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The bodies are still warm when he tells me to leave.
"Get out." Cain's voice is rough, like he's been swallowing gravel. He's sitting against the shaft wall now, one hand pressed to his ribs. Blood's soaking through his shirt—his own or the hunters', I can't tell. "Before I change my mind."
I don't move. Can't move. My legs are shaking so hard I might fall if I try to stand. "They're still out there."
"Not my problem."
"You just killed two people for me."
"I killed two people who were in my territory." He tilts his head back against the rock. His eyes are closed now but I can see the tension in his jaw. "You were just here. Wrong place, wrong time."
Wrong place. Right. Like I chose to watch someone get their throat cut in an alley. Like I chose to run into a mine full of wolves.
I look at the bodies. The woman's neck is bent at an angle that makes my stomach flip. The man's face is—I look away.
"How many more are out there?" I ask.
Cain doesn't answer right away. His breathing is too controlled, like he's counting each inhale. Finally: "How many did you see?"
"Four. Maybe five."
"Then there's two left. Maybe three." He opens his eyes. They're still that pale gray but there's something else underneath now. A flicker of gold. "They'll wait until dawn. Regroup. Then they'll come back with more."
"So I'm dead."
"Probably."
The word just hangs there. Probably. Like he's talking about the weather.
I should be scared. I am scared. But there's something else now, something hot and sharp pushing up through the fear. Anger. I've been running for three days. I watched a man die. I watched my apartment burn. I've been cold and hungry and so tired I can barely think, and this bastard just killed two people in front of me and now he's telling me to walk back out into the dark so the others can finish the job.
"No," I say.
His eyes snap to me. "What?"
"I said no." I push myself up. My hands are still shaking but I ball them into fists so he can't see. "You're a wolf. You're an alpha, right? That's what Rex called you."
Something crosses his face. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. "You heard that."
"I heard a lot of things." I take a step closer. He tenses but doesn't move. "Rex said you used to run this territory. He said you killed your own pack."
"And you're still standing here talking to me." His voice drops lower. Dangerous. "You're either stupid or suicidal."
"I'm desperate." I crouch down so we're eye level. This close I can see the scars on his neck, pale lines running from his jaw to his collarbone. Claw marks. "And you're the only thing between me and them."
"I'm not a thing. I'm a problem." He leans forward. I can smell blood and sweat and something else, something wild. "You know what happens tomorrow night?"
"Full moon."
"Full moon," he repeats. "And I don't have a pack anymore. No anchor. No bond. Nothing to keep the beast down." His eyes flash gold again, just for a second. "I'll rip you apart, Ivy. I won't even remember doing it."
He knows my name. I didn't tell him my name.
"How—"
"Your scent." He cuts me off. "I can smell everything about you. Your fear. Your blood type. The cheap motel soap you used two days ago." He tilts his head. "And something else. Something old."
I go cold. "What do you mean, old?"
But he's already pulling back, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. You're leaving."
"I can't."
"Then you'll die."
"I'll die out there too!" My voice cracks. I hate how desperate I sound but I can't stop it. "Please. Just—just get me across the border. That's all I need. One week. Maybe two."
"Two weeks." He laughs, sharp and bitter. "You think I can control this for two weeks?"
"You controlled it tonight."
"Tonight I had a target." His hand flexes against his ribs. "Something to focus on. Tomorrow night I won't. Tomorrow night it'll just be you and me and the moon, and when I wake up you'll be in pieces."
The shaft is quiet except for our breathing. Somewhere deeper in the mine I can hear water dripping. Slow. Steady.
I think about the apartment. The smell of smoke. The way the flames looked through the window as I climbed down the fire escape.
I think about the alley. The man on his knees. The knife.
I think about my mother. The hospital. The things she whispered before she died, things I didn't understand.
*You're not like other girls, Ivy. When the time comes, you'll know.*
I didn't know. I still don't know. But I know I'm not dying in this mine.
"A blood pact," I say.
Cain goes still. "What?"
"A blood pact. That's a real thing, right? For wolves?" I saw it in a book once, some trashy paranormal romance my roommate left behind. I didn't think it was real but the way Cain's looking at me now—
"Where did you hear about that?" His voice is careful. Too careful.
"Does it matter?" I pull the knife from my pocket. The one I took from the dead woman. Cain's eyes track the movement but he doesn't stop me. "Thirty days. You get me across the border, I disappear. You never see me again."
"Thirty days," he repeats slowly. "Through a full moon."
"Through a full moon."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"I know exactly what I'm asking." I press the blade to my palm. It's sharp. Sharper than I expected. "I'm asking you to not let me die. That's it. That's the deal."
Cain watches me. His jaw works like he's chewing on words he won't say. Finally: "A blood pact binds both ways. You break it, you die. I break it, I die. No exceptions. No loopholes."
"Fine."
"And it doesn't stop the beast. If I lose control, the pact won't save you."
"Then don't lose control." I drag the knife across my palm. Pain hits sharp and immediate. Blood wells up fast, dripping between my fingers. I hold my hand out. "Thirty days. Yes or no."
He stares at my palm. At the blood. His nostrils flare.
"You're insane," he says softly.
"Probably." I keep my hand steady even though my whole arm is shaking. "But I'm also about to bleed all over your floor, so decide."
For a long moment I think he's going to say no. Just let me bleed out and walk away. But then he moves, fast, grabbing the knife from my other hand. He cuts his own palm without hesitation, a quick clean slice, and presses it to mine before I can react.
The blood is hot. His hand is rough, callused. He squeezes once, hard enough to make me gasp.
"Thirty days," he says. His voice is different now. Lower. Almost a growl. "From tonight to the next dark moon. I get you across the border. You leave. No contact. No coming back."
"Deal."
"Say it properly." His grip tightens. "Blood to blood. Word to word."
I don't know the proper words. I just know I need this to work. "Blood to blood," I repeat. "Word to word. Thirty days."
Something shifts. I feel it in my chest, a sharp tug like a hook catching. Cain feels it too—his eyes widen and then slam shut. Gold bleeds through when he opens them again, bright and burning.
"Shit," he breathes.
Our blood drips onto the dirt between us. One drop. Two. Three.
Then I hear it.
A growl. Low and wet. Coming from somewhere outside the shaft.
Cain's head snaps toward the entrance. His hand is still locked around mine but his whole body has gone rigid. "They're early."
"I thought you said dawn—"
"I said they'd regroup at dawn. I didn't say they'd wait." He pulls his hand back. Blood smears across his palm, already starting to clot. "How many bullets you got left?"
I check the dead woman's gun. "Five."
"Make them count." He's on his feet now, moving toward the entrance. The growl comes again, closer this time. Definitely not human. "Stay behind me. Don't run. And whatever you do—"
The growl turns into a snarl.
Cain's eyes flare pure gold.
"—don't scream."
Something crashes into the entrance.