The realization hits me like a sledgehammer.
So does the fire extinguisher.
Chapter
Thirteen
IVY
The sound of metal connecting with bone echoes through the corridor with a sickening thunk.
Time slows to a crawl as the pale-haired stranger's eyes roll back in his head. His knees buckle beneath him, his lean body crumpling to the floor with the ungainly grace of a marionette whose strings have been cut.
"Oh my god." The words leave my mouth in a horrified whisper as the fire extinguisher slips from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the ground with a hollow metallic ring. "Did I just... did I justkillsomeone?"
The thought sends ice through my veins. I've never hurt anyone before—not seriously, not like this. Not beyond biting Wade's finger off when I was desperate to escape. But this? This was a full-on, adrenaline-fueled swing with a heavy metal object directly to a strange alpha's head.
My heart hammers against my ribcage as I stare at the motionless body sprawled across the dingy concrete floor. Blood trickles from a cut on his temple, forming a small crimsonpuddle beneath his head. His bone-white hair is matted with it now, the pristine strands stained rust-red.
"No, no, no," I choke out, clutching my towel tighter against my chest with one hand while the other flies to cover my mouth. "This isn't happening."
I can't have killedsomeone.
I can't.
He's an alpha. I'm going to go to prison for life. I'm?—
A low, wet cough distracts me from the prone figure on the floor. Wraith stands a few feet away, one massive hand pressed against his throat, his broad chest rising and falling with labored breaths. The other alpha must have fought dirty. Maybe Wraith's throat is particularly sensitive, given the scarring I glimpsed earlier.
"Are you okay?" I ask, instinctively taking a step toward him before remembering I'm wearing nothing but a towel. I stop short, awkwardly hovering between helping the alpha who's been protecting me—apparently, protecting me from lurking alphas while I shower, too—and checking if I've just committed manslaughter.
Wraith holds up his palms in what I assume is meant to be a reassuring gesture, though the effect is somewhat diminished by the way his shoulders heave with each strained breath. He takes a cautious step toward me, his movements slow and deliberate, like he's approaching a frightened animal.
Which, to be fair, is pretty much what I am right now.
When I don't back away, he closes the distance between us. His huge hands hesitate in the air for a moment before descending tomy bare upper arms, smoothing down them in awkward, gentle strokes.
I freeze, stressed enough that I almost push him away instinctively. But his hands are warm against my damp skin, and despite everything—the unconscious stranger, the fight I'd witnessed, my own panic—I find myself leaning into his touch ever so slightly.
And I can't even blame the fever this time.
Great. I'm touch-starved on top of everything else, apparently.
Wraith's hands pause and I glance up to meet his blue gaze. There's concern there, clouded with… pain. Maybe not just physical pain, either. He releases my arms and takes a half step back, giving me space as he coughs again.
He points to the stranger on the floor, then makes a thumbs up gesture and nods.
"The alpha is... fine?" I guess, trying to interpret his makeshift sign language.
Wraith nods, then uses the toe of his combat boot to roughly flip the unconscious alpha onto his back. The alpha groans, a low sound of semi-conscious pain that sends a wave of relief washing over me.
Not dead.
Thank god.
I study the alpha's face properly for the first time. He's striking in an unsettling way—sharp, aristocratic features that would be beautiful if not for the wolfish, predatory aura that clings to himeven in unconsciousness. His hair isn't actually blond. It’s so platinum, it’s almost white.
A fresh wave of panic rises in my chest as the implications of what just happened crash over me. This alpha—whoever he is—found me. Tracked me to my safe haven.
