Blurb

My Irreplaceable Mate By Black Barbie

It was yet another rainy day in Thornmere Town. A town so soaked in misery and drizzle that its very name felt like a cruel joke. Who in their right mind thought it was a good idea to name a place with over 170 rainy days a year Thornmere? I had been stuck in this dreary pit for seven months, counting down the days until I could leave. My escape hinged on the end of the month and the paycheck I was waiting for from Ophelia Frost Café.
It was October 29th—a date etched into my memory for the rest of my life. It was the day I met him.
The café was as lifeless as the rain-soaked streets outside. Naia and I were drowning in boredom, passing time by cleaning, then re-cleaning, everything in sight.
“Think Frost will let us go home early today?” Naia asked, fiddling with the edge of her cleaning cloth. “Nobody in their right mind would come out in this weather.”
I chuckled, shaking my head at her naïve optimism. “Not a chance. Even if this place stayed empty for weeks, she’d find something for us to scrub. Maybe hand us paint and tell us to redecorate the walls.”
Naia clicked her tongue in annoyance. “You’re impossible, Thalassa. No fun at all.”
Before she could hurl her cloth at me, the bell above the door jingled, saving me from her wrath. Both of us held our breath, praying for a customer who might make our day less miserable—and maybe even leave a tip. But instead of salvation, we were greeted by the soggy sight of our favorite six-year-old twins, Jorvik and Elowen, dripping puddles onto the floor in their bright yellow raincoats.
“Jorvik? Elowen? Why aren’t you at school?” I asked, half-amused, half-concerned.
“The school flooded!” Elowen grinned, her teeth flashing mischievously. “We want Thalassa’s chocolate muffins!”
I sighed, shaking my head, but couldn’t help smiling at their enthusiasm. These two were the only rays of light in this dreary town. If there was anything I’d miss after leaving, it would be their ever-grinning faces.
“You’re in luck,” I said, pulling two freshly baked muffins from the tray. “These are white chocolate and raspberry.”
They devoured the muffins like little tornadoes, finishing in record time.
“Super yummy!” Jorvik declared, licking chocolate off his fingers.
“Glad you liked them,” I said with a warm smile. “Now hurry home—it looks like the rain’s only getting worse.”
“We will, Thalassa!” they chimed in unison as they left.
Naia waved them off, and I grabbed the mop to clean the trail of water they’d left behind.
“You know,” Naia said, leaning lazily against the counter, “Frost should pay you more. If it weren’t for your muffins, nobody would bother coming here to drink that excuse for coffee.”
“She should,” I agreed with a smirk.
“Seriously, though. That coffee machine breaks every other day. Without your baking, this place would’ve gone under ages ago,” she said, crossing her arms.
“But it doesn’t matter anymore,” I replied, ruffling her curls playfully. “In two days, I’ll be gone. I’ll take my paycheck and leave this soggy town behind.”
“Why? I mean, I get it—this town’s a dump—but it’s a little less dumpy with you here,” Naia sulked.
“I can’t stay in one place for too long,” I admitted with a sigh.
“Ah, so you’re one of those types. Either searching for your place in the world or running from something,” she teased.
Her words struck closer to home than I cared to admit, but I managed a nervous laugh. “Maybe a little of both.”
“Good for you,” she said, combing her hair back into place. “It’d be a waste for someone like you to rot here. I’ll miss you, though.”
“I’ll miss you too,” I said, retreating to the back with the mop.
Before I could disappear completely, the bell above the door jingled again. Sylas and Rowan, two factory guards, trudged in, shaking off the rain like a pair of drenched dogs.
“For heaven’s sake, Sylas!” I snapped. “I just mopped the floor!”
“Sorry, sorry!” he apologized sheepishly.
While Naia poured them coffee from the backup pot—since the machine had decided to die yet again—I noticed the bell above the door hanging lopsided. On my tiptoes, I reached up to straighten it.
That’s when the door swung open, catching me off guard and knocking me off balance.
“Oh no, I’m going to fall!” The thought flashed through my mind as I braced for impact. But instead of hitting the floor, I landed in a pair of strong arms.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself staring into the most striking face I’d ever seen. His silver hair seemed to shimmer even in the dull café light, and his piercing gray eyes seemed to glow. Thick black lashes framed his otherworldly gaze, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“Are you… my angel?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His lips curled into a faint smile as he set me upright. Only then did I realize how tall he was, how perfectly his black suit fit beneath a long, elegant coat. He looked nothing like the locals, and his presence felt almost unreal.
“Uh… thank you,” I stammered, flustered beyond belief.
“You’re welcome,” he said in a voice so smooth and deep it sent shivers down my spine.
As he passed me by to sit at a table, I turned to grab a menu from the counter, catching Naia’s slack-jawed expression.
“He’s so hot,” she whispered, barely keeping her voice down.
“Pull yourself together,” I hissed, trying to compose myself.
“I can’t,” she said, staring at him with unfiltered longing. “I’d have his babies right here, right now.”
“Naia!” I scolded, but my own heart was pounding as I approached his table.
“What’s with the gloves?” he asked suddenly, his gaze fixed on my hands.
“Oh, these?” I laughed nervously, hiding my gloved hands behind my back. “Just… a habit.”
“A habit,” he repeated, smirking as though he didn’t believe me.
“What can I get for you?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Coffee, perhaps?” he said with a trace of amusement.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I admitted, my cheeks heating. “Our coffee machine is broken, and the backup is… well…”
“I’m sure I’ll like the coffee you make,” he said, his voice low and deliberate.
His words sent a jolt through me, and I struggled to keep my composure. “W-why do you think that?”
He leaned back slightly, his gray eyes holding mine. “Because,” he said with a faint chuckle, “you smell like sunshine.”

