### Chapter Twelve – Shadows in the Hunter's Den ###
(Mayer POV)
Mayer sat on the edge of the cot, staring at the knife she had polished so many times the blade caught the faint glow of the lamp like a mirror. The steel looked colder tonight, less reassuring. Her hands were steady, but her heart wasn't.
Since that night in the alley with Bryan, something inside her had been disturbing. She had killed wolves before. She had seen blood soak into stone. But none of them had made her pause the way he did—none of them had made her wonder what, exactly, she was hunting.
And that pause was dangerous.
Because Owen noticed everything.
She heard his footsteps before he entered the dim room. Crisp. Certain. Like every board under his boots had already sworn loyalty.
"Mayer."
She straightened immediately, slipping the blade back into its sheath case. "Sir."
Owen stepped inside, tall frame cutting a shadow across the lamp light. His eyes, sharp as razors, swept over her in silence.
Mayer held his gaze, though her chest tightened. She had trained under him since she was fifteen. She had seen him break men twice his size with nothing but a look. But tonight, there was something darker behind his stare.
He set a file down on the table. Thin. Black leather.
"Reports," Owen said. His voice was like glass cracking. "On your friend."
Her stomach dipped. "Bryan?"
Owen's lips curled faintly. It wasn't a smile. "So you are thinking about him."
Heat crept to her cheeks, but she forced her voice even. "He's unpredictable sir. I thought it wise to observe him closely."
Owen leaned forward, planting both hands on the table. His knuckles whitened. "He's more than unpredictable, Mayer. He's dangerous. Too dangerous for someone with your instincts to overlook."
She said nothing.
Owen opened the file. Photographs slid out—grainy shots of Bryan at the bar with Clever, Bryan leaving missions bruised but alive, Bryan's face caught in a flicker of moonlight.
"Every step he takes," Owen said slowly, "I know. Every breath. Every word. Don't think your conversations escape me."
Mayer's throat tightened. So he had been watching not just Bryan—but her.
"Sir," she said carefully, "if you distrust him so much, why bring him into the fold at all? Why let him hunt beside us?"
Owen's eyes darkened, a storm held at bay. "Because, Mayer, monsters attract monsters. And Bryan is the loudest bait I've ever seen."
He closed the file with a snap.
"I hate him," Owen said, voice low, lethal. "I hate the blood in his veins. His father took my sister from me. Samantha was all I had left, and Amark slaughtered her in cold blood. Do you understand? That boy walking in my ranks is a scar that walks, a reminder that her killer still breathes somewhere out there."
Mayer's heart stuttered. She had known Owen's hatred ran deep, but hearing it aloud chilled her.
"Then why…" she began.
"Because," Owen cut in, voice sharp as the edge of her blade, "to kill a wolf like Amark, you need more than steel. You need blood. His own blood. And Bryan carries it."
He leaned closer, his eyes looking straight into hers. "As long as he's useful, he lives. The moment, the very moment, I smell a threat, I'll cut his head off myself. Do you hear me, Mayer?"
Mayer swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
But something twisted inside her chest. A flicker of memory—Bryan smirking in the alley despite the blood on his face, joking even when danger pressed close. His stubbornness. His fire. His loneliness.
He wasn't just bait. Not to her.
And that terrified her more than Owen's threats.
---
Later that night, Mayer stood on the balcony outside the hunters' den, the city sprawling beneath her in pools of shadow and neon light.
Somewhere out there, Bryan walked the streets alone, not knowing that the same man who had offered him a hand was sharpening a knife behind his back.
She wrapped her arms around herself.
He deserves to know, a voice whispered inside her.
But another voice—Owen's voice—snarled back: Loyalty first. Duty first. You betray me, you betray the cause.
A wind swept across the rooftop, carrying the faintest trace of something wild. Not just the city's smoke and metal—but fur. Breath. Earth.
Her hand drifted to her knife.
Somewhere in the night, a wolf was hunting.
And Bryan, whether he liked it or not, was at the center of the hunt.
---
(Owen POV)
Far below, unseen, Owen watched from the shadows of a parked car. His gaze tracked Mayer, sharp as a hawk's.
"She's wavering," he muttered under his breath.
The thought didn't please him. But it didn't surprise him, either.
He turned his eyes to the skyline.
"Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, boy," he whispered into the night. "The moment you slip… I'll finish what your father started."
The city swallowed his words, but his vow lingered—dark, unshakable.