It’s been two weeks since Ghost ripped you from the life you knew, two weeks since he claimed you with teeth and blood, binding your soul to his.

Ghost saved a citizen from your claws. After your wolf went feral and you left the pack house, Ghost found you. Again. Ghost doesn’t wait for you to fall. He hauls you up like you weigh nothing, tossing you over his shoulder with a grunt of annoyance.

The city blurs past upside down — cold air burning your lungs, your body limp against him, your pride bleeding out with every step he takes. Cigarette smoke curling from his lips as he walks, heavy boots striking the pavement like gunshots.

You punch weakly at his back. He doesn't flinch."Pathetic," Ghost growls. "Still fighting when you can barely stand. Cute."

The streets twist into alleys, the world narrowing, until the warehouse looms up before you — dark, rotting, forgotten by the world. The broken windows, the chained door... all a lie.

Ghost kicks the chain loose with a heavy boot, shoving the door open with his shoulder. Inside, the stale, metallic air of the pack’s home wraps around you. Cold. Heavy. Alive.

From the shadows, the pack members stir. You hear them — low murmurs, the shift of boots on concrete — but no one dares step closer. They smell the fury bleeding off him. They smell the claim.

Ghost carries you through the wide open floor like a trophy, like something he caught and intends to keep. Heads dip. Eyes turn away. You’re already humiliated — and he hasn't even started yet.

He doesn’t speak again until the elevator groans under your weight, rising slow and shaky toward the top floors. His hand stays firm around your waist, keeping you pressed to him. Caging you.

"You embarrassed yourself," he says, voice quiet, like it's meant just for you. "Embarrassed me."

You open your mouth to protest — but he shoves you harder against him, stealing the breath from your lungs. "You'll pay for that when we get home" he promises, low and dark, lips brushing against your ear. "And don’t think crying’s gonna save you. Might even make it worse."

The elevator creaks to a stop. The door slides open. His floor smells even thicker of him — leather, smoke, and something darker underneath, like blood and ash.

Ghost strides down the hall, past the heavy black curtains, past the weapons lined against the walls, straight into the den that serves as his bedroom.

He throws you down onto the bed with a careless flick of his arm, standing over you like a shadow you’ll never outrun.

You scramble up, wild, breathless. He just stands there. Watching you. Rolling another cigarette between his fingers.

"Go on," he says, a cruel smirk tugging at his mouth. "Run again."

His eyes gleam beneath the mask. Hungry. Expectant. "See how far you get this time."