Chapter 3

　　Adrian's POV

　　The girl bled non stop

　　Even with the rogues gone, their scent clung to the trees, foul and unpleasant, but her blood drowned it out… rich, sharp, spilling over the earth in a rhythm my kind could never ignore.

　　I stood above her, silent, the night folding itself around me. She was barely conscious, her breaths shallow, her lips trembling against the earth.

　　Torn silk clung to her frame, ruined by dirt and claw marks. Once, a white ceremonial dress. Now it was more red than anything.

　　A wolf pup left for dead.

　　Pathetic.

　　Yet, my eyes lingered.

　　Not on the blood… though it called out to me, tempting, wild… but on the way her scent cut through the night. It scraped at instincts I had buried long ago.

　　Her lashes fluttered, her gaze half-lost in darkness. She tried to speak, but the sound broke in her throat. Then she crumpled fully into the dirt, darkness dragging her under.

　　I should have left her.

　　She wasn't mine. She wasn't my concern. Wolves and their petty ceremonies meant nothing to the Crimson Court. Their squabbles, their rejection games, their primitive laws… it was all beneath us.

　　And yet, I crouched.

　　Her pulse flickered against her throat, fragile but stubborn. Her wolf stirred inside her, I could feel it, faint as dying embers. But it was there.

　　She should have been dead already.

　　"Why are you still breathing, little wolf?" I murmured, though she couldn't hear me.

　　The rogues had torn through enough prey in these woods that I knew their work. They didn't leave survivors. And yet, they had retreated the instant I appeared. Not for me… fear was expected, but for her? They had looked at her differently.

　　Like they knew something.

　　Interesting.

　　I gathered her into my arms. She was cold, her blood seeping against my coat, but she didn't stir.

　　Her head lolled against my shoulder, strands of dark hair matted with sweat and crimson.

　　Her scent hit me harder now.

　　I moved through the forest, silent, the trees bending away from me as though they knew better than to stand in my path.

　　The wolves territory ended quickly, marked by crude stone borders and stale pack scent. Beyond it, the land belonged to no one but the shadows.

　　And the shadows belonged to me.

　　The Crimson Court rose in the distance, its spires black against the pale stretch of moon. Built of obsidian, it crowned the jagged cliffs, unreachable by mortal hands. Only wings, or determination could breach its walls.

　　I reached the gates within minutes, the guards stiffening as they caught my scent. Their eyes widened when they saw what I carried.

　　A wolf.

　　"My lord…" one began cautiously, his fangs flashing as he struggled to mask his distaste. "You bring prey… "

　　"She is not prey," I cut in, my voice even, though it silenced him instantly. "Open the gates."

　　They obeyed, though not without a flicker of unease. Word would spread before I even crossed the threshold. Let them whisper.

　　Inside, vampires drifted through the grand halls, their movements smooth, elegant, predatory. Music drifted faintly from a lower chamber, mingling with laughter.

　　Chandeliers of blood-crystal lit the corridors, spilling red light over polished stone.

　　And everywhere, eyes followed me.

　　I carried her through the main hall, her weight light but not insignificant. The conversations stilled, whispers slithering in their wake.

　　"A wolf?"

　　"Has he lost his mind?"

　　"She bleeds, and he resists?"

　　Their voices didn't matter. Their hunger didn't matter. I kept walking, my expression unshaken, my steps steady.

　　She stirred faintly in my arms, her lips parting. A broken sound slipped out. Was it pain, or memory? I couldn't tell.

　　My jaw clenched. I tightened my hold and ascended the spiral staircase.

　　At the top waited Lysandra. His father's voice.

　　She leaned against the marble archway, her gown flowing around her like blood poured fresh. Golden hair framed her sharp face, her lips curved in a knowing smile.

　　"Adrian," she purred, her eyes sliding to the girl in my arms. "What… is this?"

　　"A wolf," I said simply.

　　"I can see that." Her gaze lingered on the torn ceremonial dress, the blood streaking her skin. Hunger flickered in her eyes before she masked it with amusement. "Our prince bringing home strays? This is new."

　　"She is injured."

　　"And that is our problem… why?"

　　I brushed past her without answering. She fell into step behind me, her heels tapping against the stone.

　　"Your Father will not like this," she said softly. "The King has little patience for wolves. You know that."

　　"I do not require his patience," I replied.

　　Her laughter was quiet, but it followed me down the corridor.

　　I entered my chambers and laid the girl on the dark sheets. She looked smaller there, pale against the silk. Her blood stained the fabric quickly, but I ignored it.

　　Lysandra leaned against the doorframe, watching. "What will you do with her?"

　　I studied the girl. Her lashes trembled, though she didn't wake. Her wolf stirred faintly inside, restless, and weak. Her body fought to heal, but slowly.

　　"She survives," I said at last.

　　"You mean… you will keep her?" Lysandra's brows arched, her smile sharp. "Oh, Adrian. This will be fun."

　　"Leave."

　　She tilted her head, amused, but obeyed. The door clicked shut behind her.

　　I sat beside the bed.

　　Her scent lingered in the air, coiling tighter around me. It unsettled me. Wolves were beneath us… reckless, loud, ruled by primal bonds. And yet this one, she pulled at something I couldn't name.

　　I reached for the torn fabric at her side, pulling it back to examine the wounds. Deep, ragged claw marks scored her skin. The rogues had torn into her viciously. She should have been dead three times over. And yet her heart beat stubbornly, refusing to yield.

　　My fangs pressed against my lip. The blood was right there. I could taste it on the air.

　　But I didn't touch it.

　　Instead, I closed my eyes. The wolves were unaware of what had slipped from their grasp. They would not come for her. They had cast her out. She was nothing to them.

　　But to me?

　　I opened my eyes again. She stirred faintly, her lips moving. A whisper, broken but clear enough.

　　"…please…"

　　Not to me. To someone else. Whoever she had begged in the woods, whoever had failed her. The sound lingered, fragile and sharp, before slipping back into silence.

　　I leaned back, my gaze never leaving her.

　　"Pathetic little wolf," I murmured again, though softer this time. "What are you?"

　　Her breathing evened out, drifting deeper into unconsciousness.

　　And I sat in the glow of the chamber, watching her, wondering why I had saved her.