Page 6 of His Claim
“Of course, Commander,” he said lightly.
I let him step back. The other officers shifted uneasily, muttering excuses to scatter. I stood alone in the middle of the chamber, my pulse still somehow even, though the wolf under my skin prowled restlessly.
Haldor thought he saw a crack. Let him. One day, I’d be the one to put him in the ground.
But not yet.
Not until I’d gutted Voss first.
Now though, I was going to head to my chambers. My quarters were deeper in the compound, down a narrow hallway most wolves didn’t bother with. I liked it that way. No soldiers barking orders, no rookies tripping over their own feet. Just pure, relaxing silence.
I walked the hall, the sound of my boots hollow against the shattered tile. Fluorescents buzzed overhead, one strobing faintly, throwing the corridor into a rhythm of light and shadow.
That was when the smell hit me.
Blood.Freshblood.
I froze.
Another step and I rounded the corner.
Two wolves lay sprawled across the floor, their throats torn open, their blood smeared across the wall in jagged handprints. One still twitched faintly, his eyes glassy with shock. His weapon lay inches from his fingers, never fired.
Crouched just beyond them, barefoot in a torn hospital gown, was a woman.
Mariah.
The one I’d been searching for.
My deal with the Resistance had been simple. They’d help me destroy the Nyktos. In return, I’d find someone for them. A human woman named Mariah.
She’d been captured somewhere on the edge of the city by the wolves. The Resistance believed she was still alive, and they wanted her back. I told myself it didn’t matter why. That it was just a task, a mission like any other.
I had carried her face with me. A sketch, rough and fading, tucked into my back pocket. I’d unfolded it so many times the creases had started to tear. The paper was soft now, worn thin by my fingers. I’d memorized every line, every shadow of that girl’s face until I could see her when I closed my eyes.
And now she was here, standing in front of me.
Dark hair matted, lips slick with crimson, her chest rising and falling too fast, like she was running on pure rage. Her teeth gleamed in the stuttering light, her eyes wild. They look unnatural, rimmed with veins, and glowing faintly like something alive had crawled under her skin.
“What in the hell…” The words rasped out of me.
Her head snapped up.
Those green eyes locked on me, feral, unseeing, but they hit me like a spear to the gut all the same. My wolf surged, claws itching, instincts screamingmineeven as my brain shoutedmonster.
Then she came for me.
She moved faster than any human should, a blur of pale limbs and bloody teeth. I barely had time to brace before she slammed into me, knocking me against the wall hard enough to rattle the steel paneling. Claws—no, her hands—scrabbled at my throat, her strength enhanced and unnatural.
“Easy,” I growled, shoving her arms wide, trying not to dislocate them. “I don’t want to hurt you?—”
She hissed, a sound more beast than woman, and her teeth snapped for my jugular.
I twisted and spun us around, slamming her into the wall. She barely flinched. She came right back at me, nails raking my chest, hot lines of pain blooming under my shirt. I shoved her off, staggered back, and kept my stance wide.
Her breathing was uneven, her face an open snarl. She wasn’t seeing me. Hell, she wasn’t even hearing me.
“Damn it,” I muttered, raising my hands in a placating gesture she couldn’t possibly comprehend. “You’re not my enemy.”