I froze, my smile faltering as I met the gaze of my silver-haired customer. All my life, I had mastered the art of concealing my emotions, never letting my guard slip—especially not in front of men. I was always composed, indifferent to their words or appearances. But this man… he unsettled me. It was as though he could see straight through the walls I had meticulously built, and that thought alone terrified me.
"I'll get your coffee," I said, forcing a semblance of calmness as I turned toward the counter. "Espresso? Black?" I tossed the question over my shoulder, hoping to mask my unease.
"As long as you make it," he replied with a soft chuckle.
A flicker of irritation rose in me at his flirtation, but it did little to stop the heat creeping into my cheeks. "What is wrong with me?" I muttered under my breath, flustered by my own reaction. Normally, I would have brushed off such comments without a second thought—perhaps even put the man in his place if I were having a bad day. But now? I was blushing like some infatuated fool.
Keeping my back to him, I busied myself at the bar, determined not to meet his eyes. Yet, I couldn’t shake the sensation of his gaze fixed on me, as though he were studying every inch of my being. My hands trembled as I reached for a cup, nearly letting it slip through my fingers.
"Pull yourself together, Thalassa," I muttered under my breath, steadying my grip. I glanced toward Naia, who was too preoccupied refilling Sylas and Rowan’s coffee to notice my clumsiness. When she finally caught my eye, she smirked and gave me a conspiratorial wink.
“Go for it,” she whispered, her gaze darting toward the silver-haired man.
Ignoring her, I focused on preparing the coffee. I moistened the paper filter, added the freshly ground coffee, and began brewing. The rich, dark liquid streamed into the cup, and once it was ready, I carried it to his table, careful not to look directly at him.
"Your coffee, sir," I said, setting the cup down with practiced precision.
"Do I offend you?" His voice was smooth, the kind that lingered like the last note of a melody.
"N-not at all!" The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
His lips curved into a faint smirk, his eyes locking onto mine with a penetrating intensity. My pulse quickened, and I instinctively stepped back, putting distance between us.
"Thank you for the coffee… Thalassa," he said, his gaze dropping briefly to the name tag on my shirt.
"Enjoy your coffee," I mumbled, retreating behind the counter as quickly as I could.
Something about the way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. It felt… familiar, as if he’d known me long before this moment. Anxiety stirred within me.
"Could he be one of them?" The thought struck me like a thunderclap. "No," I reassured myself. "He doesn’t smell like them. I’d know if he were."
Still, I couldn’t shake the unease. I adjusted my gloves nervously, then busied myself clearing the counter.
"Thalassa, Kael asked about you again," Rowan called out, his voice laced with amusement. "Why don’t you give the poor guy a chance?"
"Let’s just say Kael isn’t my type," I replied with a smirk, tossing a stack of used napkins into the trash.
Rowan chuckled and reached across the counter, grabbing my wrist.
“Come on, Thalassa. If he’s not your type, maybe I am.” His grin widened, and his eyes raked over me in a way that made my skin crawl.
"Let go, Rowan," I said, my voice sharp.
"Don’t be like that," he coaxed, tightening his grip. "You should have some fun for once."
"I said no!" With a sharp tug, I wrenched my hand free.
Rowan leaned forward, attempting to grab me again, but lost his balance and slammed into the bar. Glasses and an empty coffee pot crashed to the floor, shattering on impact. I felt a sharp sting as a shard of glass sliced into my arm.
“Thalassa!” Naia was at my side in an instant, grabbing my injured hand.
“I’ll handle it,” I snapped, pulling away and reaching for the first aid kit.
Naia hesitated, her expression a mixture of concern and hurt. “Fine,” she said, stepping back.
As I hastily bandaged my wound, my mind raced. "Don’t let them smell my blood. Please, don’t let them smell my blood," I silently pleaded.
It wasn’t until the commotion had settled that I remembered the silver-haired customer. Turning toward his table, I found it empty. He was gone.
All that remained was a single hundred-dollar bill beside his barely-touched coffee.
"Guess he didn’t like my coffee after all," I muttered, pocketing the money. "At least he’s generous."
The rest of the night passed in a blur of sweeping glass and cleaning the mess Rowan had made. By the time we closed, the rain had finally stopped. Yet, as I locked the door, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
Then, it happened.
The howling—a sound I’d prayed never to hear again—echoed in the distance.
They had found me.

