Chapter Text
The city smelled like bourbon and rain, and for once, neither was helping.
He skidded on the slick cobblestones, barely catching himself with a ragged curse. The wet stones, still clinging to the aftermath of the downpour, gleamed in the faint light, their cracks pooling with water just deep enough to trip him. Damn it. He should have stayed in bed.
Fingers clawed at the narrow wall of the alley, desperate for balance, but his footing nearly faltered again. Fresh pain flared, searing through his side, forcing a hiss past clenched teeth. Instinctively he clamped a hand over the wound and was greeted with warm, sticky blood. Not a flood—thankfully—but it sure as hell wasn’t slowing either. The trickle soaked through his shirt, its wet weight a cruel reminder of his luck. Or utter lack of it.
Would she follow? Hell, was she even still breathing? He hadn’t stayed long enough to find out. It wouldn’t have done him any favors. Risk was too high. They’d figure it out soon enough. Packs always did.
And when they did, the hunt would be on.
Shoving off the wall, he forced his legs into motion, each step a battle against the leaden weight in his muscles. Faster, he needed to go faster. Hell, he used to go faster. But that version of him? Long gone. Every breath burned, scraping through his chest like sandpaper on raw flesh. His skull hammered in sync with his pulse, each thud reminding him just how painfully human he’d become.
The alley yawned ahead, squeezing tighter as he staggered through it. His shoulder slammed into corner, dislodging brittle stone that bit into his skin. The jolt ripped through his side and head, pain flaring anew. He swore, spitting the word into the air, but pressed on. Streetlights flickered, their sputtering glow clawing at the darkness. Twisting shadows coiled at the edge of his vision, murmuring around him. You got away, they breathed, their tone brushing his ears like fragile hope. He didn’t trust it. Shadows lied. They always did.
A few streets over, the city pulsed, full of life and unbothered. Jazz spilled from open bars, tangled with the clink of glasses and the hum of voices. Laughter rang out, carefree and bright, drifted through the air. People danced, drank, lived, lost in rhythms he couldn't hear. The hum of it all leaked through the cracks of the buildings, scraping against his nerves. His hands clenched, aching for a drink, something to drown the pain. But there was no time. If he didn’t move faster, they'd kill him. Or worse, leave him wishing they had.
Where the hell was he supposed to go? His mind screamed for answers. None came. No one here knew him. His friends, his allies, were miles away.
In the distance, the night tore open. A howl sliced through the air— anguished, so raw it could’ve cracked the stars. Grief poured from the cry like blood from an open wound, and it echoed in the silence that followed. He froze. They had found her. Should've figured. Packs always showed up sooner than you thought.
And they’d find him next.
He shoved the thought aside, tried to ignore the way it crawled up his spine, the phantom burn of their fury pressing against him. His stomach twisted. Regret? No, it wasn’t regret. It was something else. A laugh, bitter and hollow, bubbled up. Should’ve killed her quicker. Should’ve been smarter.
His legs were moving without him, dragging him through the streets like they had a mind of their own. Strength? Forget it. Pride? That had gone out the window the second he’d hesitated.
She’d been nothing but trouble. That much was clear now, wasn’t it? He never should have stopped. But, of course, he had. Walked straight into it, the way moths always find their way to flame. This time that had cost him dearly. The unrelenting throb wasn’t just pain; it was punishment, every pulse screaming You should’ve seen it coming, you idiot. But he never did, did he? Not until it was too late.
Now, the blood-slicked pocketknife still burned in his hand. Silver. The great equalizer. Should’ve felt like power. But instead, it just reminded him of the mess he'd made. Literally. Her blood was all over him. He had stabbed her—driven the silver deep into her side—and taken off. No second glance, no remorse. He knew how the world worked—survival was a dirty business. Feelings, especially the messy ones, didn’t have a place in it.
The streets stretched endlessly before him, a yawning void. A howl echoed again, followed by a few more. Louder, angrier, closer and it felt like the ground beneath him trembled with the force of it. He had no illusions about being able to fight them. Once, this would have been nothing—a minor inconvenience he could have outrun. But now? They would tear him apart without even breaking a sweat. And make him suffer first.
He turned down another street, his vision swimming, every step harder than the last. If he continued to wander aimlessly he would not make it through the night.
That left only one place. Them. It wasn’t a choice. Not really. It would be foolish, a gamble that he was bound to lose. But what was foolishness to someone who had no future left? He wasn’t looking for safety anymore. He was looking for a door. A way out. A deal, even if it meant bargaining with enemies who knew how to twist knives deeper than they ever had been. Perhaps they would help him. Or maybe they’d tear him apart just for fun.
Either way, it was better than this. No matter how much it cost him. He was damn well ready to pay.