Chapter 13 – IVY
Chapter
Thirteen
IVY
The sound of metal connecting with bone echoes through the corridor with a sickening thunk.
Time slows to a crawl as the pale-haired stranger's eyes roll back in his head. His knees buckle beneath him, his lean body crumpling to the floor with the ungainly grace of a marionette whose strings have been cut.
"Oh my god." The words leave my mouth in a horrified whisper as the fire extinguisher slips from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the ground with a hollow metallic ring. "Did I just... did I just kill someone?"
The thought sends ice through my veins. I've never hurt anyone before—not seriously, not like this. Not beyond biting Wade's finger off when I was desperate to escape. But this? This was a full-on, adrenaline-fueled swing with a heavy metal object directly to a strange alpha's head.
My heart hammers against my ribcage as I stare at the motionless body sprawled across the dingy concrete floor. Blood trickles from a cut on his temple, forming a small crimson puddle beneath his head. His bone-white hair is matted with it now, the pristine strands stained rust-red.
"No, no, no," I choke out, clutching my towel tighter against my chest with one hand while the other flies to cover my mouth. "This isn't happening."
I can't have killed someone.
I can't.
He's an alpha. I'm going to go to prison for life. I'm—
A low, wet cough distracts me from the prone figure on the floor.
Wraith stands a few feet away, one massive hand pressed against his throat, his broad chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
The other alpha must have fought dirty. Maybe Wraith's throat is particularly sensitive, given the scarring I glimpsed earlier.
"Are you okay?" I ask, instinctively taking a step toward him before remembering I'm wearing nothing but a towel.
I stop short, awkwardly hovering between helping the alpha who's been protecting me—apparently, protecting me from lurking alphas while I shower, too—and checking if I've just committed manslaughter.
Wraith holds up his palms in what I assume is meant to be a reassuring gesture, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the way his shoulders heave with each strained breath. He takes a cautious step toward me, his movements slow and deliberate, like he's approaching a frightened animal.
Which, to be fair, is pretty much what I am right now.
When I don't back away, he closes the distance between us. His huge hands hesitate in the air for a moment before descending to my bare upper arms, smoothing down them in awkward, gentle strokes.
I freeze, stressed enough that I almost push him away instinctively. But his hands are warm against my damp skin, and despite everything—the unconscious stranger, the fight I'd witnessed, my own panic—I find myself leaning into his touch ever so slightly.
And I can't even blame the fever this time.
Great. I'm touch-starved on top of everything else, apparently.
Wraith's hands pause and I glance up to meet his blue gaze. There's concern there, clouded with… pain. Maybe not just physical pain, either. He releases my arms and takes a half step back, giving me space as he coughs again.
He points to the stranger on the floor, then makes a thumbs up gesture and nods.
"The alpha is... fine?" I guess, trying to interpret his makeshift sign language.
Wraith nods, then uses the toe of his combat boot to roughly flip the unconscious alpha onto his back. The alpha groans, a low sound of semi-conscious pain that sends a wave of relief washing over me.
Not dead.
Thank god.
I study the alpha's face properly for the first time. He's striking in an unsettling way—sharp, aristocratic features that would be beautiful if not for the wolfish, predatory aura that clings to him even in unconsciousness. His hair isn't actually blond. It’s so platinum, it’s almost white.
A fresh wave of panic rises in my chest as the implications of what just happened crash over me. This alpha—whoever he is—found me. Tracked me to my safe haven.
How?
Why?
Is he working for Wade?
No, that doesn't make sense. Wade wouldn't send someone to find me. He'd come himself, desperate to maintain his image as the adoring alpha whose omega tragically disappeared.
"Who is he?" I ask Wraith, nodding toward the alpha figure on the floor. "Why was he following me?"
Wraith's hands move in a series of gestures I can't follow. I don't even think these are all real signs. He seems to be making them up as he goes.
"Wait," I say. "I know the alphabet."
He pauses, blinking in surprise, then starts fingerspelling, his hands forming letters with surprising dexterity despite their size.
N-E-W… W-I-N-G-E-R… V-A-L-E-K.
Oh fuck.
"Valek?" I croak. "The Ghosts' new winger?"
Wraith nods, looking pleased that I understood him, but his expression darkens when he sees the fear that must be written all over my face. He looks back at Valek, a low growl rumbling from his chest.
