Gregor’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Buckle up, Marigold. The night isn’t over.”
“Fantastic,” I said, crumbs falling into my lap. “Can’t wait to see how we almost die this time.”
And just like that, the van roared faster, the engine whining like it wasn’t built for life-and-death fugitive road trips. Gregor’s hands gripped the wheel so tightly I thought he might snap it clean off, and I clutched my granola bar like it was a holy relic.
Running on foot in wolf form wasn’t even an option here—not with humans around, not with their cameras, their phones, their endless need to poke into things that weren’t their business. We couldn’t exactly risk shifting in front of human police, either. There was the treaty to consider.
The Great Human-Supernatural Accord, all fancy and shiny on paper, but in reality? A disaster.
I’d heard the stories. Everyone had.
A few months ago, one unlucky pack in the Midwest got cornered by human authorities after a border patrol “spotted” wolves that weren’t acting normal. The humans didn’t even hesitate—they hauled three young shifters into some lab under the guise of scientific study. Not one of them came back. The officials claimed “an accident,” but the whispers said otherwise—blood drained, organs harvested, DNA tested. Experiments.
That’s what humans did when they found out what we really were. Treaties or not, shiny papers or not, humans didn’t see us as equals. They saw weapons. Monsters. Science projects.
So no. Going to the police wasn’t an option. Not unless I wanted to end up strapped to a table with a tube in my arm.
I shot Gregor a look as headlights glared closer behind us, the rumble of engines multiplying.
“Okay,” I said, voice shaking but full of sass anyway. “So plan A: don’t shift. Plan B: don’t get caught. Plan C: don’t end up in a human lab with my head in a jar.”
His jaw ticked, eyes locked on the road. “Stop talking and hold on.”
“Don’t boss me—”
The Kia swerved hard as something slammed into our bumper. I screamed, clutching the dash.
Oh great. So much for plans A, B, and C.