Chapter 1 - THE MARK OF THE CRESTThe fluorescent lights of the small cabin hummed with a low, agonizing drone. Natalie’s pulse hammered in her ears like a war drum. She stared down at the man clutching her wrist. His fingers were locked around her arm with a terrifying, unyielding grip, but beneath the strength, she could feel the violent tremors of a body on the brink of shutdown.
"You're bleeding internally," Natalie whispered, her professional training warring with the icy terror wrapping around her spine. "If I don't give you tranexamic acid right now, you'll hemorrhage before dawn."
The man narrowed his eyes. The silver signet ring on his finger caught the harsh white light, the engraved wolf holding a dagger gleaming like a badge of absolute authority.
"Do it," he rasped, his voice a gravel-crushed growl. "Just... no glass. No sirens."
Natalie didn't hesitate. She grabbed a syringe from her trauma kit, drew the clear liquid, and expertly injected it into the IV port she had earlier established in his bruised forearm. She watched the monitor as her makeshift equipment did its job. Her mind raced. The man was professional-grade dangerous. The bespoke suit, the heavy gold ring, the absolute lack of panic even while bleeding out in a shallow grave—it all pointed to one terrifying conclusion. He wasn't just a criminal. He was the syndicate.
Outside, the storm lashed against the windows, but a new sound cut through the howl of the wind. A deep, resonant bark rattled the back door. Goliath.
The man’s head snapped toward the door. His eyes hardened. "Someone's out there."
"It's just my dog," Natalie breathed.
"Your dog wouldn't bark like that unless he smelled carbon or sulfur," the man whispered, trying to push himself up onto his elbows. A sharp gasp of pain escaped his lips as his abdominal wound strained against the sutures. "Stay down!" Natalie pushed his broad shoulder back onto the floorboards. "If you pop those stitches, you're dead in two minutes."
Goliath barked again—a furious, guttural explosion of sound that shook the glass in the windowpanes. Then came the crunch of heavy boots on the gravel driveway.
Natalie froze. The color drained completely from her face. No one came out this far into the Blackwood Forest at three in the morning. Not unless they were looking for something. Or someone.
The man on the floor looked up at her, his dark gray eyes locking onto hers with cold, lethal clarity. "They found the tracker," he said softly. "Listen to me very carefully, Natalie. Take your son, go into the root cellar beneath the pantry, and lock it from the inside. Do not come out for any reason. If they breach this house, let the dog do his job."
May you like
Natalie’s breath hitched. "How do you know my name?"
A faint, humorless smirk touched the bruised corner of his mouth. "I'm Dante Moretti. And tonight, your dog just bought us both an extra hour. Now move."
