Chapter 3

The moment the yellow-haired man's hand touched the hem of my dress, the wolf inside me erupted completely.

Not the gentle, gradual transformation. This was survival instinct driving violent wolfing—bones twisting and reforming beneath skin, nails instantly becoming claws, a low growl emanating from my throat.

The instant golden eyes lit up in the darkness, the rogue wolves froze.

Half-blood wolves typically experience incomplete transformation, their strength far inferior to purebloods. But in life-or-death moments, instinct releases energy far beyond normal capacity.

I swiped my claws at the yellow-haired man's face. He screamed and staggered back, three deep bloody gashes appearing on his face. The others sobered up considerably, their expressions turning wary and vicious.

"Shit! This bitch is fighting back!"

"Get her together! She's just a half-blood, how strong can she be?"

The room instantly descended into chaos.

My transformation wasn't complete—only claws, fangs, and partial senses were enhanced. But it was enough to let me burst out of the room.

I stumbled through the hallway, angry roars and pursuing footsteps behind me.

My dress had torn badly during the struggle, my knees and arms were scraped, blood and sweat dripping down.

The moment I burst out of Crimson Den, I slammed hard into someone.

That person's scent was too familiar—cedarwood and cool mint, Lucian's signature pheromone scent.

"Lucian..." I grabbed his arm, almost instinctively seeking shelter. "They... the people Lydia found wanted to assault..."

Before I could finish, he shook off my hand without hesitation.

The force was strong, throwing me directly to the ground.

My knees hit the cement hard, searing pain shooting through instantly. I bit my lip, looking up at him through disheveled hair.

Lydia stood beside him holding his arm, her face wearing perfect concern, but the malice in her eyes was especially clear in the moonlight.

"Rhea, what are you doing?" She sighed lightly, her voice full of helplessness. "I went out of my way to introduce you to prospects, if you didn't like them you could have said so nicely, how can you slander me like this?"

Lucian looked down at me, his eyes full of disgust.

"Enough! Always playing these cheap tricks." His voice was cold as ice. "Lydia said she was afraid you'd be embarrassed, so she specially asked me to come along when you met those guys, and look what you've done?"

I looked at him, suddenly finding it absurd.

"Lucian Blackwood." I stood up from the ground, covered in injuries but my tone strangely calm. "Are you genuinely stupid, or just playing blind?"

He froze, clearly not expecting me to say that.

"You saw what kind of trash Lydia brought, didn't you, back in that room?" I laughed coldly, pointing at my torn dress and injuries. "You think this is me directing and acting alone? Or do you think a half-blood like me deserves to be treated that way?"

"Cut the act!" Lucian's face darkened. "Your current state—isn't it just to make me feel sorry for you? Rhea, I'm telling you, that trick won't work!"

"You think I don't know what you're thinking? You just can't stand seeing me and Lydia together, so you deliberately hurt yourself to make me feel guilty?" He laughed coldly. "Too bad, I see right through your little schemes."

I stopped looking at him, turning instead to survey the area for any place to hide. I'd stopped hoping he'd rescue me—for the sake of those five years of intimacy.

Just then, the rogue wolves from the room came bursting out.

"Found you!" The yellow-haired man's voice came from the doorway, the wounds on his face still bleeding, making him look especially fierce. "You bitch, daring to hurt me! Today I'll teach you what rules mean!"

Lucian turned around, seeing those drunken half-blood wolves, his brow furrowing.

I didn't hesitate, running in one direction.

I heard Lydia's sweet voice behind me, "Lucian, let's go... it's too chaotic here, I'm scared..."

Then, the sound of them leaving in the opposite direction.

I really shouldn't have stopped and wasted time begging an accomplice to violence for protection—even if he had protected me for five years.

The air around me suddenly turned very cold.

The yellow-haired man and his cronies had surrounded me, bloodlust gleaming in their eyes.

"No one's backing you up now, huh?" The yellow-haired man sneered. "Now you're scared?"

I slowly raised my head, golden eyes flickering in the darkness.

Incomplete transformation activated again. Not for escape this time, but for combat.

Bones cracked, claws extending from fingertips. I knew I couldn't beat five or six adult male werewolves, but at least...

At least before going down, I'd make them pay.

Just then, a sharp screech of brakes rang out.

A black car stopped at the curb, the door opened, and a man in a gray trench coat stepped out.

"Stop."

His voice wasn't loud, but carried a power impossible to ignore.

Under the moonlight, I could make out his face—around thirty, gentle features, wearing a silver badge on his wrist.

The emblem of the Wolf Healer's Association.

"Cornering a she-wolf in broad daylight," his gaze swept over the rogue wolves, tone calm but carrying a chill. "Which pack are you from? State your pack insignia, I'll file a complaint with the Council of Elders."

The yellow-haired man laughed coldly: "None of your business? This bitch offended people she shouldn't have!"

"Is that so?" The man stepped closer, his voice growing colder. "Then as a member of the Healer's Association, I'm demanding you stop immediately. Otherwise I have the right to report you to both the Association and the Council of Elders for illegal group violence."

Rogue wolves feared being pursued by official packs most of all.

They exchanged glances, finally spat, and turned to leave: "Lucky for you, this isn't over!"

Once they'd gone far enough, the man turned around to face me.

"Can you stand?"

I tried to stand but my legs were too weak to support me. He steadied my arm, his movements careful and restrained, avoiding all my wounds.

"I'm a doctor, Evan Cole." His voice was very gentle. "You need your wounds treated."

I nodded, tears suddenly falling uncontrollably.

Not from pain, but because this stranger's concern made me realize how pathetic I was.

Abandoned by my supposed "neighbor brother," humiliated by supposed "kind introductions," coldly watched by supposed "acquaintances."

Yet a stranger was willing to stop, willing to help me.

"Thank you..." My voice was hoarse, barely audible.

"No need to thank me." Evan helped me toward his car. "No one should be treated that way. Remember that."

I looked back toward Crimson Den.

Lucian had long since disappeared.

In that moment, something inside me died completely.