Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The rough, guttural snarls echo off the concrete walls, reverberating down to where I’m slumped against the steps. Dizzy, bleeding, and barely hanging on, I force my eyes open with a soft groan. No shifter is chewing on my arm, though it certainly feels like it.
Instead, a battle rages in the stairwell above me.
Claws scrape, fur flies, and the white wolf lunges, its pale coat a blur. Jaws snapping, it aims for the larger dark-grey wolf blocking its path. The bigger wolf meets the attack head-on, their teeth clashing in a savage chorus.
The white wolf snaps again, lunging for the grey’s throat.
The grey wolf twists, deflecting the attack, and counters with a powerful lunge. His teeth sink into the white wolf’s side, driving it back up the stairs, away from me. A gash in the white wolf’s shoulder spatters blood onto the wall. Their bodies slam into the metal railing, which creaks under their combined weight as they tear into each other.
I clutch my bitten arm, feeling blood seeping between my fingers—warm and sticky. Pain radiates in sharp pulses, but I can’t take my eyes off the fight.
The grey wolf is steady and focused, using his sheer size to overpower the smaller, more frantic white wolf. His movements are controlled and deliberate. As he bites down again, blood spraying, his head turns slightly, and I glimpse his eyes—pale blue, like shards of ice catching the light.
Husky eyes.
My breath catches. Merrick?
No, I’m delirious. It can’t be him. I haven’t seen Mr First Class in months, not since I signed my contract. My head is fuzzy, my vision is hazy. The pain clouds everything, pulling me back to the reality of my mangled arm.
The sharp agony makes me wince. My poor forearm is a mess—bloody, torn, and barely functional. I can’t bring myself to look at it. The sight alone would turn my stomach.
Lark, get your arse up. Move. You need to get away from those wolves.
I have no idea if the grey wolf is trying to save me or drive off competition for his next meal—a human snack.
Summoning every ounce of willpower, I struggle to pull my jumper over my head, leaving me in just my bra and work trousers. Modesty is the least of my worries. I wrap the blue fabric tightly around my arm, biting back a cry as the pressure sends fresh waves of pain shooting through me.
It’s not ideal. It’s not hygienic. But it’s better than bleeding out on these cursed stairs.
Wobbling, I force myself upright. My legs are like jelly, and every movement feels monumental. On my toes, I carefully skirt around the darted wolf, placing my feet in the narrow gaps between its limp form and the edge of the treads. My good hand brushes the cold metal railing for balance. The last thing I need is a fast trip down these stairs, adding a broken neck to my growing list of problems.
A glint of metal and plastic catches my eye—the dart gun.
I crouch, barely holding myself steady, and scoop it up without passing out.
Three floors later, I stumble through the fire door at the back of the building. I’m out.
The night air hits me like a slap on my sweat-drenched skin—a chilling reminder of how exposed I am.
It’s still pitch dark, and I know I shouldn’t be out here. Leaving the building half-dressed and bleeding heavily is a suicide mission.
I lean against the smooth glass wall, smearing blood in messy streaks as I try to catch my breath. My head pounds in sync with my pulse, an unbearable pressure that muddles my thoughts, clouding my judgment.
I shouldn’t be making any life-changing decisions right now, but… I need help.
Overriding everything is the gnawing fear that I’m not safe here.
Wolves are fighting on the stairs, and I don’t know what other threats might be lurking around the building. I can’t go to the front entrance—it’s just as dangerous. There’s nowhere safe. Nowhere I can be sure I won’t run into gun-toting maniacs or another snarling shifter.
I can’t be sure who’s friend or foe.
The soft glow of the distant path lights twinkle like a cruel taunt. Do I stay and wait for whatever fresh hell is coming, or do I take my chances out there?
I’m in a no-win situation. My gut twists. There’s no good option, but I can’t just stand here waiting to be killed.
Every instinct tells me I need to get somewhere familiar, somewhere secure. I want to go home. At least there, I will have locked doors, my own space, and security guards who can help me get medical attention.
That thought drives me forward. The need to escape overwhelms the warning bells in my mind, and my flight instinct takes over.
One shaky step after another, I head towards the gravel path that’ll lead me home. My steps sway, my vision wavers. After only a few minutes, I realise I’ve made a mistake.
I shouldn’t have left.
The blow to my head has rattled my brain and knocked out all my common sense.
My left sock feels oddly wet, and my trainer squelches with every step. I must be bleeding where the white wolf dug his claws into my leg. Great. What a nightmare. My hand tightens on the gun’s grip. If anything comes for me, it’s not getting me without a fight.
My vision narrows, but I keep moving, propelled by sheer determination. Passing a large oak tree, I recognise it—I’m almost home. Just a couple more minutes, and I can get medical attention.
A lone wolf howls.
I misstep, trip over nothing, and crash into a wooden gate.
My weight makes the latch click, and the gate swings open. I lose my balance and fall. I brace myself for a hard landing, but instead, I hit soft grass where I expected gravel. It almost feels like the ground lifts to meet me, then gently sets me down.
“What the h…? Blood loss is making me nuts.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Pain pulses through my arm in time with my heartbeat as I lift my head to take in the familiar gate. My stomach drops as realisation dawns.
I’ve fallen headlong into the wizard’s garden.
From the frying pan into the fire.
The wizard’s house looms ahead. I try to push myself up, but my body refuses to cooperate.
Beyond the gate, the steady, rhythmic beat of shoes on gravel grows louder. A man sprints towards me, his pale face catching the flicker of park lights. His eyes—odd, glowing red—are locked on me with terrifying intent.
What the f—? Red eyes?
Vampire.
My heart pounds, deafening in my ears. The metallic tang of blood mingles with the acrid taste of fear on my tongue.
He springs, fingers clawed, fangs dripping with venom, his unblinking gaze fixed on my throat. I raise my arm pitifully to shield myself, but I know it’s futile.
The magic surrounding the wizard’s house activates in a sudden, blinding flash of white. The vampire is slammed backwards, his body twisting mid-air before landing softly on his feet, hissing like a feral cat. He shakes his head, his gaze sharp and calculating.
I glance down. My hand still grips the dart gun, miraculously steady despite my shaking body. I lift it and aim at his chest as he cautiously approaches the gate.
He crouches with an unnervingly casual air, dipping his fingers into something on the gravel path. When he brings them to his lips, they glisten red.
My blood.
“You taste divine,” he murmurs, groaning as he licks his fingers clean.
I pull the trigger.
The dart whistles through the air, but faster than I can track, the vampire moves almost lazily to the side. The dart vanishes into the dark, and he chuckles—low and taunting.
“Fear. Pain. Such a perfect bouquet,” he says, his voice a silken purr. “Don’t make me stoop to licking your offering off the ground, girly. Be kind, won’t you? Leave the garden. I will ignore the wolf spit and make it quick. No need to waste a drop.” His tongue flicks out, with a flash of fang in the faint light.
“No, you’re all right,” I rasp, my voice barely above a whisper.
He tilts his head, trying to capture my gaze, but my vision is too hazy to focus. Vampires can trap your mind with a single look, but I’m too far gone for even that.
The world tilts, my strength drains, and the pain dulls into nothingness.
And then, within the grounds of the wizard’s house and under a hungry vampire’s watchful eye, I do something incredibly stupid.
I pass out.
Again.