Chapter 3

For years, I drifted from place to place, never staying anywhere long enough to settle. The wolves who once pursued me had vanished, but my unease remained. I rarely allowed myself to remain in one spot for more than three months, ever on the move, constantly aware of the dangers lurking behind me.

The nomadic lifestyle wasn’t without its challenges, particularly when it came to earning money. I had no identity to speak of, no credentials, no formal education, and I wasn't in a position to claim any sort of recognition. So, I did what I knew best—I found a way to make money from behind the curtain. I created an anonymous online business offering investment advice. It was a skill I had honed for years, an innate talent for predicting market trends that had earned me the praise of my former teachers, who often called me a genius in the field.

But finance wasn’t the only thing I excelled at. I was a quick study, capable of mastering any subject if I put my mind to it. The issue wasn’t my abilities, though—it was the way my so-called family had bound me. I was never allowed the chance to earn a proper degree. Instead, my education was confined to the walls of St. Augustine’s College, following my years at St. Augustine’s High School and the orphanage bearing the same name. The situation between me and my family was, to put it mildly, unusual.

There was no warmth in my childhood. In fact, I often wished I hadn’t had a living family at all, that I could have been adopted like any other orphan. But the most maddening part was that I wasn’t allowed to be adopted. I couldn’t fathom how that could be possible until one day I discovered that my estranged father was, in fact, the founder of St. Augustine’s orphanage. That revelation shattered the illusion that I had ever been raised; I wasn’t being cared for, I was being watched.

Looking back, I now see that everything was better than living like a prisoner. My life on the run, though filled with uncertainty and constant vigilance, was infinitely preferable. Seven years had passed since I began my escape, and I had come to terms with the fact that my freedom came at a price. If running was what I had to do to stay free, I would gladly continue paying it.

