Chapter 24
I used to think I’d go back to my life. My apartment, my job, my… normal.
Now I walk into rooms and scan for exits automatically. I talk less, I think meaner. I’ve got sharp corners where there used to be soft ones, and somehow, I’m not sorry about it.
Pierce didn’t just ruin me. He awakened something I hadn’t even known was sleeping—something that looked at the world through hungrier eyes.
And yeah, maybe that’s sick. Maybe it makes me just as twisted as him. But here’s the real kicker: I don’t think anyone else could love this version of me. Or survive her.
Only him.
Which means I’m either his greatest match—or his greatest mistake. And I honestly don’t know which one I’d rather be.
At the office, people looked at me like I’d crawled out of a grave.
“Lyra?” Jenn from layout leaned around her cubicle. “Where’ve you been?”
“Vacation,” I said without looking up.
“Uh-huh. You look… different.”
“Thanks. I grew emotionally.” She blinked like she wasn’t sure if I was serious.
I dove into the Renshaw article like my life depended on it. I knew the bones of the story better than anyone now. Knew where the real bodies were buried, metaphorically and probably literally.
Trimming it down, I rewrote sections and deleted every thread that even hinted at Pierce’s involvement. His name? Gone. The arms ring? Vanished. The fact that I knew the inner workings of his operation down to the names of his lieutenants? Not a whisper.
I told myself it was the right thing to do. Journalism with integrity, protect the source, don’t burn someone who saved your life more than once. But let’s be real—I was protecting him because part of me still wanted to.
By eight, I dropped the final draft on my editor’s desk and peaced out. No big speeches. No “welcome back”. Just a tired wave and the hum of the office printer behind me.
Outside, the city had that calm post-rush hour vibe. Not too loud, or too quiet. I took the back streets like always, earbuds in, head down.
It felt good to move, like I could maybe outrun the weird knot in my chest that had been sitting there since Pierce handed me the keys and told me I could go. And well, I did go.
So why did it feel like something was still chasing me?
I was halfway through a shortcut, an alley I’d walked a hundred times when I saw him. Suit, polished shoes, hair slicked back like he belonged on a yacht, not under a flickering streetlight near a dumpster.
“Sorry,” the man called out, all polite and calm. “I think I’m a little lost. Can you help me out?”
I paused, barely. Something felt… off. Not danger-off, just kinda weird-off.
“Depends,” I said slowly. “Where are you trying to go?”
“North side. Riverfront apartments.”
“That’s like ten blocks that way,” I gestured behind him.
He took a step closer. “Weird. You smell just like him.”
I blinked. “What?” He didn’t explain. Just dropped his gaze to my neck, right to the spot where Pierce’s bite mark had faded into something faint, but still there.
“Oh~ So that pathetic little wolf did finally claim someone. How sweet,” he murmured.
My stomach dropped to the floor at these words. “What did you just say?”
That’s when I saw it. The eyes, the wicked smile with all inhuman sharp teeth. The same brand of calm that meant nothing good was about to happen.
“Pierce,” I whispered. “You’re his—”
“Big brother wolf.” He smiled wider, like it was a punchline. “Pierre.”
My heart slammed against my ribs when I stepped back. “You need to move.”
“Why?” he asked, tone still casual. “Scared?”
“No,” I lied. “Just not in the mood for cryptic werewolf stalkers tonight.”
“You’re cute,” he chuckled. “That’ll make this easier.”
Before I could blink, he moved. A flash of metal before pain exploded in my skull and everything tilted, the sky spun. My knees hit concrete while my fingers are trying to grab some air.
“Pierce—” I gasped, but the name barely made it out.
Then nothing—no light, no sound. Just the cold slap of the ground and everything went black.
* * *
Waking up felt like I’d been hit by a truck and then buried in cement.
My arms? Dead weight. Legs? Might as well have been filled with sand. Head? Spinning like I’d done tequila shots with a concussion. I blinked. Once. Twice.
