### Chapter Fifteen – Teeth Beneath the Skin ###
(Bryan POV)
The silence pressed down like a weight.
Bryan sat with his back against the wall, bandaged side pounding in dull, persistent waves. Dust clung to the air, lit by thin streaks of morning sun slipping through boarded cracks.
Across the room, Mayer was crouched over a metal basin, rinsing bloodstained cloth with the last of the water she'd scavenged. Her movements were efficient, calm, as if patching up injured fugitives was an everyday routine.
Bryan's jaw clenched.
He hated the way she moved with such control, hated the ease in her face—like she hadn't just seen him almost tear out of his own skin last night. Like she hadn't dragged him, unconscious, into this rotten place and stitched him up like some… pet.
She was a hunter. His enemy. His mother's kind of murderer.
So why the hell had she saved him?
He wanted to ask. No, he wanted to demand answers. But the words jammed in his throat, blocked by something far uglier than anger: gratitude.
And that, he decided, was unbearable.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since before the wolves. He ignored it, forcing his attention back to her.
"You're too quiet," Mayer said suddenly, not turning her head. "That usually means trouble."
Bryan stiffened. "What do you care?"
"Because if you collapse again, I'll be the one dragging you around," she replied, squeezing out the cloth and setting it aside. She finally looked at him, her green eyes sharp but unreadable. "And you're heavier than you look."
He barked out a laugh—dry, bitter. "Glad I can be such a burden. Guess I'll pay you back in jokes since I don't have cash."
Her lips twitched like she almost smiled, but the expression vanished before it formed.
Bryan leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling through his teeth. "So what now? Tie me up? March me to Owen with a bow on my head?"
Her gaze hardened. "If that's what I wanted, you wouldn't have woken up here."
The words stung more than he expected.
He looked away, fingers flexing against his thigh. His body still felt… wrong. His senses were too sharp, his heartbeat too loud. Every time he blinked, he saw flashes of silver in the corner of his vision. And he remembered—the moment before blacking out—how close he had been to losing control, to becoming something not human.
Something his mother would've hated.
"Why did you stop me?" he asked quietly, the question escaping before he could swallow it back.
Mayer hesitated. Just long enough for him to notice.
"Because once you cross that line, you don't come back," she said, her voice low, almost reluctant.
Bryan studied her, searching her face for deceit. But all he saw was the flicker of something she quickly buried.
He wanted to press her, but the ache in his ribs pulled him back into silence.
Minutes dragged. The only sound was the drip-drip of water from the leaky ceiling.
Finally, he pushed himself upright, gritting against the pain. "I'm leaving."
Mayer rose instantly, blocking the doorway with casual precision. "You won't make it a block before you collapse. Your stitches will tear. You'll bleed out."
"Better that than sitting here like a dog waiting for slaughter," Bryan snapped.
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't move.
"Is that what you think I am? A butcher?" she asked, her tone cutting.
"Aren't you?" His voice cracked. "You're one of them."
Mayer didn't flinch, didn't strike back with the sharpness he expected. Instead, she let the silence speak. It unnerved him more than any threat.
Bryan swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He didn't trust her. He couldn't. But her steady gaze held no malice—only something stranger. Something dangerous.
Something almost human.
Before he could find words, a sound broke through the room.
Crunch.
Boots on gravel outside the apartment.
Mayer's head snapped toward the boarded window. Bryan's pulse spiked, instincts screaming. He could smell them—iron, leather, the faint musk of gun oil. Hunters.
Mayer moved fast, pressing a finger to her lips as she drew her blade.
Bryan's breath caught. He didn't know if she meant to protect him… or deliver him.
And in that moment, he realized the truth: either way, he was trapped.