Chapter 2
1479words
Then she heard it.
A low, guttural sound—squeezed from the deepest part of a throat—inhuman—tore through the park's tranquility. The sound carried the agony only a dying animal would make, sharp and terrifying. Following it came a dull thud of something heavy hitting solid ground, making her heart lurch.
In an instant, every horror movie she'd ever watched triggered alarms in her mind. Run, Nina! Turn back now and take the main path! Don't be that foolish girl who investigates strange noises and dies in the first act!
Yet that sound contained more than bone-chilling bestiality—it carried crushed, ground-up, saturated suffering. And Nina's damned compassion, that foolishly soft heart always overflowing with kindness, became in this moment stronger than her survival instinct.
She clutched her portfolio strap like a shield, held her breath, and tiptoed toward the sound. Her boots made no noise on the damp grass.
Under the dense shade of a massive, gnarled maple tree, she saw him.
He was a giant of a man, curled in an almost self-destructive posture, leaning heavily against rough bark. His well-tailored, obviously expensive suit had been violently torn at shoulders and thighs, revealing defined, taut muscles. Even in dim light, she could see dark, wet blood glistening on his hands.
That blood wasn't from fighting someone else.
The deep scratches on his forearm, reaching to bone, were clearly self-inflicted—as if he'd tried to tear his own flesh apart with his fingernails. He shook violently, his entire body seized by fierce convulsions, and that agonized groan which had drawn her here ripped from his throat again.
Cold, sharp fear finally pierced her thin layer of sympathy. The situation was bad—terribly bad. This man was either on drugs or having a mental breakdown. She dared not hesitate another moment and immediately began to retreat quietly.
Crack.
A dried branch snapped under her foot—the crisp noise, in the deathly silence, no less startling than a gunshot.
His head jerked up suddenly.
Dappled moonlight pierced through leaf gaps, casting flickering shadows on his face—a mask blending wild beauty with extreme agony, jaw clenched so tightly his cheekbones appeared sharp and terrifying. But what truly stole the air from her lungs were his eyes.
They were glowing.
Not reflecting light, not an illusion from ambient lighting—those eyes, deep within the pupils, emitted a faint, ominous, blood-red glow like smoldering embers.
Her heart slammed against her ribs like a frightened bird in a cage. Fear froze her legs instantly like liquid nitrogen, rendering her immobile.
He wasn't looking at her. He was looking through her at some distant place, his mind clearly lost in a private, inescapable hell. He looked... so pained, so lost.
That untimely compassion once again overwhelmed her fear.
Words left her lips before she could stop them—a faint request she herself found extremely foolish.
"Sir... do... do you need help?"
.
Fire. Pain. Torture. The moon was a hook in his soul—pulling, tearing, wanting to sacrifice his entire being to madness. Dig it out. Fight against it.
Don't—
A voice.
Soft. Cool. Like mountain spring water on a scorching summer afternoon, pouring over his burning soul.
That voice sliced through the boundless, blood-red mist of pain. The fire raging through his veins, the roaring beast within, the moon's merciless pull—everything, in that moment, stopped.
The crushing pressure of the universe lifted, and in that single, crystalline, eternal moment, only two things remained in his world.
That voice. And that scent.
The fragrance of dried earth after rain. The subtle aroma of old book pages. And a hint of sweet lily-of-the-valley.
Frank's head jerked up, his consciousness never clearer. Through the crimson filter of a hungry wolf's vision not yet completely faded, he saw her—a small figure wrapped in a hazy moonlit halo, her pale face filled with fear. Her scent, in his collapsing world, stood like an eternally burning lighthouse.
Then his soul—the oldest, wildest core of his existence—recognized her.
Mate.
This wasn't just a thought. It was an imprint, seared fiercely and scorchingly deep into every strand of his DNA.
What was the moon's pain? What was the torment of switched suppressants?
They were all distant, insignificant echoes from another universe.
Everything that existed, everything that mattered, reduced to one savage, absolute desire—to rush to her side. To possess her. To protect her. To ensure her absolute safety.
This instinct was ten thousand times stronger than the moon's madness—an irresistible tsunami sweeping away his remaining sanity with overwhelming force.
Nina witnessed this transformation with her own eyes. One second before, the man's gaze had been unfocused and distant, immersed in pain. The next second, his eyes locked firmly onto her—that intense, physically palpable focus making it impossible to breathe. The red glow in his eyes deepened.
Before she could scream, before her brain could fully process the command to run, he moved.
He didn't run.
He was simply in front of her in an instant.
A moment ago, he was a broken man leaning against a tree thirty feet away. The next moment, his giant figure completely enveloped her.
Nina shrank back in terror, letting out only a choked gasp, but a large hand had already clamped down on her arm. The grip wasn't rough, yet it carried an absolute, steel-forged strength that allowed no resistance. Her portfolio, filled with a week's worth of heartfelt work, slipped from her numb fingers and fell to the grass with a muffled thud—abandoned there along with her comfortable old life.
"No—please—" she finally found her voice, but all that emerged was a weak, tearful plea.
He didn't speak. He simply turned and pulled her forward as if carrying a weightless doll. Her feet stumbled futilely, trying to keep up with his impossibly long, incredibly fast strides. The world before her eyes blurred into dark trees and rapidly receding moonlight.
Within seconds, they reached a long black luxury car parked roadside—a predator lurking in darkness. The door popped open with a seamless click. With terrifying efficiency, he stuffed her into the back seat, then slid into the driver's seat himself so quickly she didn't even have time to think about escaping through the other door.
The door locks engaged with a heavy, final clang.
He didn't look at her. He just gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white from pressure, head leaning heavily against the headrest.
The car shot from the curb like an arrow from a bow, the powerful force slamming her against the soft backrest, crushing her last shred of hope.
She had been kidnapped.
She began to cry silently, hot tears born of pure fear sliding uncontrollably down her cheeks.
The journey was a nightmare of impossible speed and absolute silence. The car glided like a ghost through city traffic, and in what felt like minutes, they descended into a cold, empty private underground garage. He pulled her from the car and led her into a silent private elevator that ascended at an unsettling speed.
There were no floor buttons inside.
The elevator opened directly into an absurdly spacious penthouse. The entire glass wall displayed an unobstructed view of New York City's glittering lights—a beautiful yet coldly indifferent horror show performed privately for her. This place was enormous, minimalist, and outrageously expensive.
And it was a cage.
The elevator door slid shut behind them without a sound, leaving no visible gap. No escape route.
Frank staggered to the room's center, finally releasing her arm. Nina, like a frightened crab, quickly scrambled backward on hands and feet until her back hit a wide cashmere-covered sofa. She held her breath and stared at him with eyes that saw only a monster.
His body trembled uncontrollably, his throat emitting a choked, painful moan before he collapsed weakly onto the mirror-like marble floor. He was a magnificent and terrifying creature driven to desperation. But the instinct of a starving wolf—the instinct that overwhelmed all others—still guided his final actions.
Nest.
Provide for mate.
Display strength.
Using the last bit of human strength left in his body, he crawled toward a seemingly seamless black wall and pressed his palm against it. A panel silently slid open, revealing a massive walk-in safe. He didn't even glance at the bundles of cash inside. He simply reached out, scooping up handfuls of jewelry like sand—diamonds, emeralds, strings of luscious pearls—then almost rudely threw them all onto the floor in her direction.
They scattered across the polished marble like a luxurious meteor shower, tinkling as they rolled. A king's ransom sufficient to purchase a small country, yet now resembling nothing more than meaningless, glittering glass marbles.
