Chapter 15: Chiara

"Are you sure you don't want to remove your choker?"

I fixed the sleeves of the new blouse I bought before looking at Lance's reflection in the mirror. His brows were furrowed, lips frowning, and arms crossed on his chest.

I took a deep breath as I faced him. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

Lance's frown deepened, his muscles tensing underneath his tight shirt. "You're really asking me that?"

I simply held his gaze.

"Chiara, it's a silver choker—"

"No, it's not," I lied, willing my voice to sound firm and leveled. Lance didn't look convinced, though.

"I wasn't born yesterday. I know what silver looks like," he bit back.

"It's a platinum studded with diamonds," I explained.

"Naaah—"

"If you don't want to believe it, then don't."

"Well, I do not. Why are you wearing one? Was it because of Adrian? Did he make you wear it? He's not here right now. Why not just ditch it and—"

"Stop. I'm not answering any of your questions."

"Why not? I won't tell him if you remove that, I swear. Why is he even making you wear—"

"Lance!"

My frustration finally boiled over, and I screamed his name in the cramped boutique we found ourselves in the Bay Walk. Lance pursed his lips, but his dark eyes were still filled with a million questions, questions I couldn't—wouldn't—answer.

"Just drop it, please," I begged him.

Lance scratched the back of his neck, and by how tense his body was, I thought he would start arguing again.

"I just don't want to see you hurt," he said, sighing.

I jerked my head up to look at him, but he quickly flicked his gaze away. "I'm your bodyguard, remember? It's my job to protect you."

Nodding, I moved away from the mirror and walked towards the shop's front doors. "I know. Let's head out and find Connor."

Thankfully, Lance finally dropped the subject and followed me.

***

I'd imagined a hundred worst-case scenarios when I noticed Connor had disappeared. I've imagined him being kidnapped for ransom, tortured for information, or used as a hostage to leverage against Adrian. However, none of those included seeing him sneaking toward the warehouse district of Hoult City.

Lance and I carefully navigated the shadowed streets of the district, making sure to stay hidden and a few steps behind the unsuspecting shifter. Connor stopped at a junction ahead, looked around, and then ducked inside the side door of a warehouse. We followed him up until the stacks of crates outside. A low opened window gave us a small view of Connor, seemingly waiting inside.

I felt Lance's hand on my back as I crouched behind the crates. True to his words about keeping me safe, he never left my side while we tailed Connor. However, by the tight set of his jaw, I had a feeling I wouldn't like what he was going to say next.

"We shouldn't be here," he muttered, eyes fixed on Connor. "I can scent several shifters around us. Guards."

I raised my nose in the air, but it was useless. With how repressed my wolf was, she could lend little strength to me. "Do you think they know we're here?"

Lance shook his head. "I made sure to cover our tracks, and we were careful. But..."

"I'm not leaving you behind," I quickly said.

Lance sighed, and I knew that was just what he would suggest next. "This smells fishy, and fishy often means danger. I don't want you caught in the crossfires."

"Connor won't do something dangerous," I reasoned.

"We don't even know if Connor went here voluntarily or if he was set up or fuc—" He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then continued. "Or something else. We know nothing, Chiara, and my first priority is your safety, not some bastard's first cousin," Lance growled.

I huffed and looked back at Connor, deciding to observe him instead. He looked just as tense as we were. His hands were fidgeting, and his head kept swiveling around.

"Do you think they asked the kids a while ago to target and separate our group?"

Lance just sighed. "Could be. Or maybe they just timed it."

Lance moved to push me back, likely to convince me again to leave for my safety when suddenly, a group of shifters entered the warehouse. We both crouched lower behind the crates and watched as Connor froze in his spot.

It was Governess Menessa leading the group.

"Connor Galway," the governess said, greeting him. Her voice was low and muffled by the distance but could still be heard if we stayed quiet. "I apologize for the... unconventional meeting."

"What is the meaning of this?" Connor asked.

"I would like to ask you a favor," Governess Menessa replied.

"What do you want? And why does it have to be this... secretive? You could have just spoken with the Madam and I a while ago."

"This favor needs a bit more confidentiality."

I leaned further, trying to look closer at who was with the governess. I braced my hands against the stack of crates but overestimated its durability. A portion of the wooden pallet was already rotting, and my arm went straight through it when I put my weight on it.

The sound of splintering wood was like a bomb going off amidst the otherwise silent district. Lance cursed, quickly but gently pulled my arm from the crate, and started dragging me out of the area.

"Wait," I said while I wrapped my other hand around the shallow gash on my arm. "I think there's someone else there with the governess."

"Our position is compromised," Lance hissed. We reached the populated area of the baywalk in no time. Looking back, it seemed that we weren't followed. "If we stayed behind, they would've discovered us. Bloody hell, we were lucky we even got away."

"What does the governess want with Connor?"

Lance ignored my question. Instead, he gently lifted my arm and looked at my wound. He pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped it around. "This is the second time I've seen you injured. Two too many."

"It's nothing." I tried pulling away from him, but he tightened his grip.

"It's not." He looked mad, but not how Adrian looked at me whenever he was angry. Adrian had a cold sort of fury, paralyzing and mind-breaking. Lance, though, was like a whirlpool. An eye of the storm. A hurricane. His wrath seemed to lay waste in everything surrounding him except the place in its center.

And for some reason, I felt I was at the center of his rage.

He raised my arm... almost reverently... and then kissed it. The warmth of his lips soaked through the makeshift bandage, making me momentarily forget the pain. He held it like he was both apologizing and making a promise.

Eventually, Lance brought down my arm but refused to let go of me. I stood next to him, stunned and confused.

"The governess will ask you for lunch soon." His voice broke my trance and brought me to the present. "Try to act natural. She can't know that we've been spying on her."

Nodding, I followed Lance back to the City Hall. I stared at him, imagining his body underneath his shirt, which was filled with scars and muscles honed for fighting.

The wolf who, according to the rumors, had killed an entire pack.

The wolf who was shunned by everyone because of his bloodthirsty ways.

Was this really who The Rogue Wolf was?