Chapter 9 9
The second the footsteps broke into a run, my wolf surged forward like a living storm inside me, bones snapping and shifting, claws tearing through my fingertips before I could even think about keeping it “subtle.”
The door burst open, rain slicing through the air, and there they were—Black Fang warriors, all steel and snarls, their red-marked armor gleaming under the flashes of lightning.
Marigold? She was in Margaux's mood.
She was leaning against the table, inspecting her nails like we weren’t seconds away from becoming very messy corpses.
“Any day now, Alpha,” she drawled without looking up. “Or should I pretend to faint first for dramatic effect?”
I didn’t bother answering. My wolf had taken over, muscle and fury stretching my body into something bigger, sharper, deadlier. The first Black Fang lunged, sword up, and I tore through him mid-air, my claws splitting armor and bone like paper. His scream ripped into the storm before being swallowed by the thunder.
Behind me, her voice cut through the chaos like a damn commentary track. “Nice. Very alpha male, ten out of ten. A little messy on the landing though.”
Another came from my left—too fast, blade slicing for my flank. I spun, jaws snapping around his throat. Hot blood filled my mouth, metallic and familiar, spilling over my tongue as I shook him until his neck cracked. He hit the ground limp, and my paws were already moving for the next target.
Marigold yawned. “Mmm. Are we ordering dinner after this? You’re making me hungry with all the meat flying around.”
The third and fourth warriors tried to flank me. Bad move. I slammed my body into one, sending him crashing into the wall hard enough to splinter the boards. The other got a claw straight across the face, his scream high and ugly before I finished him with a bite to the chest, bones snapping like dry twigs.
I glanced at her—still there, still watching her nails.
“You’re really committed to ignoring the fact you might die,” I growled, my voice rough through my wolf’s muzzle.
She flicked her gaze up. “I’m not ignoring it, I’m just… bored. Do you know how many times people have tried to kill me on their sleep? This is like… Tuesday.”
I tore the leg off another attacker. “This is not Tuesday!” I snarled, the taste of blood hot and thick in my throat.
“Oh, it’s Tuesday in my head.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re doing great, by the way. Very macho. Don’t trip.”
More howls split the storm—five more Black Fang pouring through the trees, teeth bared, blades out. My wolf roared, deep and guttural, a sound that shook the air. The rain turned the ground slick beneath us, mud and blood mixing under my paws.
One swung an axe, grazing my shoulder. Pain flared white-hot, but it only made the wolf angrier. I lunged, biting down on his wrist until I felt the bones grind to powder. He screamed—too loud—so I silenced him by ripping out his throat.
Lightning flashed, and in the split-second brightness, I saw Marigold holding up her hand to check if her nail polish had chipped.
A head rolled past her boots. She sidestepped it without looking. “Messy,” she muttered.
The last three came all at once—wolves themselves now, black-furred and frothing. We collided in a blur of claws and snapping jaws, fur tearing, blood spraying across the cabin walls. One bit into my neck, but I slammed him into the floorboards, crushing his skull under my paw. Another ripped at my hind leg, so I spun and tore his spine in half. The final one leapt for my throat—
—but Marigold, of all people, kicked him mid-air with the kind of disgust reserved for cockroaches.
“Ew,” she said. “Do your job, Alpha.”
I did. His head hit the ground before his body.
The clearing was silent now, except for the rain and the hiss of blood cooling on the wet earth. My chest heaved, fur matted and dripping red. Around us lay the dead—mangled bodies of the Black Fang, steam rising from them in the cold night.
She finally looked up from her nails. “Are we done? Because if so, you owe me dry socks.”
I just stared at her.
Not because she’d survived—but because she’d somehow made this feel like a damn inconvenience.
Marigold POV
Several hours later.
The storm had teeth. Wind howled like a choir of pissed-off banshees, rain slashing sideways so hard it felt like the clouds themselves were throwing daggers. And there I was, trudging after Alpha Gregor’s gigantic frame like some half-drowned pup, my boots sinking into the mud with every step.
“Keep moving,” he growled over his shoulder, voice sharp as lightning. His black coat (found from the abandoned horse shed) whipped behind him, size a little too small, smell a little too mouldy, every inch of him screaming dark, dangerous, broody alpha on a mission with disgusting fashion sense.
I snorted, nearly slipping on a rock. “You know, you could chill with the whole storm-slayer vibe. It’s not a Shakespearean play, Alpha. No one’s awarding you Best Dramatic Performance in ‘Survivor: Werewolf Edition.’”
His head snapped toward me, those glowing wolf eyes narrowing. “Do you think this is a game, woman? Black Fang doesn’t stop for weather.”
“Well, clearly they also don’t stop for fashion choices, because your wolf couture is basically mud and murder chic,” I shot back, hugging my soaked jacket tighter (also found from the horse shed) “Ten out of ten, terrifying. Very on-brand. Bravo.”
He growled low in his chest, the kind that vibrated through the rain. A sound meant to intimidate lesser wolves. Unfortunately for him, I was not a lesser wolf. I was his twin, a warrior dark wolf, and currently very annoyed that my mascara had probably fled my face like a coward.
We pushed up a ridge, rain pooling in rivulets down the incline, and he grabbed my arm to steady me when I slipped. His grip was iron, steady, protective. Infuriating.
“I don’t need a babysitter!” I yanked free, stomping up ahead of him even though my legs were about half the size of his tree-trunk strides. “If I wanted a nanny, I’d hire one who brings snacks and doesn’t growl at me like a malfunctioning garbage disposal.”
“Keep running your mouth and you won’t live to see the safehouse,” he bit out, pushing past me, his broad back shielding me from the worst of the storm.
“Uh-huh. And yet, you’re still here, dragging me through the apocalypse like some moody action hero. Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying the drama, Alpha. You thrive on this shit.”
His only response was another rumble, but I caught the way his shoulders tightened.
Then—howls. Sharp, hungry, carried by the storm. Not far behind.
My stomach dropped. Black Fang.
“See?!” he snapped, whirling toward me, eyes glowing like molten gold in the dark. “Do you understand now why I don’t have time for your sass?”
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” I said, brushing rain-soaked hair out of my face, heart pounding as adrenaline flared. “You’re cranky because someone else dared to have a personality while you’re busy starring in Alpha: The Tragedy.”
“Marigold!” he barked, his wolf aura slamming into me so hard the air crackled.
I froze for half a heartbeat—then grinned. “Okay, fine. Point taken. Less sass, more running. But just so you know, if we die, I’m haunting you and I’m bringing glitter.”
His lips curled into the faintest snarl-smile as another howl echoed closer, this one bone-deep and savage.
“Run,” he ordered.
And for once, I didn’t argue.