Chapter 19
Saving Grace
Alexa
Back to present day
Tears pour as hard as the rain crashing from the sky. Now I remember everything. All the details. The tale about my father dying from a heart attack before my first blessing ritual was a lie. All this time I’ve been living my life upon a false story.
Mrs. Geeny altered my memories because the truth was too cruel for me to bear, sharp enough to shatter my mind. The binding chain was not just a simple soul restraint. It was a form of memory manipulation magic.
Now the chains on my wolf are broken. I can control Mythril’s power, complete the transformation, and with it comes the full weight of my sins. This guilt crushes me.
I finally understand how the Silver Moon Pack sees me. Disgusting. Unforgivable.
No wonder my stepmother was so eager to cast me out of the Dawson home. No wonder Gabriel didn’t flinch when Mrs. Gertrude sold me off.
I am a killer.
My chest tightens until it feels like my heart might burst. I stop at the roadside, knees giving out as the memories crash back in. I collapse into the rain and wail, hoping the storm might wash me out of existence.
My father gave me everything. He had taken care of me ever since my mother died. His heart had been weak for years before his death, and I was the only one in our house who cared enough to look after his health.
But how could I spoil all our precious memories with blood on my hands? All because I was too stubborn, too insecure to get my wolf.
Mythril isn’t to blame. She warned me and only moved on instinct. She knew I wasn’t ready to handle her power, but I wouldn’t listen. I should’ve listen.
What have I done?
The raindrops taste salty on my tongue, then bitter comes gradually, to the point it turns sour.
I gag from the realization that I might have just lost a part of my soul, far bigger than how much I gave to Jo.
The rain showers on my vomit on the road, but the smell still lingers in the air.
Just like my existence in this world, disgusting.
The screech of tires snaps me out of it. I look up, even though my vision swims. Rain mixes with tears, blurring everything. My nose is clogged, my senses dulled, my body slow to react.
“Alexa Dawson from Silver Moon Pack.” A man calls my name.
My heart slams hard at the sound of my full name. That identity is something I want erased. Hearing it spoken out loud feels like a guilty verdict already passed on my life.
A man in a black leather jacket steps out of a sedan and walks toward me. He stops a few feet away, tall and broad, blocking the streetlight. Two more men stand behind him, solid and alert, like trained pack soldiers.
“Well? You gone mute?” the man on the right says, impatience curling into a grin as he licks his lips.
“Are these Alpha Alastair’s men?” Mythril surfaces in my mind.
“No, you’ve got the wrong person,” I whisper, backing away, my voice shaking.
“No. This is you,” he shows a picture of me. I wore a white long sleeve dress with a smile on my face. That photo was taken on my seventeenth birthday party.
“Come with us,” the man on the left says as he steps forward, reaching for me.
“Don’t touch me!”
I wrench my arm free as all three rush in. Before they can pin me down, I drive my fist into the first man’s ear and neck. He staggers back and crashes to the ground.
The second man grabs my shoulder, but my elbow snaps up faster, smashing into his face. As the third lunges, I hook the second man by the neck and slam his head into the other’s. They howl in pain.
That is my opening. I sprint toward the border area, lungs burning, chest aching as the rain soaks me to the bone. Going back to the club would only drag me into another nightmare.
Then three men step out of an alley ahead of me. They grin. I freeze in my tracks. They want me too.
“Alexa, I can still fight,” Mythril urges.
“No. Can’t you feel it? You’re drained. This is our first time turning into a perfect form.”
“You’re right. I feel numb and something’s different in me, like I’m weaker than I should be.” Mythril groans.
“Must be because your soul was scraped into Jo’s body. I’m sorry.”
The transformation has sucked me dry. I can’t fully control my newfound power yet. Running is my only choice. I turn to flee, but it’s too late. The men from before catch up, closing in fast.
“Where you headed, Alexa Dawson?” one of them calls out.
“Ain’t nowhere left to run, sweetheart,” another says.
“Come along nice and easy. Help us get some good money,” one chuckles.
“Hey now, don’t hog it,” a new man blocking my path laughs. “We want our cut too.”
