Caleb's POV
The small white paper bag crinkled sharply in my grip.
I stood on the damp asphalt, staring at the empty rear cabin of my SUV. The heavy door hung ajar. The scent of her—that maddening, intoxicating blend of sweet milk, blood, and wild pine—was still burned into the velvet seats, but her physical presence was completely gone.
My incredibly expensive, custom-tailored dress shirt lay in ruined shreds on the floorboard, exactly where her desperately clutching fingers had torn it.
A dark, dangerous growl rumbled deep in my chest. My Lycan howled, thrashing against my ribs in furious protest. She ran. After spending the entire night curled helplessly on my lap, incinerating my self-control and driving me to the absolute edge of madness, that damn woman simply vanished into the morning fog.
*Elara.*
My knuckles turned bone-white as I crushed the headache medicine in my fist. I was going to find her. I was going to lock her in my penthouse and never let her out of my sight again.
"Alpha!"
The frantic, terrified shout snapped my attention down the alley. My second-in-command, Silas, was sprinting toward me like his life depended on it. His tactical boots splashed through the greasy puddles. His face was completely drained of color, pale as a corpse. In his trembling hands, he clutched a thick, black high-security dossier sealed with the Blackwood crest.
"What is it?" I demanded, my voice harsh and impatient. I didn't care about syndicate business right now. I just wanted to track down the woman who had just fled my car.
"The... the DNA results from the cubs' hair, sir," Silas gasped, struggling to pull air into his burning lungs. He shoved the dossier toward me like it was a live grenade. "And the tech division... they finally completely restored the corrupted hotel security footage from six years ago. The night your father was poisoned. The night you..."
He swallowed hard, shivering visibly under my dark, suffocating aura. "Alpha, you need to see this."
I snatched the dossier from his hands. I ripped the wax seal apart, tearing the envelope half open in my violent haste.
I pulled out the first document.
It was a genetic sequencing report. Red ink glared on the crisp white paper, stamping the undeniable truth across my vision.
*Paternal Match: 99.99%. Positive.*
Those three insanely gifted, demonic little brats who hacked my entire multi-billion-dollar network and threatened me with absolute firepower... they were mine. My blood. My heirs.
My heart slammed against my ribs so violently it bruised the bone. A dizzying wave of pure, possessive euphoria crashed through me. I had children. Lycan heirs.
But it was the second piece of paper that made the world completely stop spinning.
It was a high-resolution, digitally restored photograph from the hotel corridor six years ago. A woman, wearing a torn silver dress, stumbling out of my suite, her face clearly illuminated by the emergency lights.
The air vanished from my lungs.
My golden eyes locked onto the photograph, dilating until they were almost entirely pitch black.
The pale, delicate skin. The cold, breathtakingly beautiful features. The stubborn curve of her jaw.
*Elara.*
The frail, terrified single mother operating a rundown grocery store in the slums. The woman I had been violently protective of. The woman who had just spent the entire night agonizingly close to my throat, smelling of my very own Lycan scent.
She was the woman from six years ago. She was the mother of my children.
And simultaneously... she possessed the exact same terrifying aura, the exact same scent of cold blood I had sensed in Nightshade just days ago.
All the impossible, fragmented pieces slammed together in my brain in one explosive, world-shattering collision. Why the cubs were so fiercely protective of her. Why her scent drove my Lycan into an absolute frenzy. Why she always managed to survive the worst situations.
For six long, agonizing years, I had turned the world upside down hunting for her. I had sworn to either kill her or conquer her.
And she had been right here. Sleeping on my chest.
"Assemble the Wraith Squad," I whispered. My voice didn't sound like a man's anymore. It was the low, apocalyptic rumble of a prehistoric beast waking up from a six-year slumber.
Silas shuddered, taking a step back. "Sir?"
"Lock down the entire slum district. Bring the armored division," I ordered, my fangs extending past my lips. My blood was boiling, incinerating every ounce of rationality I possessed. "Nobody leaves. Bring me my Queen."
Fifteen minutes later, the earth shook.
A convoy of twenty heavily armored Blackwood tactical vehicles violently tore through the narrow, filthy streets of the slum district. Sirens screamed. Civilians scattered in absolute terror as my elite soldiers rapidly established a lethal, airtight perimeter around the rundown grocery store.
I didn't wait for the vehicle to stop completely. I kicked the armored door open and stalked toward the storefront, my imposing frame vibrating with unadulterated anticipation.
*You're mine, Elara. There's no hiding anymore.*
I gripped the handle of the wooden door. I didn't push it; I shattered it. The wood splintered violently under my raw strength as I stepped into the shop.
"Elara!" I roared, the command carrying enough Alpha dominance to shatter glass.
Silence answered me.
My devastatingly sharp Lycan senses swept the room. The shelves were half-empty. The cash register was thrown open.
I stormed toward the back room, ripping the curtain down. I kicked open the hidden door leading to the basement.
Empty.
The beds were stripped bare. The advanced computer servers were completely fried, their hard drives physically melted into slag.
But worse than the visual emptiness was the smell.
Industrial bleach and heavy antibacterial chemicals burned my nostrils. They hadn't just packed their bags; they had systematically, professionally eradicated every single trace of their genetic footprint from this entire building. It was the flawless, ghost-like extraction technique of a top-tier assassin.
They were gone. My mate. My children. Gone.
The only scent that remained faintly in the air was the bitter, undeniable tang of burnt rubber and gunpowder.
She knew I would find out. And she ran from me. Again.
My hands curled into fists, the sharp tips of my Lycan claws tearing straight through my own palms. Thick drops of dark blood hit the concrete floor.
A devastating, molten fury erupted entirely from the deepest, blackest pit of my soul. I threw my head back, and a deafening, terrifying Lycan howl tore from my throat—a roar of absolute rage, heartbreak, and possessive madness that violently shook the foundations of the entire city.
*Run all you want, Elara,* my monster snarled through the deafening echo. *I am going to hunt you down to the ends of the earth.*