That voice.
I know it.
Despite his pathetic attempt to mask it–trying to roughen and deepen it—recognize it instantly. And his scent. He didn’t mask it well enough.
Fury surges through me. Acting on instinct, I take a risk. I slam my elbow into his stomach, making him grunt in pain. The knife slips from his grasp, and I seize the opportunity. Without hesitation, I bring my knee up, striking him hard between the legs.
He groans, stumbling back.
I don’t hesitate—I grab the fallen knife and plunge it into his side–just deep enough to wound him, but not enough to be fatal.
A pained grunt escapes him as he grips his wound, staggering. I don’t give him a chance to recover.
I rip his mask off.
And there they are.
Those damn kind eyes.
My jaw clenches. “I knew it was you,” I snarl.
His face pales. “How did you-?”
I roll my eyes. “Your scent. Your voice. And now your eyes,” I cross my arms. “Now, do you want to tell me what the hell you’re doing? I clearly told you to fuck off.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. For the first time, he looks human–not some mindless soldier following orders. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “The Alpha told me to do all I could to bring you back… If not-” His voice falters. “He’ll kill me.”
My blood runs cold.
“He’ll what?” My hands curl into fists. “That heartless bastard-”
“I had no choice,” he says, eyes pleading. “I have to bring you back, Luna.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
Then, I exhale sharply. “Fine.”
He blinks. “What?”
He lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m an orphan,” he admits. “Didn’t have a family, so the pack named me. Because of my strength.” His expression darkens, and for a moment, I see the pain he tries to hide.
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