“Easy,” the one who sounds like the leader says. “We’ll split it six ways.”
“Bounty hunters?” Mythril jolts.
“Did Alpha Alastair send you?” I ask. I glance around, fists lifting slowly, my body bracing to move.
“You’ll find out once we deliver you,” one of them says, stepping closer.
Tires scream in the distance, sharp and sudden. An old gray van bursts from a narrow alley, swerving wildly as it barrels straight toward us through the rain.
The van aims straight for the three men in front of me. They scatter just in time as the van slams on the brakes, spinning in a tight circle on the wet road before stopping only a few feet from crashing into a shop’s door.
The scent of mint and pine floods my senses, overpowering the smell of rain-soaked earth. Harlow jumps out from the passenger side and runs toward me.
“Alexa, you alright?” He’s panting as he cups my cheeks, his wide eyes scanning my face with raw concern. A breath of relief rushes through my chest.
“Yeah. I’m okay.” I nod, trying to steady my breathing.
Behind Harlow, one of the men lifts a long metal bar over his head, ready to strike.
My left hand snaps up on instinct. My energy sharpens, focusing into a single violent surge as I hurl the man backward, sending him flying several meters into a building. Trash bins explode across the street as his body slams into them, knocking several over.
“Five on three,” I say, stepping in front of Harlow, my fists rising into a defensive stance.
“Nope. Ten on three,” Harlow growls, turning his back to mine.
Five more men come running, spreading out fast and boxing us in. They slip in from the shadows, closing the circle. Their scent is the same, sharp and familiar, a small pack unit moving as one.
Three men stand in front of me now, the same ones I fought earlier. Two pull knives. One draws a gun. They aren’t playing games anymore.
With roars erupting from every direction, the fight explodes. I face three men with nothing but my hands. Harlow takes on five. Jack wrestles with two who refuse to stay down no matter how hard he puts them down.
I lock onto the three in front of me, dodging as blades flash past my face, my ribs, my throat. My timing hits just right. I kick one man hard in the head, then spin and drive my heel into another.
One lunges, swinging his knife wide. I drop low, slam my boot into his shin, and send him crashing down. I pin him there, wrench his knife hand up, and press the blade to his neck.
“Die, you bitch!”
Someone grabs my hair from behind, yanking my head back and exposing my neck. The rush of air as the knife comes down is sharp. I shove his arm aside with everything I have, but not enough. The tip of the blade grazes my neck, slicing skin open.
Blood splashes warm against my collarbone. The cut isn’t deep, but the pain is sharp enough to make my vision stutter. The man doesn’t hesitate. He drives the knife again. I duck forward too late, and the blade plunges into my back.
I cry out as excruciating pain rips through me, white-hot and vicious. My back burns as warmth spreads beneath my clothes, the cold rain useless against the heat of the wound.
But I refuse to go down. Survival takes over my mind.
I shove myself upright and smash my elbow into his face, once, twice, buying myself a heartbeat. Gritting my teeth through the pain, I reach back and rip the dagger out of my own back, the world tilting for a split second. Blood splashes up my neck, mixing with the rain.
“That hurts like hell!” Mythril screams.
I spin and slash in one smooth motion, carving a deep line across his cheek. I grab his arm, climb his body in a brutal blur, and lock my legs around his head. He collapses under my weight. I drive the dagger into his neck, straight into a vital point.
Another man staggers up and raises his gun at me. I yank the dagger free from my fallen opponent without thinking.
“Use the magic!” Mythril urges, shoving energy forward.
In a split second, I channel everything into the blade. It hums in my hand, silver light rippling along its edge as I throw it. The dagger cuts through the rain faster than the gunshot, slicing clean through the weapon and burying itself in the man’s chest.
“Hell yes!” Mythril howls.
My breathing is wild and broken, my chest roaring as if it might tear itself apart. My fingers wrinkle and turn blue-purple, stained with blood and rain until the colors blur together.
I turn just in time to see Harlow facing the last two men. Three others lie motionless across the street.
Harlow has one man locked by the throat, using his body as a shield. The other fires. Three silver bullets punch into his own packmate instead, Harlow steady behind him. When the gun clicks empty, Harlow shoves the weakening man forward.