My carefully constructed hiding place, my meticulously maintained anonymity—it's all crumbling around me. Valek used to play for the Demons. It was a long time ago, but still. If word somehow gets back to Wade...
I'm not safe here anymore.
The thought makes my knees weak. Where else can I go? I have no money, no resources, no one to turn to. This arena has been my salvation, my fortress.
Now, it's a trap.
"I need to leave," I mutter, more to myself than to Wraith. "I need to get the hell out of here before he wakes up."
Wraith turns back to me, his expression unreadable as always with half his face covered, but there's a new intensity in his gaze. Then he bends down and picks up the fire extinguisher I dropped, hefting its weight thoughtfully in his hand as he looks back down at Valek.
Oh my gods.
He's going to finish Valek off.
"What are you doing?" I cry, lunging forward to grab his massive arm. "You can't just kill him! You'll get fucking arrested!"
Wraith stares down at where I'm holding his arm, then looks up at me with a slight tilt of his head, seeming genuinely confused by my panic. Then he points to me, shakes his head, then to himself, then nods and shrugs.
As if he doesn't care if he goes to prison for protecting me.
"No," I say firmly, shaking my head for emphasis. "Absolutely not. Not on my behalf. No."
Wraith hesitates, then sighs. He sets the fire extinguisher down carefully against the wall, then turns back to me. He points to me, then fingerspells S-A-F-E. Then he points at the floor and shakes his head.
"I'm not safe here?" I translate, unsure, and he nods emphatically.
He points to me again, then to himself, and makes a walking motion with his fingers, suddenly unable to make eye contact.
"You... want me to go with you?" I guess.
Another nod, although he's clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. He makes a house shape with his hands.
"The pack house?" The words come out as a horrified whisper, my voice rising an octave. "With the rest of the Ghosts?"
He flinches slightly at my tone, and I immediately feel guilty. He's been nothing but kind to me, bringing me medicine and food when I was sick, cuddling me all fucking night, standing guard while I was most vulnerable, fighting his team's own winger to keep me safe.
He points to himself, then signs H-I-D-E, and points back to me.
"You're going to hide me in a pack house full of alphas," I say dryly, unable to keep the disbelief out of my tone.
He nods.
I feel like I'm going to be sick all over again. The idea of going to the pack house—of willingly walking into a den of alphas—makes my skin crawl. I've spent the last two months hiding from everyone.
On the other hand, I've been discovered. The Ghosts' new winger knows I'm here now. It's only a matter of time before he tells the others. And if word spreads beyond the team, it could reach Wade. The thought of my ex finding me makes me want to throw up.
After leaving Wade, I promised myself I would never ignore my gut instincts again. When every alarm in my body had screamed that he wasn't right, I'd silenced them with excuses and rationalizations. I won't make that mistake again.
And right now, despite everything logic is telling me about alphas and danger, my instincts are whispering that it's safe to go with Wraith.
He's had multiple chances to hurt me, to use his strength against me, and instead he's brought me medicine, food, stood guard, and fought to protect me from another alpha. His own teammate, even.
Maybe I'm crazy, but the quiet voice inside me that's been my compass since escaping Wade is telling me to trust this scarred, silent alpha.
Valek groans again, louder this time. His eyelids flutter as he tries to regain consciousness. We're running out of time.
And I'm running out of options.
I'm still not feeling great, either. The shower helped clear my head, but I'm weak from days of fever and inadequate nutrition.
My legs are already shaking from the effort of standing for this long, and my stomach is a hollow, gnawing pit.
I'm in no condition to run, to find a new hiding place, to start all over again.
Not yet.
But soon.
"Okay," I say finally, the word sticking in my throat. "I'll go."
Wraith's eyes soften with relief, though the rest of his expression remains hidden behind his mask. He nods once, then gestures—without looking directly at my body, I notice—to my towel-clad figure and vaguely mimes putting on clothes.
"Right," I mumble, heat rushing to my face as I suddenly remember I'm standing here practically naked in front of an alpha I don't even know. An alpha who just protected me from one lurking outside the shower room, but still. "I should… get dressed."
I duck back into the locker room, closing the door behind me with trembling hands. My few meager clothes are folded neatly on a bench. The same navy maintenance uniform I've been wearing for weeks, washed in the industrial machines late at night when no one else is around.