Metals clanged. The voices of men roaring and children crying rent the air. My heart pounded hard against my chest, my breath twisted.

I was dazed, too stunned to move. The man on the floor had managed to tie himself up without anyone noticing.

"Psst!" he called. "Come lay with me."

My eyes darted down. I paused. "Lay with you why?" My voice was quizzical.

"The blood will act as camouflage for us till the war ends," he added weakly. The pool of blood around him showed he had lost a lot of blood.

A bullet hit the ladder, and the noise drew closer. I pushed the ladder to the floor and laid beside him, rubbing all of his blood on my body.

Footsteps approached us. I froze, my pulse echoing in my ears.

"All clear, they're dead," a voice called out, his footsteps receding.

The man beside me touched my bare arm. I shifted slightly. His hands were stone cold.

I reached out and felt for his pulse. A small gasp escaped from my lips. "Your pulse is fading," I whispered.

I heard the invader's feet shift back towards us, his gun cocked. "Y'all about to die a second death."

I stiffened.

"Pah! Pah!" Gunshots rent the air. My breath hitched.

"Stand up. We have to leave now." Alpha Damian tapped my shoulder, pulling me back to reality.

I felt around my body for bullets. Alpha Damian grabbed my hand. "They might return, Celine. Move," he barked.

I stared down at the half-dead man on the floor. "Not without him," my voice was calm but firm.

He glared at me.

Then turned around and picked the man up, his body resting on the Alpha's back.

"Keep up," he barked, his legs moving fast, joining other members of his pack jumping into different trucks.

The trucks pushed onto the road with so much speed that the mirage from the surrounding cars and trees had a tough time trailing.

The driver slowed down as police vans sped past us, probably going to the fight scene.

He sped up again, driving into the night. My eyes darted around to see if everyone was as scared as I was: mothers wrapped their blood-stained hands around their children while the children clutched tightly against their clothes, faces buried in their mothers' laps. Fathers looked at their families with eyes laced with rage and concern.

Wounded soldiers with claw marks shrieked in pain, but beneath the pain I could feel anger.

The car drove off the road into a narrow path, and that was when the engine revved down.

"Does anyone here know how to treat the wounded? We need more hands."

My hands hovered over my lap. I shut my eyes as my mind wandered:

If I help them, will I remain trapped here or will it be my release criterion?

"I can help out," the words bursting out of my chest.

Everyone turned their gazes towards me. "I picked up a few first aid techniques from summer camps," my speech slurred.

Alpha Damian laid the man on his back on the stretcher, and he was rushed off by the medics.

"Come with me," his voice calm but firm. His eyes darkened as he pulled me out of the truck.

Next, we were on a bike. He passed me a helmet and waited till I wore it.

Then he kicked the engine into motion. We drove farther from the spot where the truck was parked until the bike stopped at the gate of a little castle-like building.

We both got down, and he pushed the motorcycle into the now open gate. I shifted my gaze to his hands – it was a remote for the gate.

He walked; I trailed. My mind fogged with clustered thoughts.

"Wait here," his hands gestured to one of the couches.

"I should be out there treating people, not here waiting around," I said as soon as his footsteps reechoed on the staircase he had just climbed, my voice laced with disgust.

He walked past me, his body pushing slightly against mine. A mint scent mixed with the metallic smell of blood wafted into my nostrils.

A string stuck in my head, the scent pricked something that I couldn't explain, more like a déjà vu situation.

"I'm wounded too." He placed the first aid box on the table and sat down, pulling off his shirt.

I turned, my face flushed. His abs shimmered; the sweat dripping on his body followed the lines on his broad chest.

Another chord struck, like the image of the muscles were already in my head even before I saw them.

"When you're done staring, can you treat me?" he added calmly.

My eyes shifted to his lower rib cage, and I gasped. The cut was so deep.

I rushed over to him and opened up the first aid box.

He winced slightly as I dressed the wound. "Sorry," I said, but the weight of my voice carried more than just empathy.

"Ask your questions," he rolled his eyes slightly, covering back the wound I had just finished dressing.

I flinched. How did he know?

"What are you?" I asked regardless, staring into his eyes.

He hesitated. His eyes searched mine for something I couldn't explain. “I'm a Delta werewolf, Alpha of the Red Moon Pack..." Glaring, he answered.

I wanted to stop, I could have stopped, but I just couldn't help myself. “The other guys?” the question burst from my chest.

He paused.

"Rogues."

The cricket noise outside danced into the room. His hard gaze at the fireplace.

The same expression on his face at the party surfaced. "You really don't remember me?"

I shook my head. “But I do remember that I don't belong here. Take me home by dawn,” I watched as he lasered his focus from the fireplace to my lips.

His fingers trembled as he brushed my cheek – like touching me pained him.

Silence sizzled between us once again.

"How are the other werewolves and you aren't one?" My voice was calmer now, but my eyes narrowed.

"I was born to a Delta father and a witch mother. My entire power, they say, is tied to the destiny of my Fated Mate (Luna), and she has to be a werewolf."