### Chapter Sixteen – Blood at the Door ###
The footsteps outside grew heavier. Boots scuffed against the gravel, marching closer. Voices murmured, low, professional, the rhythm of men who'd hunted a thousand times before.
Bryan's skin prickled, his heartbeat drumming too loud.
He pressed his back harder against the wall, every muscle screaming to run, to fight, to do something. His mind spun with the certainty that this was it—the hunters had tracked him, and Mayer… Mayer had led them here.
He turned his gaze toward her.
She was already at the door, her body in great tension, every movement was precise. Sword in her hand, her posture spoke of readiness, not betrayal. She caught his stare and hissed under her breath:
"Stay down. Don't move."
Bryan's jaw tightened. He wanted to laugh in her face—how easy it sounded, stay down like some helpless child while hunters stormed in to carve him apart. But his ribs ached, his side throbbed, and deep inside, something primal warned him: disobey and die.
The first slam buggled the door.
"Search it!" a voice barked outside. "No one stays behind."
Bryan's chest heaved. Sweat slicked his palms.
He thought of his mother's scream, her bloodied hands clutching him, pushing him into the shadows of that night long ago. He thought of Bruno—dead, gone—because of wolves. Because of hunters. Because of Amark.
And he thought of Mayer, standing in front of the door, her blade angled down, shoulders squared like she'd rather bleed than step aside.
The lock snapped.
The door banged inward, and two hunters poured into the room. Their rifles gleamed, barrels already lifting toward Mayer.
Bryan flinched, his breath catching.
"Drop it," one of them ordered, his voice flat. "You know the rules, Mayer Christabel. You don't harbor targets."
Her name burned in Bryan's ears—Mayer Christabel. So they knew her. They trusted her. She was one of them.
The air tightened around him, suffocating. This was the betrayal he'd been waiting for.
But then she moved.
Her blade arced fast, slamming the first hunter's rifle upward as it fired, the shot burying into the ceiling with a thunderous crack. Sparks showered. The second hunter swung his gun toward her, but Mayer twisted, catching him in the gut with her elbow, forcing him back.
Bryan froze.
She wasn't handing him over. She was fighting them.
The clash was violent, metal scraping against metal as she deflected a knife strike. But there were two of them, stronger, trained, and for a flicker of a moment she stumbled.
Her eyes flicked toward Bryan—sharp, commanding.
"Move!" she barked.
Something inside him snapped.
He moved forward, ignoring the scream of his ribs. His hand closed on the leg of the overturned chair beside him, and he swung it with every ounce of strength he had.
The chair smashed across the second hunter's back, wood scattered on impact. The man grunted, staggering. Bryan didn't stop—he swung again, his teeth bared, his muscles burning with unnatural force.
The hunter collapsed, rifle clattering across the floor.
Bryan stood over him, chest heaving, the broken chair still in his hand. His eyes widened at what he'd done. At the blood pooling under the man's head, spreading slow across the cracked tiles.
He'd killed him.
A sound like a snarl escaped Bryan's throat—half shock, half something deeper, rawer. He dropped the chair, his hands trembling.
The first hunter had Mayer pinned against the wall now, knife pressed at her throat.
Before Bryan could think, he moved. Faster than his pain should've allowed, faster than any human should've been. His fingers locked around the man's wrist, squeezing until the knife dropped to the floor.
The hunter gasped, eyes wide at Bryan's strength. Bryan's lip curled, his vision blurring at the edges, a silver glow flickering in his eyes.
"Don't." Mayer's voice cut sharp behind him.
But Bryan already twisted, pushing the man's head against the wall with brutal force. Bone cracked. The hunter crumpled, lifeless.
Silence crashed down, deafening.
Bryan's chest heaved. His hands dripped with blood. The room stank of gunpowder and iron.
He turned, and Mayer was staring at him—not with hatred, not even with fear, but with something far more dangerous.
Recognition.
As if she'd just seen what he really was.
Bryan staggered back, horror clawing at his chest. His breath came ragged, every muscle trembling.
"I… I didn't…" He couldn't finish the words.
Mayer lowered her blade slowly, her eyes never leaving his.
"You did," she said softly.
And outside, more footsteps approached. Many more.