Chapter 12: YOU ARE BLEEDING ON MY SHIRT

Lauren stirred to the soft crackle of dying embers. The fire had shrunk to a faint glow, shadows licking the cave walls like ghost hands. Her hand moved out of instinct—

He wasn't there.

Michael was gone.

Panic slashed up her spine before logic even tried to fight it off. But his scent lingered—smoke, blood, wild pine. A predator's scent. But it had become something else now. Familiar. Almost anchoring.

She sat up with a hiss, pain biting into her side. The bandage had soaked through. Again.

"You left," she snapped as Michael stepped back into the cave. Shirt torn. Blood-drenched. Not all of it his. His expression unreadable. But his eyes—feral fire.

He tossed something at her.

Her shirt. Torn. Crimson-stained.

"You're bleeding on my shirt," he said, voice like flint.

Her jaw clenched. "You think I need protecting? Or babysitting?"

"I'm not your babysitter," he muttered. "I'm your curse. Remember?"

The cave shrank around them. The air burned hotter.

"Then stop acting like you care," she spat, standing too fast. Pain stabbed again. She didn't care.

He moved in close. Too close. "I don't care about the prophecy."

She shoved him hard. He didn't budge.

"Then what do you care about?"

His voice dipped low. Animal low. "I care about you."

Her breath caught.

No. That wasn't fair. That wasn't allowed.

So she slapped him.

Not hard. Just enough to make her hand sting.

Michael didn't react. Didn't blink. His silence thundered.

Outside, the wind changed.

Colder. Feral.

Something had found them.

Michael turned, muscles coiled. "They're here."

And then the first rogue crashed through the cave mouth.

Chaos. Pure, blood-drenched chaos.

Michael yanked a jagged blade from the wall. Tossed the Severing Dagger to her.

She caught it mid-air. Her limbs moved before her mind did. The cave became a storm of snarls and shadows.

They fought like a duet. Back to back. Synchronized violence.

Then her wolf clawed free.

The shift tore through her, hot and unnatural. Silver bled into her fur—not glowing. Burning. Her paws cracked against the stone, joints spasming. Her throat caught.

Something was wrong.

The altar's magic. It was still inside her. Still pulling.

"No—no—!" her wolf howled.

Michael's dark beast roared into the fray. But the second Lauren screamed, he turned.

Everything else blurred.

His wolf slammed into her. Not to hurt. To stop. To pin. To protect. His body caged hers, forcing her back into herself.

She shifted back with a gasp. Naked. Shivering beneath him.

Then—

One last rogue lunged. Blades gleaming. Eyes wild.

Michael shifted mid-movement, covering her with his own body.

Steel met flesh. His, not hers.

Blood sprayed the rocks.

And silence fell.

Ash-heavy. Final.

They were tangled in gore. His arm held her tight. Her breath came fast, ragged.

"Why are you still here?" she whispered.

He didn't answer.

She reached up, touched his face. Not gently. Like she needed to know he was real.

And then she yanked her hand back like he burned.

Later, under moonlight, they washed in the river.

She wore only a shift. He was shirtless. The scars from the Severing Blade still fresh across his chest.

His blood ran in thin lines. He didn't flinch.

They didn't speak for a while. Then—

"You don't even know what you are," he said.

Her jaw set. "You think I'm weak?"

"I think you're dangerous."

"And you think I care?"

"I think you should."

The river glinted silver between them. Their reflections trembled in the current.

"You're hiding something," she said.

Michael's shoulders tensed.

"I was bound once," he said. "To the Matron."

He didn't look at her when he said it.

"I severed it," he went on. "But not without cost."

Lauren's breath hitched. "You used the Severing Blade?"

"I used blood. And pain. And something I'll never speak of."

She stared at him. "And you think I can sever mine?"

He nodded. "But you'll lose everything. Everyone. Even me."

A stillness fell over the river. Like the water itself was listening.

"What happens to you if I do?" she asked.

Michael looked at her then. Looked through her.

"I die," he said quietly. "Or worse—I forget you."

The Severing Blade pulsed back in the cave. Like it had heard every word.

Later, they sat near the rocks, drying in the cool air.

"You make everything worse," she said. Barely more than a whisper.

Michael's voice was dry. "And you make me want everything I shouldn't."

Moonlight kissed his face. Made him look carved from winter.

He leaned closer.

Too close.

Their lips hovered—dangerous inches away.

She stopped. Breathless.

"When this ends," she whispered, "don't make me choose between killing you or kissing you."

Michael stepped back. Smiled. But it wasn't kind.

"I already chose," he said. "I just hope you do it fast."