Chapter 4: Stowaway

*Seraphina*

Adrenaline spiked through me, lighting every sense on fire. I may not have my wolf, but that

didn’t mean that I didn’t still possess some level of keen instinct.

That had, after all, been one of the few pitiful advantages I’d still had in prison. Attacks weren’t uncommon back then, so even though I was caught off-guard now, I was still far less unprepared than I would’ve been three years ago. Yet it still took a couple of desperate, panicked seconds to remember myself.

Even now, despite the dust-bogged and poorly-lit setting of the warehouse, I could feel that the

attacker was significantly bigger and taller than me, most likely meaning he was male. My mind

immediately went back to the two men stalking me when I first stumbled into the bar. On

high alert, I wondered if the second guy would come up from out of nowhere, perhaps waiting to see if his friend here could handle me on his own.

But the last thing I needed right now was distraction. I forced myself to focus on one obstacle at a time —the hand on my throat was large, but its strength was waning, as though its owner could not use his full physical capability. I lashed out, trying to bite his fingers, striking out, doing whatever I could to throw him off, and eventually, he wasn’t able to keep me pinned to the ground anymore. The second I had even the tiniest opening, I bucked up and kneed his side, eliciting a hiss of pain as he tumbled back.

I didn’t waste a second, immediately jumping up and running for the light switch.

When I turned around, my breath caught in my throat. The panting, pained face in front of me

didn’t belong to either of the men who’d followed me that night. Instead, it belonged to someone

I didn’t recognize. He looked a couple of years older than me, in his mid-twenties, maybe.

Despite the context of what had just occurred, I couldn’t help but notice that the stranger was strikingly handsome.

Even disheveled, his dark hair framed a face with edges sharp enough to rival the cutting look in

his cold, ocean eyes. He regarded me carefully, with a mix of curiosity, anger, and caution, and I felt like I could drown in those deep blue depths. Unpermitted, a thrill ran through me.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice rich and thick with mistrust. As though I’d been the one

trespassing on his job watch. Collecting myself, I kept an eye on his movements to make sure

He was not trying to set me up for anything. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the

warehouse with him.

“That’s funny, coming from you. Last time I checked, you’re not exactly supposed to be here, and I am,” I said, sounding far more casual and confident than I felt. It was then that I noticed he was injured. There was a deep-looking gash on his right shoulder, a wound bad enough to have

steeped the surrounding material of his shirt in blood. The fact his clothes were torn told me that

he’d been the victim of an attack himself, which explained both his hiding out in the warehouse and his apparent coldness towards me. We’d both apparently mistaken the other for having less

than pure intentions.

Still, I was in no way ready to lower my guard. Not when I’d just had a very fresh reminder of how unexpectedly betrayal could find me. I was not sure if it was the years I’d spent having to use my mouth to get me out of situations my lack of a wolf left me stranded in, or the numbness that

settled in my bones after finding out about Eric’s lies. But I wasn’t scared of this stranger, even though it was apparent the only reason I managed to beat him off me was because he’d been injured.

I looked around for something to bind his wrists with and found a measure of sturdy rope. When I moved to tie him up, he drew back, evidently no more willing to trust me than I was. But he was getting weaker with blood loss.

“You’re not from here, are you?” I asked tentatively.

His eyes widened with surprise, and he immediately tried to cloak them again. “What makes you

say that?”

“You don’t act like you’re from around here.” I waved a hand around the room as though the

crates of cheap beer and the smell of mildew could make my point for me. “The Underground. You don’t act as though you’re part of it.”

Everything from his gait to how he spoke was obviously from the aristocratic class. I

wasn’t sure what the hell someone like him was doing in a place like this or how he got here,

but I knew he was in trouble. And maybe because trouble was all I’d known for a long time

now, some less jaded part of me wanted to help him get out of it.

“Look,” I said, crossing my arms. “You don’t trust me. I don’t trust you. But you’re bleeding out. I

don’t know what’s going on with you, that’s your business. But you don’t have much of a choice

here. If any of the guys come down here and find you, I can guarantee they’ll be much less charitable than I am.”

