Her silhouette faded into the shadows, melting into the night. Magnus caught the faint, lingering traces of her scent as the wind quickly scattered them into nothingness—a loss so agonizing he felt an urge to howl at the sky even without his wolf.
She wasn’t a hallucination. Neither was she some twisted phantom conjured by his starved, desperate beast.
She was alive.
He granted himself one second. Just one damn second to glance down at the mark on his forearm, and every last shred of restraint evaporated. The remaining ink-dark lines had turned a vivid, scorching red. Every single line that hadn’t decayed and flaked away over those five agonizing years was burning alive.
Madness slammed into him like a tidal wave, consuming him whole.
He bolted toward his sports car, the engine roaring to life with a deafening screech as he launched forward, tearing past the motionless bodies of his sleeping guards. He didn’t care. In the distance, he caught sight of two motorcycles—one moving noticeably slower than the other. Magnus bared his teeth in a predatory grin, instantly piecing together why.
The guards were knocked out, and the rider on the trailing bike was massive. Snatching his phone, Magnus dialed Sayan without easing his foot off the gas.
"Are you still at my place?"
"Fuck, Magnus, it’s the middle of the night!" Sayan grumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "Of course I’m here; we were talking just a couple of hours ago! Don’t tell me something else—"
"It’s been twenty-four hours."
"Stop bullshitting me..."
"Check the date."
A rustle of sheets echoed through the line, followed immediately by a string of raw curses.
"Fuck! How the hell...?!" Sayan abruptly went quiet, the rustling intensifying. "Damn! Right... I woke up in the evening, headed to the kitchen before leaving, had a cup of tea with Derek, and went to grab my phone..."
"That little bastard is precisely the problem," Magnus growled. "He put the entire guard squad to sleep and slipped something to you just to be safe."
"Where is that piece of shit?" Sayan snarled, the sound of his heavy, rapid footsteps echoing through the receiver.
"Highway M-89, near the bridge. Grab my car and get out here. I’m about to slam him into the curb. You won’t miss him—that brute on the bike is hard to overlook."
"Holy shit. I want to see the bike that didn’t collapse under him out of sheer terror."
"Don’t kill him," Magnus ordered coldly. "Find out who he’s working for and why he pulled this. Rip his soul out if you have to. If he tries to play you, gut him. But I need that information."
"Got it!"
Magnus slammed the pedal straight to the floor. The car surged forward at a terrifying speed, sweeping in to cut off the motorcycle carrying the massive rider.
A split second of logic told him that if he tried to pin the bike against the curb at this speed, he wouldn’t be able to hold back—he’d crush the man alive. But it proved unnecessary.
Terrified, Derek slammed on his brakes himself, hunching helplessly over the handlebars. Magnus’s eyes were already darting past him, scanning the highway ahead for the fragile figure on the second bike.
He caught sight of her just as she tore onto the bridge at a breakneck speed. His heart seized in a tight vise of terror, cutting off his breath.
What is she doing? She’s out of her mind.
The sheer panic that she might crash drove him beyond all reason. He shattered every traffic law in existence, pushing the engine to its limit until he pulled up parallel to her. He saw how tense she was, her knuckles white as she clung to the handlebars—and for a fraction of a second, a blinding jolt shot straight through his mark.
A howl echoed across the bond.
Her very soul was clawing toward him, desperate and wild. The wolf instinct in his chest erupted into a roaring inferno.
Catch her. Warm her. Claim her. Drown her in his scent. Wrap his body around hers so she would never have to fear anything or anyone ever again.
But the bond snapped shut, leaving a hollow void in his soul once again.
It was the first time he had truly felt the thread—the thread bridging their very souls. A profound resonance experienced by only a rare few. That sublime, magical moment when one’s inner beast reaches out for its mate, and the mate reaches back in answer—sensing not just the warmth of her body, but something dwelling far deeper, something that defied words and carried no name.
It was the exquisite peak of everything he had ever experienced in his entire life. The most agonizing and intoxicating sensation all at once. Like everything tied to her. Like all his unbearable feelings for her. Feelings that threatened to crush every bone in his body into dust.
Watching her navigate the bike at that breakneck speed, he was terrified she might spill. Terrified that the reckless velocity would strip her life away.
He craved to gather her into his arms until spots blurred his vision—only then could he be certain that his mate was guarded, sheltered, and entirely safe. Safe from everything as long as she was by his side. Yet she was terrified of him. She fled from him as if he were a plague. She resisted him with every single cell of her body.
Where had she been all these years? With whom? He already had a bitter suspicion as to who had hidden her away. But had she been with him? What were they to each other?
The sheer thought of that bastard harboring even a shred of feeling for her tore Magnus’s insides into bloody ribbons.
The notion that the man might have laid eyes on her, that he might have touched her, made Magnus ready to burn him alive. Not even ash would remain. Nothing. Not even stray dogs in the alleyways would remember the man’s name, because Magnus would systematically erase him from history itself.
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