Majori's POV:
Before they could react, I yanked off my coat, clutched it tightly, and hurled it straight at the nearest man's face.
Caught off guard, he choked out a curse as the heavy wool coat slammed over his head. The other two instinctively turned toward him in confusion.
That was all I needed.
I spun around and bolted into the forest like an arrow slicing through the wind.
Snow burst beneath my feet. My heartbeat pounded so violently that I could hear nothing but blood roaring in my ears.
Behind me, a scream erupted:
"GET THAT BITCH!!!"
I didn't look back.
I knew that if I hesitated for even one breath, there would be no second chance.
"She's running! Grab her!"
Shouts, stomping footsteps crushing snow, curses, drunken laughter that hadn't fully faded. I ran, snow spraying behind me, breath ragged. I knew that if I slowed even a little, they would catch up.
In the freezing air of the winter night, my dormant wolf instincts, those I thought had long been silent suddenly flared awake.
The smell of alcohol.
The smell of animal pelts.
Old sweat mixed with the metallic tang of dried blood.
All of it blended into a foul stench I could never forget: the scent of rogue wolves, those who had no pack, no rules.
They weren't like normal people.
Their scent was chaotic, acrid like rotting meat, hanging in the air like a heavy fog. There was no synchronicity in their breathing, no bond like wolves who lived within a pack. I could hear each of their heartbeats scattered, dissonant and I understood immediately:
They were rogues.
This kind of wolf didn't fear death, didn't know loyalty, lived only on instinct and feral hunger.
And right now, I was standing on their territory.
But honestly, the chase was completely unfair. I cursed internally—how were these three filthy vagabonds even more muscular than some pampered rich heirs? But of course they were. Hardship forged them into survival machines; running, fighting, restraining victims, those were skills they were frighteningly good at.
A rough hand snatched my hair again, yanking hard. I crashed to the ground, slamming into a tree trunk. The man laughed, dragging me back, whispering into my ear:
"You run well but snow spares no one, doll. There's no husband out here to save you, is there? You played us real good."
The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs. Cold air burned the inside of my chest, snow exploding around me. My collar was torn back violently, fabric ripping. My head hit the tree so hard I swore it cracked.
A raspy cackle echoed above me:
"Run again, bitch!"
His breath was heavy and reeks of alcohol mixed with sweat, raw meat, and rusted metal. I shut my eyes, inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself. Every muscle tensed, the wolf inside me screaming but I knew:
If I lost control, I would die right here.
"My husband… my husband will be here any second."
"You think you can scare us?" the chain-wearing one barked, grabbing my throat and yanking me up only to throw me down again. "So funny! Look at you shivering like a wet cat. Your husband's probably curled up somewhere crying."
The others roared with laughter. Their voices scraped through the icy wind like metal grinding on stone harsh, filthy, vile.
"Who did you say your husband was?" another leaned down, face flushed with alcohol, voice slurring. "Even if Vincent, the legendary Lycan King, came here, we wouldn't be scared."
"Yes." I stared into his eyes, blood dried on my lip. "It is Vincent. And he'll tear you to pieces."
They howled with laughter. One leaned in, ripping open my coat, voice thick and rasping:
"You're not just a liar, you're delusional. I wanna see if the Lycan King can even recognize his wife's corpse when he gets here."
I jerked back, trying to escape but he pinned me down by the shoulders, his knee pressing into my chest heavy enough to crush breath out of me. Wind slapped my face; the stench of booze and animal hide twisted my stomach.
"Don't worry, doll," he sneered, licking his cracked lips, "we'll be gentle. Just a little bit. Then you'll feel warm."
A rotten smile.
A disgusting lick of the lips.
The other three closed in, eyes glowing like starving beasts.
In that moment, I didn't feel fear.
Only hatred.
I stared up at him, voice hoarse but clear:
"If you touch me… you'll never have the chance to beg."
"You're threatening me again," he laughed, hot alcohol breath hitting my face. "No one can hear you, little princess."
He leaned down—
PANG!
A gunshot cracked through the forest.
The ground trembled.
They froze.
The man pinning me down jerked violently, eyes wide. A burst of dark red exploded from his shoulder, soaking his fur coat.
"W–what the hell?!" he screamed, stumbling.
PANG!
Another shot. The bullet cut through the snow, hitting the chest of the one about to lunge. He collapsed, eyes wide open, breath choking off in a wet gasp.
Wind howled.
The sky split with a long, sharp roar.
Through the curtain of snow, a figure emerged, he's tall, solid, wrapped in a long black coat. His hair was tousled by the wind, snowflakes clinging to his shoulders. Under the moonlight, his amber eyes glowed, cold, sharp as blades.
Vincent.
A soft whimper escaped me. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. But no, his breath steamed into the icy air, the scent of blood and gunpowder drifting with the wind.
"Let her go."
His voice was deep, calm yet enough to make the rogue wolves freeze in terror.
The chain-wearing man screamed, hysterical:
"Alpha… Alpha Vincent..."
That was all he managed before collapsing, the pressure on my body disappearing.
"N–no, no, please… please spare me…"
He was sobbing now, all arrogance gone like soap bubbles. I had never seen Vincent kill. I had never even seen him hurt anyone. In my memory, he was always the one who took the loss so others could win. But clearly, I had misunderstood.
He was gentle only to me.
To others… I had no idea who he truly was.
Vincent was furious like Grim Reaper itself walking toward those he chose to claim. I had never seen him like this, not even when I skipped class to hang out, when I refused to eat, when I lied about being sick to avoid school events… never.
In a single heartbeat, he was beside us. He switched the gun to his left hand and delivered a hammer-like punch to the nearest man's face. The crack of breaking bone echoed. Blood splattered across the snow.
Another reached for a knife but Vincent twisted, sweeping his legs out from under him, then drove his knee into the man's chest. A sharp, sickening crack.
"Go back to hell."
The last man trembled, trying to back away but Vincent raised his gun and fired without blinking. The bullet slammed into his shoulder, sending him flying.
Only seconds.
Then silence.
He turned toward me. His amber eyes softened as if he'd just woken from a nightmare. Snow drifted across his lashes, clinging to his coat. Sweat and blood streaked his face, breath heavy, white vapor spilling into the night air.
He knelt beside me, hands trembling as he lifted my face.
"Majori… are you hurt anywhere?"
His voice was rough, breaking like he was one breath away from shattering.
He hurriedly shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around me. Honestly, at this point, I couldn't even feel the cold tearing at my skin, my blood had been boiling for what felt like hours.
I tried to say "I'm fine," but my throat locked up; all I could do was pant. He pulled me into his arms, clutching me so tightly I could hear his heart pounding through the freezing fabric.
He held me, one hand still gripping the gun as if the world might try to take me away the moment he loosened his fingers.
"I'm here…" he whispered, voice trembling. "Don't be scared, Majori. I'm here."