He launches himself at the last one, fists slamming into his jaw, hands crushing his neck, then smashing his head into the back of the car. The impact rocks the vehicle, nearly tipping it over.
The man goes limp and crumples to the ground. The final hit leaves a deep dent in the van’s side.
Harlow’s heavy breathing echoes through the street as the rain finally begins to ease. Jack staggers around the car and joins him, soaked, bruised, but still standing.
“Oh, shit. We gotta get outta here. I think they called their buddies,” Jack shouts, his voice high and tight with urgency.
“You okay?” Harlow turns to me.
“Uh huh.” I nod, barely holding myself upright.
Harlow dashes toward me. Rainwater mixes with sweat along his brow. His forehead is creased, his worried eyes half-hidden by damp strands of hair clinging to his face. His scent, sharp with mint and pine, presses into my senses.
Before I can even try to stand, a heavy musk rolls through the air. My breath catches. The rain fades into the background as a shadow drops from above. A man lands from the top of a building with a thunderous thud, and a crushing wave of dominance floods the street.
“Well done, Alexa,” the man says, chuckling as he straightens.
Harlow instantly steps in front of me, shielding me from Alastair. The man adjusts the wet shirt plastered to his body, then begins to clap, slow and deliberate.
“Bravo,” Alastair says with a wide smile. “That was one hell of a fight.”
“Was that your work?” I gesture weakly toward the bodies sprawled across the street.
Alastair glances at them, then shakes his head. “Not my men.”
“Liar!” I roar.
He shrugs, unbothered. “Believe what you want. Makes no difference to me.”
“What do you want?” Harlow asks, jaw clenched so tight I hear his teeth grind.
“You’re awful cocky,” Alastair says calmly. “If I didn’t remember you were weakened and not worth the effort, I’d already have you flat on the ground.”
“Then do it,” Harlow snaps, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t waste time on weaklings.” Alastair’s gaze slides past him and pins me in place.
“Damn you,” Harlow growls.
“Oh relax,” Alastair says lightly. “I’m just here to collect a debt.”
My breath stutters. Pain flares in my back, sharp and unforgiving.
“I don’t have any money,” I say, forcing the words out. “And it wasn’t my father’s debt.”
“That’s why you’ll pay with your body.”
“I was set up. My stepmother and stepsister—”
“I don’t give a damn.” He lifts a hand, cutting me off. His wet hair swings as he shakes his head with a tired sigh. “Pay me one million dollars, or I’ll tear the Silver Moon Pack apart.”
He steps forward, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. Harlow shifts beside me, readying himself to fight again.
“I’ll kill every last one of them,” he continues, voice low and deliberate. “Then I’ll dig up your parents’ graves and decorate my dungeon with their skulls.”
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Oh, I absolutely will.” He lifts a finger. “Your choice, Alexa. One week. One million dollars, or you come with me. Try to run, and I unleash my entire pack and burn Silver Moon to the ground.”
The pain surges harder now. My breathing turns shallow, my vision swimming.
“If I pay you,” I whisper, pressing my fingers to the blood at my neck, “you’ll let me go?”
He studies me slowly, eyes roaming over my face, my body. His tongue brushes the corner of his mouth before he answers.
“Fine. I won’t bother you again.” His lips curl into a sharp grin. My jaw clenches, knowing full well it’s just another lie.
“Don’t listen to him,” Harlow says, breath ragged.
“Stay outta this,” Alastair snaps. “This is between me and my mate.”
The pain from my back explodes through me. It’s getting harder to hold on the pain. My knees give out, and the world tilts as I collapse.
“Alexa!” Harlow catches me just in time, pulling me against his chest, his arm tight around my waist.
Alastair laughs, low and satisfied. I hate how weak I am. I hate having no choice but to obey. My mouth shut, leaving only the sound of rain around us.
“Then it’s settled,” he says, ending it on his terms. He turns and walks away, leaving me gasping in Harlow’s arms.
“Damn you, Alastair!” Harlow shouts after him.
The sound fades as my eyes slide shut.