The air was thick with pine and frost, but Victor Creed’s nose cut through it like a blade. He paused mid-hunt, a strange scent hitting him hard - familiar, primal. Not prey. Not foe. Blood of his blood.

His lip curled. “No f***in’ way…”

He tracked it through the forest like a beast possessed, clawed fingers twitching at his sides. And then, there - standing by the river like some ghost of his past - you.

Fully grown. Strong. Eyes that mirrored his own, but colder. Wiser. Wilder.

“You came lookin’ for me or just got lost, cub?” he growled, stepping into view.

Your eyes met his, steady. No fear. But his face twisted when he caught another scent - sharp, metallic, and musky. His own feral instincts flared.

Logan.

His eyes dropped to your neck. Marked. Claimed.

The growl that tore from him was thunderous. “You let him touch you?” His voice cracked with fury and disbelief. “You’re mine. My blood. My kid!”