Amelia's POV

The second those words left his mouth, I made a sound I couldn’t control.

A soft, shaky whimper escaped me before I could stop it. My whole body tensed in embarrassment. 

I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, but it had.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Not just from fear—though that still had a grip on me—but from something else. 

Something I didn’t understand and didn’t want to feel. Shame. Confusion. A strange flicker of arousal that I hated myself for.

His eyes shifted.

Gone was the cold, dead stare I’d first seen. Now, they looked focused. Like I’d caught his attention in a way that didn’t make sense.

“Mmm… oh… yes,” I said, forcing the words out. I didn’t know what I was supposed to sound like. I didn’t know what kind of act I was performing. I just knew I had to keep going if I wanted to live.

The train jolted to a stop.

Before I could think, his hand pressed hard between my thighs. My whole body froze. Then his lips brushed against my ear.

“Louder,” he whispered.

I flinched.

But I did what he said.

“Yes—ahh—please…”

The sound of heavy boots pounded outside the compartment. The door handle rattled. My pulse raced.

Then he pushed his full weight against me. Warm and solid. I could feel every inch of his body. For a moment, I couldn’t even breathe.

And then something strange happened.

It felt like a jolt—like warmth spreading from my fingertips into him the second they brushed his side. That’s when I realized—I’d touched something wet. His wound. His breath hitched. His body shuddered. A low grunt slipped from his throat, like pain and relief had hit him at once.

Was he  healing?

Did I have such abilities? How–

The door swung open.

A young soldier stood in the doorway. He froze like someone had hit pause.

His eyes landed on us—me flat on my back, skirt rucked up just enough to imply the worst, him hovering over me like we’d been caught mid-sin.

The color drained from the soldier’s face—then came rushing back in full force. His ears went bright red. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came out.

He looked like he’d walked straight into a live wire.

I met his eyes, wide and glassy. My cheeks were burning. My body was still stiff beneath the stranger’s weight. 

I knew we weren't really doing anything but the shame and embarrassment that filled me could rival actual couples caught in the middle of sex. 

The soldier blinked, panicked. His gaze bounced from my face to the stranger’s hand still gripping my thigh. His lips moved—but nothing came out.

“There’s… uh—” His voice cracked. “There’s nothing here,” he mumbled, stepping back like he’d touched fire.

The door slammed shut, and he was gone.

Silence fell again.

But the man didn’t move off me.

He stayed exactly where he was, heavy and still. His hand was still on my thigh. I could feel his breath against my cheek. The knife wasn’t touching me anymore, but the memory of it hadn’t faded.

I should’ve fought back. Should’ve yelled. Hit him. Something.

But I was scared.

So I did the only thing left to do—I turned my head to the side, closed my eyes, and kept moaning.

When the train finally lurched back into motion, it felt like a reprieve from hell. His hand withdrew slowly, the blade disappearing somewhere inside his coat. He rose from above me with the same lethal elegance he’d used to pin me down, and I rolled away, fumbling to straighten my skirt and button my blouse.

He adjusted his clothing like nothing had happened. No urgency. No shame.

Then he looked at me.

“You did well,” he said, voice low and rough. “Not many could keep their heads. You’re… special.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t even look at him. I focused on fixing the last button with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking.

He lit a match, the flame flaring between us. I flinched at the sudden light. He leaned in, inspecting my face like I was some puzzle he hadn’t quite solved. Then his fingers found my jaw.

“Name.”

The demand was soft but unmistakable. I hesitated, then lied. “Emily.”

He studied me for a beat too long. I thought he might call my bluff, but instead, he smirked.

“Emily.” He tasted the word. “I owe you. You saved my life.”

Outside, a high whistle pierced the night air—two quick bursts. His eyes flicked to the window.

Without ceremony, he shrugged off his blood-streaked coat and tossed it out. It fluttered through the air like dead weight, vanishing into the night. 

I stared as it clicked—the blood on his clothes wasn’t his.

For a second, I foolishly wanted to ask him if he was truly okay but I ignored it. 

If earlier he looked like a cornered animal now he stood like an Alpha who knew back up had already arrived.

And maybe it had. His people were probably already here, watching.

He blew out the match, plunging us back into darkness, but the image of his face burned behind my eyelids—sharp jaw, unreadable eyes, blood-matted hair. He shifted slightly, closer again, and inhaled.

“You smell good,” he murmured. “Sweet. Like spring. It’s… distracting.”

I stiffened.

His voice dipped lower, more curious than aggressive now. “Which pack are you from?”

I stayed quiet. Saying too much could be a mistake. If he was connected to my father—even by accident—it could all come back to me. I couldn’t take that risk.

His gaze lingered on me, thoughtful. He probably took my silence for bashfulness.

He tipped his head, mouth quirking. “What is it—shy?” A beat. “Or scared?”

“N– No,” I said, though my pulse thudded hard enough to count.

“Then why won’t you tell me your pack?”

“I don’t have one,” I muttered. Technically, that wasn’t a lie—since I was running.

His gaze sharpened. “A rogue, then?”

I shook my head, and the movement must have drawn his attention to the bruises on my neck, the jagged scar along my forearm. I felt his eyes follow the path, heavy, calculating.

His body stilled, and the air between us thickened—something in his presence shifting, changing. The earlier softness slipped away, replaced by a sharp, predatory edge that made my pulse race.

“Who put those on you?”