Building my online business wasn’t easy. Without a name, degree, or any official recommendation, I began by sending unsolicited advice to businessmen, CEOs, and company presidents. I offered them one piece of advice, free of charge, and waited. When my predictions proved accurate, many of them became clients. They would email me problems to solve, and I would always respond, analyzing their situations from the comfort of my anonymous existence. I kept changing my email address every month to remain elusive, and though I never met any of my clients in person, my reputation grew.

It didn’t take long for my earnings to grow as well. But, as always, there was a limit to what I could enjoy. I couldn’t afford to live openly, not without drawing attention. Still, I wasn’t in the slums anymore, nor was I working in a coffee shop. I could afford better clothes, designer pieces, but I only bought what was necessary. The one indulgence I allowed myself was a black coat, the one my silver-haired knight had left me, still hanging in my closet.

I hadn’t seen him in three years, but he lingered in my thoughts. He had been my savior in a way no one else ever had been. There was something surreal about his protection, and not just because he was stunningly handsome. In my life, only one person had truly cared for me—Oberon, the man who had called himself my mother's friend. He had been my teacher, my confidant, and the only father figure I’d ever known. He had sacrificed himself so I could escape, and though we’d lost contact, I still held on to the hope that he was alive. Oberon was the only person who ever reached out to me. Not even my so-called family had cared for me in any meaningful way.

By the time I turned 27, it was early autumn. I had just finished an assignment for a client, the numbers and figures still dancing in my mind, but I needed a break. I always ran a few miles to clear my head, but tonight, something pushed me further. I ran with no particular destination in mind, driven by an urge I couldn’t explain, until I found myself on an empty road, the city lights behind me now a distant memory. It was dark, but the moon was high, guiding me as I kept running.

Then, I saw the flashing lights. As I got closer, I realized it was a car, crashed into a tree, smoke rising from under the hood. My heart raced.

"Hello! Does anyone need help?" I called out cautiously, drawing closer to the wreckage.

There was no reply. I peered through the shattered window to find a man slumped behind the wheel, unconscious, blood covering his face.

"Please don't be dead, don't be dead..." I muttered under my breath, scrambling to open the door. It was stuck at first, but after some effort, I managed to pry it open. As soon as I saw him, my breath caught in my throat.

"Silver-haired knight..." I whispered, panic flooding my chest.

Blood pooled from his nose, lips, and even his eyes, but there were no other obvious injuries. My hands shook as I reached for his pulse. Just as I was about to make contact, his cold hand seized mine.

I gasped, pulling back, my heart hammering in my chest. His bloodshot eyes opened slowly, locking onto me with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.

"Phone..." he murmured, his grip tightening.

"Y-your phone?" I stammered, still in shock.

He nodded weakly, tossing my hand aside.

"I-I have mine. I can call an ambulance—"

"No," he cut me off. "My phone... fast."

I hesitated, looking at him, still strapped into the seatbelt. "You’re still wearing your seatbelt, maybe I should—"

"Phone!" His voice was sharp, demanding, even though he looked on the verge of death.

I didn't argue. I leaned over, searching the dark car for his phone. It wasn’t easy, trying to find a black object in a black car, but after what felt like an eternity, I spotted it on the passenger floor. My hands trembled as I grabbed it and turned back to him.

"Hey! Don't fall asleep! I found it!" I yelled, but his eyes fluttered shut.

I pressed the phone into his hand, but then he started coughing violently, blood spilling from his lips. I cringed, unsure of what to do. I knew I had to get him out of the car, but he was growing weaker by the second.

Without asking, I undid his seatbelt.

"Get away!" he suddenly shouted, startling me.

I stumbled back. "I’m trying to help you!" I shot back, frustration building.

"Call... Gareth. Tell him... where..." His voice faded, and his eyes closed again.

I leaned over him, watching his chest for signs of movement. There was nothing. My heart dropped. I could feel my panic rising.

"I knew I should have called the damn ambulance," I muttered, clutching the phone in my hand.

