Clara's POV
"You shouldn't have come here, Marcus," I murmured, sounding low and precise. As I grabbed the bar's edge, my knuckles whitening, the air buzzed with tension. Until now, this was a quiet night in The Ember Room, my haven from all I left behind. His chilly and incomprehensible dark eyes gripped me across the foggy obscurity of the barely lit room. Passionate whispers, unmet promises, and the hollow anguish of betrayal threatened to swallow me. I pushed myself to breathe; my pulse thundered in my ears. "What do you wish for??"
He approached further closely, the throng spreading out around him as though they sensed his force, his threat. "I had no option, Clara." His great voice grated on my will like a mix of desperation and might. We should chat. Currently.
I shook my head and laughed sourly. Five years ago, Marcus, we stopped needing to converse. I leaned in, almost close enough to smell rain and pine clinging to him. You made sure of that when you kicked me out.
Pain exploded across his face, quickly covered by a frown. Things were not as they appeared.
I sneered. "Save your apologies." Are you interested in conversation? Go quickly.
He looked around and felt too many ears right there. Not here.
"Too bad." I got up, gathering my coat behind the bar. Say it now, whatever you have to say. Alternatively, say very little at all.
He stopped for a heartbeat. I almost believed he would go. Then he closed the distance between us, his palm encircling my wrist—not viciously, but with a familiarity that burned my flesh and broke my heart. "Please, Clara," said Just hear me out.
"Let go," I said, struggling with a tsunami of unpleasant emotions. As if he couldn't bear to let me go yet recognized he had no right to stay on, his hand tightened slightly then released.
"Meet me outside," he said softly, his voice down to a tone only I could hear. You owe me really a lot.
I wanted to tell him I owe nothing. Neither my time nor my patience—certainly not my pardon. However, when paired with my past disappointment and the lingering hope I detested, the words ceased to flow from my mouth. Against better sense, I trailed him.
As we entered the alley behind the pub, the chill of the night air cut at my skin. Streetlamps sent fragmented light and shadow across us. Not for warmth, but to protect against the weakness invading me, I placed my arms around myself.
"Talk," I said. Two minutes is what you have.
Marcus turned to face me, and for the first time I saw the weight he carried—etched lines of tiredness on his cheeks, shadows beneath his eyes. "You endanger yourself."
I laughed incredulously. "That is rich. From the man posing my greatest threat.
His jaw clenched. "This has nothing to do with us."
"Isn't it?" I pushed myself, moving forward a step. Every time you show up, Marcus, it relates to us. Or what is left of it?
His eyes flashed—a sliver of the raw feeling he constantly suppressed. Selena Greystone is working against me. Against the flock. You are a target as well.
"Why should I believe anything you say?" I turned back. You broke me last time you claimed to be protecting me.
He trembled, the words striking more than I had expected. "You have no cause to believe me. Still, you have to pay attention. Selena knows you were once part of it; she won't stop until she ruins everything I love.
Where? My tongue started to taste bitter betrayal. "past tense, right?"
A muscle in his jaw jerked. "Damn it, Clara. It was never quite that easy.
Enlighten me then. My voice dripped with sarcasm. Tell me how rejecting me, betraying me, was "complicated."
His eyes dropped, and for a minute his armor betrayed weakness. "There were dangers." There was no choice for me.
I spewed lies and turned to go. With this, I'm done.
"Clara." His hand sprang out, once more grabbing mine. When our flesh touched, sparks flew from traces of a bond I battled so hard to forget. "You are not safe." Selena is aware of things—things that might—
I jerked my hand free and said, "I don't need your protection." Not right now. never.
"Is that so?." His voice turned shrill and tore into the night. "Because I watched you fight tonight. Though strong, you are not prepared for what is ahead.
Not pretend you know me anymore. My heart hammering in my chest, I moved back. "You never."
"Maybe I don't," he said, his eyes flickering with something sinister and black. But I know you were someone else.And I know you are still battling ghosts. We both are.
I stared at him, yearning to fight within me and driven by wrath. "Marcus, what do you want for? Exactly.
He came closer, towering above me, but not in a way that made me afraid. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I need your assistance, Clara. And, whether you believe it or not, I would give all to protect you.
A low growl from the shadows rocked the night before I could react. We turned, instincts guiding us. From the gloom, two entities emerged, eyes shining with lethal purpose. the assassin of Selena.
Marcus moved in front of me, his body stiff with eagerness. "Stay behind me."
"Not." I moved forward with squared shoulders. "I can take care of myself."
The killer dove forward. There was anarchy. Marcus struggled with the force of a real Alpha, every stroke lethal and exact. With equal ferocity, I confronted my opponent bringing years of wrath and training into every action. Blades clashed, claws scraped, and the aroma of blood filled the air.
One of the assailants feinted left, then attacked my side, the blade slashing shallow but terrible. I tightened my teeth, resisting collapse. In the periphery, Marcus dispatched his foe with merciless efficiency, but the conflict was far from done. More shadows shifted, more adversaries close in.
"Clara!" Marcus's voice was urgent. "We need to leave—now!"
"No." I met his gaze, ferocious determination burning. "Not until they're stopped."
He hesitated, caught between disagreeing and believing me. Finally, he nodded, a silent pact established in that moment. Back-to-back, we battled as one, instincts completely matched.
But just as triumph looked within approach, Selena's messenger came forward—a gigantic figure wrapped in evil. The air turned frigid and oppressive, and I understood too late that this was no ordinary opponent.
The emissaries might strike like a hurricane, pushing us to our knees. "You cannot win," he snarled, eyes flashing with wicked delight. "You are pawns in a game far greater than yourselves."
Marcus battled the tension, muscles twitching. "Run, Clara."
"No."
"I'm ordering you—" His voice cracked, anguish searing through him as the messenger released another wave of force.
Tears pierced my eyes. I wouldn't leave him. Not again.
The emissary laughed; that was a terrible sound. "Thus delicate. so readily broken.
The world blurred. Pain, terror, and an all-consuming surge of power burst inside me—a force I didn't comprehend but couldn't contain. Light burst, blinding and unstoppable.
When the light faded, the emissary was gone—banished, at least for now. I sank, breathless, my eyesight whirling. Marcus caught me before I touched the ground, his grasp strong and firm despite his own injuries.
"You're more powerful than I thought," he whispered, wondering, mixed with panic.
I glanced up at him, exhaustion and defiance in my gaze. "This isn't over."
"No." He held me firmly, his words a blend of relief and anguish. "It's just beginning."
The faraway cry of wolves sounded through the night—Selena's men, closing in. We had survived this fight, but war was coming.