Icar's POV
I wake to darkness—and ice freezing tight in my veins. I feel around what seems to be a concrete floor and sit up quickly when the familiar scent of blood and decay hits me.
I grit my teeth as the realization dawns.
A shadow shifts, and the form gives way to a gaunt man behind bars. Rather, I'm behind bars, and he's the guard. His eyes flash.
"You're awake," he states grumpily, as if they're not paying him enough for what he has to do.
I still feel the remains of the other guards that were here before him under my nails and teeth, and I lick my lips while watching his hand shake. He checks the deadbolt again.
I grunt and sit far back where the light can't touch me, my knees curled to my chin.
The hunger rumbles within me—wild and uncontrollable. It's painful, and I can't feel my wolf.
I smile. It still amazes me. Her cruelty.
I almost stop my desires from stirring. I rest where I am, biding my time and replenishing my energy. I'm alive. And soon Elsa Ivana will realize how much of a terrible mistake she has made.
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Elsa's POV
After dropping Icar off at the prison where he belongs, I head home and peel off my clothes. Dirty and wet from the rain, I'm soaked from head to toe in grime. I step into the shower, and then the water kisses my skin in a warm influx—I almost purr.
I'm toweling my hair while looking out my window at the full moon, now gradually obstructed by clouds. The effects should be wearing off by now. I think back to my altercation with Icar. I was triumphant, and I should be smirking and reveling in the fact that he's not as untouchable as he claims—but instead, there's this itch under my skin.
This uneasiness that tells me I've done something very wrong.
I push it to the back of my mind by filling my senses with the aroma of fried eggs I set in the pan. My apartment is small and modest—a perk of being one of the top werewolf hunters in this city.
I sip cold blood from a carton while looking at my reflection in the mirror. There's nothing soft about me. I'm a weapon.
Though my expression darkens when I notice the scar that dominates my face.
It's a beautiful scar. The most beautiful thing about you. Icar once said.
I squeeze my carton. Disgust fills me. I can't stand the fact that I can't stop thinking about him.
My wolf wants to tear out of me. Wants to be near him. I fight her down. I hate fighting her down. It's because of Icar. Why does someone like him have to exist in my world?
I've read his file. He's an alpha. He used to have a pack but was exiled and replaced. Now he's a lone wolf on the path of vengeance. Connected as I am, I still don't have his full story, and it eats me up.
I toss the empty carton in the bin, and his gaze flashes in my head. The way he looks at me—like he knows me more than I know myself. It unsettles and thrills me.
I guess that's why I spared him. Why I did it every time in the past when the chance to kill him and end the terror that plagued our world was right in my claws.
He was the only wolf who saw me.
I feel it again—the electrifying thrum of my own heartbeat. The ghost of his touch. His hard body against my curves. We'd look so perfect together. I dare to dream. The chemistry between us is too dangerous—it's explosive. And I hate how my skin prickles at the echo of his words, the way my heart lurches at his agony when he let out those words. Those threats.
It was unlike our past encounters. This time, he seemed hell-bent on provoking me to kill him. What got into him at that moment? There's no way someone like him would have given up on his revenge plan, and as twisted as it sounds, I don't want him to give up. I want him to keep sinning so I can keep catching him. I want to have him broken—but slowly, under my hands. He would make a decent bedroom slave.
These shouldn't be the thoughts of someone like me—someone meant to protect this city from types like him. But I can't help the thrill, and as much as I hate it, I can't help but admit that he's right.
I'm enabling him.
I should be sleeping, but the loneliness is too heavy to ignore. The action ended too fast. A bite of frustration wells up within me. The bastard didn't even resist that much. I want to go back to that prison cell and punch his face till he's unconscious again.
I put out the lights and force myself to lie down. My heart won't stop beating fast, and my body won't stop turning on the bed.
He'll get free. And I can only imagine what he'll do to get my attention. Who he'll kill next. The chaos he'll cause.
Sick—that's what my inspector general would label me if he read my thoughts. I shouldn't be treating this like a game. Lives are on the line.
If only they knew…
Before I tasted this power, life was boring. I was a simple human girl with nothing to look forward to. Nobody respected me. Nobody cared. I was the type that, if I fell sick, no one would give two fucks about my well-being.
Then came the accident that changed my life. I thanked the moon goddess for that accident. Werewolves had to rope me away from the human world so I could be here—so I could be part of Werewolf Island. So that I could be one of them. Since I wasn't affiliated with any packs, I chose to use my powers to enforce law and order in werewolf society.
Now here I am. Playing cat and mouse with a wanted criminal.