The night cracked open with a scream.
Not hers.
His.
It tore from his throat as the mark on her wrist flared, a violent crimson glow searing through the dark forest like a wound ripped into the world itself. He staggered back, clutching his chest, breath ragged as if something inside him had just been yanked awake after years of forced sleep.
Blood memory.
That was the only way he could explain it.
The air grew thick, heavy with the metallic scent of violence yet to come. The shadows twisted unnaturally, bending toward her, drawn to the mark like worshippers to an altar. She gasped, knees buckling as the pain returned—sharp, cruel, burning through bone and nerve.
"Don't fall," he snapped, catching her before she hit the ground.
His hands trembled where they touched her. Not from fear.
From rage.
"She's close," he muttered.
Her vision blurred. "Who?"
His jaw tightened. "The reason your blood screams."
The forest answered before he could explain further.
A blade whistled through the air.
He turned just in time, steel meeting steel in a burst of sparks. The impact sent a shockwave through his arm, rattling his bones. His attacker stepped into the moonlight—a woman cloaked in black leather, eyes glowing faintly red.
Mark's hound.
"She's beautiful," the woman purred, eyes raking over her like prey. "I understand now why he wants her alive."
"Touch her," he growled, "and you die."
The woman laughed.
Then she attacked.
The fight exploded into motion—fast, brutal, unforgiving. He moved like a storm unleashed, every strike precise, lethal. Blood sprayed the forest floor as blades clashed, flesh tore, and pain screamed.
But she was strong.
Too strong.
The woman slammed him into a tree, bark shattering on impact. He coughed, blood dripping from his mouth. She advanced, blade raised—
And stopped.
Because the girl screamed.
Not in fear.
In fury.
The mark blazed violently, light tearing through the forest as shadows surged, wrapping around the attacker's limbs like living chains. The woman shrieked, clawing at the darkness as it crushed her bones with sickening cracks.
"What are you?" the woman whispered in terror.
He didn't answer.
He ended it.
When the body hit the ground, the forest went silent.
He turned to her slowly.
She was shaking. Blood—not hers—spattered her skin, her clothes. Her eyes met his, wide and frightened, yet burning with something new.
Power.
"What's happening to me?" she asked.
He stepped closer, voice low, raw.
"You're waking up."