Chapter 5 FIVE

However, my swiftness affords me a distinct advantage in this precarious pursuit. The task of tracking me down will not be as straightforward as hunting down a Night Weaver who has languished in captivity for an extended period.

Nevertheless, I cannot escape the haunting image of Vermon, the very same individual who callously extinguished the life of our imprisoned Night Weaver. The perverse delight that gleamed in his eyes, the crimson stain adorning his lips and teeth-will he derive the same sadistic pleasure when he mercilessly tears my throat asunder? Will even a fleeting moment of remorse touch his conscience? Alas, the probability of such remorse seems slim.

Vermon genuinely believes in the validity of his accusations, firmly convinced of my identity as a Night Weaver. Were our roles reversed, were I to truly believe him to be a member of that malevolent sect, I would relentlessly pursue him, eliminating him without a trace of regret. It would matter not that he is Vermon, the epitome of desirability within our pack, the one with whom I have long yearned to form a mating bond. Such a revelation would irrevocably alter the course of our relationship, reshaping his perception of me.

The consequences of being captured are bleak-a fate sealed by death at the hands of my own pack. Fueled by every ounce of strength coursing through my veins, I propel myself forward, my primal wolf instincts engaged in a fierce battle against the allure of returning to Vermon, even in the face of imminent danger. The lingering desire for his touch vexes me, an infuriating consequence of the mate bond that binds us.

Stretching before me is a distance of five miles, leading me back to the outskirts of what was once a bustling city, now reduced to a desolate heap of ruins. Despite its dilapidated state, I am well aware that it offers a greater advantage in evading pursuit compared to the dense forest. However, the city harbors its own perils-creatures known as the Ravagers, lurking amidst the remnants of a once-thriving civilization. Fortunately, they are not actively on the hunt for me.

Though I have managed to create a significant gap between myself and my pack, I am acutely aware that my relentless sprint cannot be sustained indefinitely. The primary objective now is to locate a place of refuge, a sanctuary where I can conceal myself from prying eyes. It must be a place where they will not discover me.

The city presents an abundance of potential hiding spots-abandoned structures that once served as homes and businesses, now rendered obsolete in this shattered world. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a sizable building, beckoning me with the promise of temporary respite. In a split second, I make a sharp right turn towards it, my determination unwavering. This place seems like it might offer some hiding spots. Even if they decide to search this building, I might have a chance to conceal myself.

Turns out, it's a store, and I notice a broken pane of glass at the front. Without hesitation, I dash inside and rush down an aisle, not really paying attention to what kind of store it is. The specifics don't matter. What matters is finding a place where I can stay hidden.

Suddenly, a strong scent overwhelms my senses, and I instinctively turn towards it. I can't quite identify the scent, but anything that can mask my own scent is promising. And lo and behold, there it is-a whole aisle filled with scented candles. It's perfect.

I decide to shift back into my human form, as it will make it harder for them to track my scent, and I carefully squeeze myself into the narrow gap between two racks of candles. It's a tight fit, and I can't really move, but I believe this is my best chance at evading detection. I hope they won't find me here.

Suddenly, I hear Brandon's voice, commanding the others to search the store. His words send a shiver down my spine. I know that if he orders me to come out, I won't be able to resist. My body tenses up, preparing for the worst.

I hear the sound of people rummaging through the store, knocking things over. Vermon's voice rings out, filled with malice and a desire for revenge. "Bring her to me if you find her," he demands. "That bitch almost had me. I want to be the one to end her life."

It's not enough for him to witness my demise; he craves the satisfaction of being the one to spill my blood. Fuck, his hatred towards me runs deep. But I don't care. I refuse to let his animosity affect me.

I despise him as well. He is the one who forced me out of the pack, leaving me vulnerable and filled with fear. But what hurts the most are his hurtful words.

"I reject you as my mate," he said. How can he do that? How can he deny our bond, especially after Brandon has united us through the alpha bond, a connection that is meant to last a lifetime? I can still sense that bond, even now, pulsating within me. It tempts me to leave my hiding spot and go to him.

My mind plays tricks on me, whispering lies that maybe we can work things out. But deep down, I know it's not possible. I must silence those thoughts. We can't reconcile.

Yet, it takes every ounce of strength I possess to resist the urge. My body yearns for him, even in the midst of all the other emotions swirling inside me. The ache of not having experienced the touch of his body is overpowering. As much as I hate him, I still crave him.

Suddenly, Brandon's voice breaks the silence.

"Bailey? Are you in here?"

I quickly cover my mouth, desperate not to make a sound. If they hear me breathing, it will all be over.

"Bailey," Brandon continues, his voice laced with a mix of concern and a desire to talk. "Come out. We just want to have a conversation with you."

His words feel like a hook, tugging at the center of my being, compelling me to obey.