The wind through the streets of Rome carried the scent of dampness, scorched earth, and broken promises. Every step I took through the alleys made me feel as if someone was watching me, yet there were no human eyes that could perceive the way my skin bristled. Every shadow seemed like a whisper, and my heart beat to a rhythm that was not only fear, but a mixture of anticipation and something I could not name.
Lysander was by my side, but not too close. His silence was heavy, as if measuring my emotions before deciding what he would do next. Every muscle in his body seemed to contain a power that could shatter the world around us. I wanted to turn and look at his face, but fear and fascination paralyzed me at the same time.
"Don't say anything," he whispered. "Just follow my steps."
His voice was soft, even human, but the contained calm had an edge. I didn't dare respond; I only nodded, noticing how his hand brushed mine for a moment—enough to ignite a warmth that coursed through my veins and made me doubt everything.
The alley narrowed, and an absolute silence enveloped us, broken only by the echo of our footsteps and the distant murmur of the city. Then I sensed it: a metallic scent, mingled with leather and gunpowder. Someone was close—too close. My fingers tightened around the hilt of the small dagger I carried hidden, but Lysander was faster.
"Back," he said, and in the blink of an eye, he was in front of me, shielding me with his body. He didn't look at the enemy's eyes, didn't look at their weapons; he looked at the throat, the line of breath, the intention that could not be hidden. And the fear became physical, like a gust of air striking my chest.
The first attacker fell before he could react, dragged down by a force that defied logic. His claws barely glinted under the streetlights, and I felt my breath quicken as I witnessed Lysander's partial transformation: muscles expanding, a dark and vibrant energy seeping through his skin, and that amber gleam in his eyes that reminded me the impossible was real.
"Zara," he murmured, his voice vibrating in my chest. "Close your eyes if you want… or open them and accept that this is part of you now."
I couldn't. I didn't want to. My instinct screamed that watching was the same as understanding. And I understood. I understood that he was not merely a protector; he was a force capable of destruction or salvation—and he chose to save me.
More footsteps echoed behind us. Bullets tore through the air, striking the nearby walls and filling my lungs with dust and echo. Lysander turned, a flash of silver running across his fingers, and in a movement that defied physics, he disarmed two men with a single blow, their bodies collapsing like ragdolls.
"We have to move," he said, and this time his proximity allowed me to perceive his heat, his scent: wet wood, gunpowder, wolf, and something else—something intimate that made me turn my head and avoid his gaze.
"Where?" I asked, trying to regain my composure.
"To where they can underestimate us. Always in the shadows, Zara. Always in the shadows," he replied, his eyes shining with a mixture of challenge and concern. "Don't let me fight alone."
We advanced through a labyrinth of alleys, and every turn, every shadow we passed made my heart beat faster. It was not just fear; it was the feeling that something within me was awakening, something that had always been dormant, now pulsing in rhythm with his steps.
In a dark corner, we stopped. Lysander turned to me, and for the first time, his expression was not dominated by the need to control the battle. There was a human flicker, a conflict that made me understand that even Alphas could be afraid—afraid of losing what they had just begun to protect.
"Zara," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "This is not just for you. It's for what you are capable of becoming. Never forget that."
I didn't fully understand, but the gravity of his words sank into my bones. I felt an invisible thread between us, one that the violence and betrayal of my past could not break. And for the first time in a long while, I understood that fear could become power, and desperation, decision.
"So… what do we do now?" I asked, and for the first time, my voice did not tremble.
"We survive," he replied, his hand brushing mine again, firmer this time. "Then we plan our revenge."
And as the rain began to fall on the cobblestones, mixing the scent of metal with the wet city, I knew nothing would ever be the same. The hunt was not over. But neither was our bond.
And in that moment, between shadows and rain, I understood that the story of betrayal, rejection, and danger had only just begun… and that with Lysander by my side, every threat could become an opportunity.