Then an idea hit me. Maybe Gareth was his doctor, the one person who could help. I quickly unlocked his phone with his cold finger and found a contact labeled "Gareth." Without thinking twice, I pressed dial.

Chapter 2

I caught a glimpse of a shadow—a wolf-like shape slipping around the corner. My breath hitched, and I bolted in the opposite direction, panic surging through my veins. They had found me. Somehow, impossibly, they’d tracked me down so quickly. It couldn’t have been just the scent of my blood. They must have known where I was for a while, waiting for the right moment to close in.
Had they been hunting in this town all along, right under my nose? The thought chilled me. I had been so careful, so methodical, outmaneuvering them for years. Yet here I was—unprepared, cornered, and terrified.
Get home. Grab the survival bag. Get to the train station, I told myself, sprinting through the rain-slick streets. Withdraw the cash from the deposit box and disappear. Don’t look back.
But the growl stopped me cold. Deep and guttural, it rumbled from the alley ahead. My eyes darted to the walls where shadows stretched unnaturally—three wolf-like silhouettes creeping closer. My heart sank as I glanced behind me. Two more loomed in the alleyway, cutting off any escape.
I clenched my fists and squared my stance, dropping my purse to the ground. "Five against one? You gentlemen sure know how to make a girl feel special," I quipped, my voice sharper than I felt.
The shadows shifted, twisting grotesquely until they took human form. Three men emerged from the darkness ahead, tall and muscled, their cruel smirks mirrored in their predatory eyes.
"We don’t want to hurt you, princess. Not unless you make us," one of them snarled, his voice slick with false civility.
The others fanned out, their postures lazy but deliberate. I tightened my fists. "Calm down, Thalassa. Focus," I muttered under my breath. Vital points. Move fast. Don’t hesitate.
"Come now, princess," one sneered. "We don’t have all night. Surrender, and maybe we’ll go easy on you."
He reached for me, his hand open as though offering mercy. It was a mistake. I seized his wrist, twisting with all the force I could muster, and sent him crashing to the pavement with a pained grunt.
"That’s no way to treat a gentleman!" another roared, lunging at me.
He swung, but I dodged, driving the heel of my palm into his jaw before aiming for his eyes. He staggered back, howling, his curses ringing in my ears. Two down.
But the third came from behind, locking his arms around me. I drove my elbow into his ribs and stomped hard on his foot, breaking free just long enough to whirl and strike his solar plexus. As he doubled over, I darted past him, my legs burning with the effort to escape.
I didn’t dare look back. Each breath felt like fire in my lungs, but I pushed harder, knowing they would be right on my heels. The corner of an abandoned building came into view, offering a slim chance at cover. Just a few more steps.
And then I saw him—a tall figure with fiery red hair, stepping into my path with a smile that chilled me to the bone. His arms spread wide, blocking my escape.
"No," I whispered, dread sinking like lead in my chest. Not him.
"Going somewhere, princess?" Merrick taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.
I veered left, searching desperately for another route, but he was too fast. His hand shot out, grabbing my collar and yanking me back. I hit the ground hard but scrambled to my feet, my mind racing. I couldn’t win—not against him—but surrender was unthinkable.
I struck at his stomach, putting every ounce of my strength behind the blow, but it barely fazed him. Merrick laughed, a low, guttural sound that made my skin crawl.
"Enough games," he said, his voice soft but deadly. He caught my throat in a vice-like grip and lifted me off the ground. I clawed at his hand, struggling for air, but his strength was unyielding. The edges of my vision darkened, and tears stung my eyes as my lungs burned.
Merrick sneered. "If you weren’t so valuable, I’d have killed you already," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. He tossed me to the ground like a broken doll.
I gasped for air, coughing violently as he crouched beside me. From his pocket, he produced a syringe, its needle glinting ominously.
"I won’t risk you causing any more trouble," he said with a smirk, pulling the cap off with his teeth.
The sting of the needle in my neck was nothing compared to the searing pain that followed. My veins felt as though they were on fire. I tried to pull the syringe out, but my body refused to obey. My limbs grew heavy, and the world around me blurred.
"You... bastard," I croaked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Such foul language, your highness," Merrick mocked, his grin widening. "We’ll have to fix that arrogance of yours."
I struggled to lift myself, but my strength was gone. His men hauled me up by my arms, dragging me toward the alley like a rag doll. My vision dimmed, and despair settled in.
Then, out of the darkness, a shadow moved—a blur of black faster than my captors could react. The man dragging me cried out as something slashed through the air, and the grip on my arms loosened.
"Stupid mutts," a deep, unfamiliar voice drawled.
I blinked, trying to focus. A figure in a long black coat stepped into view, his high collar obscuring most of his face.
"Who the hell are you?!" Merrick snarled.
"You don’t need to know," the man replied coolly, stepping closer. His voice carried a dangerous edge that sent shivers down my spine.
One of Merrick’s men charged at him, but with a single, effortless motion, the stranger caught the attacker’s leg and twisted. A sickening crack echoed through the night.
"You’re dead!" Merrick bellowed, his rage palpable.
The man in the coat stepped into the light, his silver hair gleaming under the streetlamp. My breath caught. It was him—the stranger from the café.
"You can’t kill me," he said, his tone calm but menacing. His lips curled into a wicked smile. "I’m already dead."

