Alessia Stocklin and Ezra Withers are polar opposites, but they can certainly agree on one thing: their mutual hate for each other.
He's an Alpha deadset on killing every rogue he comes across, while she's a vigilante - known as Nightshade - intent...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"You should be dead," Byron's grating voice startled me awake.
My eyes flew open, and I winced instantly. There was an unrelenting pounding in the back of my skull. My hand sprung for the back of my head, but I was unable to move my hands even an inch. I had been tied up — both my hands and feet — with twine that seared into my flesh. Gritting my teeth, my head rolled forward, the pain overwhelming.
I spit in Byron's general direction. My hair fell into my line of vision, so I could not see his exact location in the room. I could just smell his rancid scent radiating from the center of whatever room we were in. With my head still downcast, my spit did not make it very far, landing next to my feet with bright red flakes laced inside.
Blood.
Grunting to myself, I tried to kick my feet free of the twine wrapped around my ankles. The more I struggled, the more the material dug into my skin. Huffing, my head fell forward, and I closed my eyes.
Trying to reach anyone through the mind link, I struggled to form a connection. Right as I felt I was close to forming a link, Byron stalked forward and pulled my head up by pulling my hair. I hissed, sneering at him.
Byron looked me over. "I'd have to assume the reason your brother's blood has taken so long to turn you Feral was because you're related. Just look at you — pathetic."
"Where's Apollo?" I struggled to ask, Byron's hand still gripping my hair. He pulled harder and let out a low laugh.
"With your friends, I assume," he did not seem threatened. "I've got everything out of Apollo that I need. His whereabouts mean nothing to me anymore. You, on the other hand, still have a purpose to me."
"What?"
His head shifted from side to side. "I can't blame you for your surprise, but believe it or not, I need you. Well, I kind of need you. I need you dead."
Managing to scoot myself back by kicking my legs against the wooden floor, I rasped, "Get away from me."
"Struggle all you want, Alessia. It won't matter," his hand fell from my hair as he stepped back with a smile.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my breathing labored.
Just as I thought I had escaped a death sentence, I walked into a new one. I wouldn't let him kill me, I told myself. I can't let him kill me.
Byron peered down at the golden watch on his wrist before looking back at me. He turned around and pulled up a chair from the table behind him. As he scraped the chair against the aged floors, I realized where we were.
The cabin by the lake.
The cabin had not been used for years. The lack of care was evident in every corner of the small cabin. Large and elongated spider webs hung from the ceilings while a thick layer of dirt and dust covered every available surface. Much of the wooden furniture — a table and chair — had been cracked and broken. The tiny kitchen cabinets were all open and empty. Black curtains were draped over all the windows.