Gray walls, low light. Cold-ass floor under my skin. Definitely not my apartment. And then— “Oh good. You’re finally awake.”
That voice, calm. Too calm. I turned my head, barely. Pierre. Sitting in a damn chair across from me like this was just some casual meetup and not, you know, a kidnapping.
“Don’t try to move,” he said, checking his watch. “Still wearing off. I dosed you high.”
“What… Do you want?” My voice cracked like I’d been screaming for hours.
He stood, rolled his sleeves, walked over like we were about to do a trust fall exercise.
“You already know.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re the mate. His mate. The perfect little weakness he didn’t think I’d find and catch.”
I didn’t say a word. Not because I was scared, but because I knew if I opened my mouth, I’d choke on hate. He crouched beside me, fingers brushing my hair away from my face like he had the right.
“I’ve wanted to destroy Pierce for such a long time,” he said. “And then you just… showed up. Gift-wrapped.”
“You’re insane,” I mumbled, voice sluggish, slurring at the edges. My body wasn’t moving the way it should. Too heavy. Too slow.
He just laughed. “And you turned out to be pretty dumb,” he said, voice like venom. “Took you long enough to figure it all out.”
I didn’t think—I just spat at him, hit him square in the face. It felt like the only thing I could do.
He wiped it away, slow, deliberate. Still smiling, he said, “You’ll regret that.”
And then he did it.
He ripped my clothes open, fabric tearing like paper, baring me to the cold air and his hungry eyes. I thrashed, weak and desperate, heart screaming louder than my mouth ever could. He didn’t care.
His hands were rough, gripping hard enough to bruise, his breath hot and disgusting as he leaned in, lips grazing my ear.
“You know, I almost feel bad,” he said. “Almost.”
My limbs felt like they were filled with lead, the drugs coursing through my veins turning my muscles to jelly. But I fought. God, I fought. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drumbeat of terror, and I thrashed against him with every ounce of strength I could muster.
“Pierce!” I screamed, my voice raw and desperate, tearing from my throat like a wounded animal. “Pierce, please!”
Pierre’s laugh was a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. “He’s not coming, sweetheart,” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “You’re all mine now.”
He gripped my thighs with a force that made me cry out, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he forced my legs apart. I tried to kick, to twist away, but my body betrayed me, moving too slowly, too weakly.
“No!” I screamed, my voice breaking as I clawed at his arms, my nails leaving angry red marks on his skin. “Please, no!”
But Pierre didn’t stop. He didn’t care. He just laughed again, a dark and twisted sound echoed in the room.
Each of his movements was a violation, full of a savage intensity, a brutal reminder of my helplessness. His relentless rhythm left me wanting to vomit and choke to death on my own liquids, just so I wouldn’t feel anymore the pain and shame that he repeatedly inflicted on my body with his.
“Pierce!” I sobbed, my voice barely a whisper now, tears streaming down my face. “Pierce, help me!”
Pierre’s hand clamped over my mouth, silencing my cries as he leaned in close.
“Shut up, bitch,” he growled. “You’re mine now. And when I’m done with you, you’ll wish you were dead.”
His words sent a fresh wave of terror through me, and I thrashed against him with renewed desperation. But it was no use. He was too strong, too determined.
And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse—pain. A sudden, tearing bite on the opposite side of my neck. A mirror of Pierce’s mark—only this wasn’t a bond.
No, this was a violation, a cruel, brutal act meant to scar me forever.
He tore through my skin like he wanted to leave a permanent reminder of his cruelty, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper until I thought he would rip my throat out.
I screamed. Loud and raw. Ripping from my throat like it could shatter walls. I tried to claw at him, but I was a prisoner inside my own body, every nerve firing in panic while nothing moved fast enough to stop him.
When he was finally done, he stood over me, fixing his sleeves with a calm, practiced ease that made my stomach churn.
“Tell my baby brother I said ‘hi’,” he muttered, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
And then he was gone, leaving me broken and bleeding on the floor, my body wracked with pain and my soul shattered into a million pieces.