“That’s your version of charity?” he asked, nodding at the rope in my hands. The hint of sarcasm

took me by surprise, but his eyes showed a mischievous glint as he waited for me to respond.

“Yes,” I said simply. “In fact, it’s practically chivalry. My boss isn’t the type of man to ask

questions or even allow you to bleed out all over his floor.”

The gentle reminder of his injury seemed to spark doubt in his mind. He glanced at his shoulder,

and I could practically see him run through all of his options only to conclude that he really had only one.

“I’m Seraphina,” I said, as a sort of truce. “Seraphina Lovelace.”

Several beats of silence passed. But eventually, he gave a small sigh, his shoulder slumping in defeat only to elicit a low groan of pain. “I’m Alfred.”

I waited for him to give me his last name, but he didn't. I shrugged, going over to tie his wrists with the rope.

“You really think I’m gonna be able to do anything with this shoulder?” he asked, raising an

eyebrow but actually letting me bind him.

“You’re the wildcard here. I was just doing my job,” I said pointedly. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” he asked, but I grabbed him by the uninjured shoulder and forced him to his feet. He still watched me with cold apprehension, but now, at least with the rope, I felt more in control. I

shoved him in the direction of the door.

“I’ll show you,” is all I told him.

It was a tense, difficult trek from the warehouse to my dorm room. But I refused to give up my

advantageous position. Guiding him like this meant I could watch his movements and catch him if he tried to make a run for it, which, by some miracle, he chose not to do. But it also meant

that I often found myself jostling him toward the right path, something that he very clearly didn’t appreciate.

In the silence, I wondered about the air of authority he carries. Whenever I shoved his shoulder, he’d stiffen as though shocked that I’d have the audacity to touch him like that. He didn’t move with the same practiced, sly shuffle that so many of the bar’s patrons did. Those were criminals

and bad men who know they had no right to the spaces they haunted, but they took it anyway,

owning the Underground world.

And he didn’t respond with the childish offense they did either, usually resulting in unnecessary violence. Instead, he seemed… genuinely confused, like he wanted to say something but was biting his tongue.

When we got to my dorm room, I made him sit on a chair while I got the first aid kit. I wasn’t sure

if I even had the expertise to dress the wound properly, I could only hope it wasn’t as critical as it looked back in the warehouse.

“What are you doing?” he asked when I returned, his eyes darting wildly between my face and the kit in my hands.

“Making sure you don’t die of infection,” I said, getting out the clothing scissors to cut away at the blood-caked material around the injury. He didn’t say anything, didn’t so much as flinch as I

stripped away the remnants of his shirt sleeve. Fortunately, it seemed to be fixable. I didn’t know how enthusiastic he’d be about me dragging him to a hospital, and the last thing I needed was for my new boss to find out I was sheltering a royal squatter.

I tried my best to be gentle, cleaning and disinfecting the wound. As the blood and grime came off his skin, I noticed what looked like an imprint of a bite mark. My best guess would be that he’d gotten into a fight while in his wolf form. And from the looks of it, his opponent had been quite the challenge.

But then again, from the looks of *him*, so was he.

When cleaned up, I finally noticed how well-built he is, the muscles cording his shoulders and

limbs, and hinted at beneath the rest of his clothing. I knew I would never have stood a chance if he hadn’t been so weakened.

His piercing eyes drew me out of my thoughts just as I finished wrapping his shoulder with gauze

and bandages. Like before, he watched me intently, a deliberate roaming of my features as

though I was a puzzle he was trying to decipher.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked, voice still as frigid as ever. “What is it that you really want?”

“That’s not a nice way to thank me for saving your life, Freddie,” I said, getting annoyed with his

refusal to acknowledge that I’m not the threat he thought I was.

I’d had enough people judging me lately. “I don’t know who you were expecting, but you’re lucky it was me that found you. You don’t think I could’ve offed you by now if that was my intention?”

“Can’t say I’m fully convinced of that just yet,” he said.

“What kind of circles do you run in to make you this paranoid?” I teased, starting to enjoy riling

him up. I liked how he clenched his jaw when he was frustrated, and his gorgeous blue eyes flashed with anger when I didn't answer him the way he wanted me to. And I liked that he couldn't do anything about it.

“The kind of circles where I wouldn’t be surprised if this is some big ruse of yours to get me off

my guard,” he answered.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a sitting duck right now. I could kill you with that pair of scissors over

there as easily as breathing.”

“Thanks for the visual.”

“Just trying to paint the picture for you. I have less reason to trust you than you do to trust me,” I

pointed out. He looked away. “Unless…there’s something you’re not telling me?”

When he looked back at me, there was a layer of arrogant amusement beneath the contempt. “For all I know, you could just be a really pretty liar.”

I grit my teeth, enraged at his calling me a liar even if the compliment tacked to it sent a rush

of heat to my cheeks. “Oh, you want to know what I want, do you?”

He drew back, expecting me to hurt him. But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to see him off his

guard this time.

“What I want is you.”

His eyes shot open, and a feeling of sadistic victory leaped in my stomach. I tilted his chin up,

meaning to pretend to kiss him if only to see him finally flinch away, but of course, it could never

be that simple. My boot caught on the leg of my chair, and instead of stopping inches from his

mouth the way I intended, my body careened forward, my mouth landing square on his.

The contact seared my skin in the best way possible. Heat rushed through me, surprise and a

flash of desire that left me so utterly perplexed I didn't draw back until a few seconds later.

I hadn’t meant to do that, and I immediately felt guilty, especially because Alfred’s hands were tied, and he’d had no say in the kiss. But when I saw the look he gave, one that made it seem as though he wanted to rip my throat out, some sick version of satisfaction managed to overpower that guilt.

“You should probably rest up,” I said, ignoring the thundering beat of my heart and gesturing

toward my bed. “I’ll take the floor.”

He didn’t say anything, but the murderous look on his face was temporarily intercepted by pure curiosity, just like he’d asked: Why would you give me your bed?

I couldn’t even find the answer in myself, if I’m honest. But I didn’t let him know I was just as

confused and dazed as he was. Instead, I offered him a smile. “I already told you. You’ve paid for my help already.”

The wall went up again, and the muscles in his jaw ticked as he made his way to my bed,

ignoring my jab. I got a pillow, foraged out a threadbare blanket from the back of my closet, and made my place on the floor a fair distance from where he’d bunked down for the night.

I tossed and turned, partly because of the discomfort and partly because my thoughts were far from quiet. I kept thinking about the stranger lying a mere few feet away from me and how ridiculous this entire situation was. I thought about how both of us were so unwilling to yield our trust to the other, yet he was the first to fall asleep, his breath evening out into a light, tempered rhythm.

I thought about how, even though the entire thing had been a mistake, that accidental kiss had

thrilled me in a way I didn’t expect. I thought about how, for just a split second, he’d actually kissed me back.

I lay awake for what felt like hours before sleep found me.

***

Later in the day, when it was my next shift behind the bar, they came rushing in—a handful of large, dangerous-looking men whose very aura sent a shiver of fear down my spine. I could feel the patrons’ unease as they made their way around, making small talk with a purpose that tipped me off that something else was going on.

I tried to move as inconspicuously as I could, trying to find somewhere I could hide because

everything in me was screaming that I needed to get away. It was like an itch, a gut feeling that trouble had once again found me. I slipped around the corner, taking a detour behind the thin paneled walls, knowing that if I could just reroute them, I could get away. But it was a quick glance between the slats that caught my attention.

The men appeared to be questioning the patrons, holding up what looked to be a photo of

someone. If I squinted, I could just about make out who it was, and my heart dropped to my stomach when I saw the now familiar face. The dark hair, piercing eyes, regal features. It was the same man holed up in my dorm room, the one I’d just left sleeping and injured in my bed that morning.

They’ve come for him.