I could feel consciousness slipping away, the world around me becoming a blur of sounds and fading images. All I could make out was the fury of Merrick's men as they ineffectively attacked the silver-haired stranger. They completely ignored me, leaving me on the ground as they threw themselves at him. The sound of cracking bones, guttural screams, and howls of pain filled the air. Despite the chaos, I couldn't bring myself to feel sympathy for them. My fear, however, was all-consuming. I was still far from safe.
"Who is this person?" Panic gripped me. "He's stronger than all of those wolves... Is he a shapeshifter like them? Why did he say he's dead? Is he some kind of zombie or something?! Why is he attacking them? Is he going to kill them? And... if he does, is he going to kill me too?"
The drug coursing through my veins left me paralyzed, my senses dulling. I felt utterly helpless, my body sinking deeper into the fog of unconsciousness. I didn't want to be dragged back to Merrick and his men, but dying at the hands of a madman seemed like an even worse fate.
Suddenly, everything went quiet. The fighting stopped. All I could hear was the soft sound of footsteps, and then... a pair of black leather shoes appeared in my line of sight. I tried to lift my head, but my strength was gone. The silver-haired man was leaning over me, his presence somehow both terrifying and comforting.
"Please... don't... kill me," I managed to whisper, my voice barely a breath.
His deep, mesmerizing voice responded, "Let me think... What should I do with you?"
I closed my eyes, the drug pulling me under. When I finally opened them again, the sun was rising. I was lying on a park bench, the same spot where I had lost consciousness. No one was around, the park still empty at this early hour. A black coat was draped over me, and I could have sworn it was the same one the silver-haired man had been wearing. My purse was on the ground beside me. The strange feeling of someone caring enough to rescue me was foreign. I had always been on my own—no one had ever come to my aid. But at the same time, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to see myself as some helpless heroine.
"Looks like my silver-haired knight saved me, but didn't care enough to take me back to his castle... At least he made sure my money and documents were safe," I murmured bitterly to myself.
Lying on the bench, I tried to gather my strength. The events of the previous night were a blur, my mind still foggy from the drug. My head pounded from the hangover it caused, and the rising sun wasn’t doing me any favors. Right then, I would’ve sold my soul for painkillers. But there was no time for self-pity—I wasn’t safe in this town.
I needed to check the site of the attack. Maybe there would be some clue, something that could explain what had happened. With great effort, I managed to get to my feet. The morning air was chilly, so I wrapped the silver-haired man's coat around me. It was soft, warm, and surprisingly comfortable, though the sleeves were too long and I had to roll them up. The coat reached almost to my ankles, but despite its length, it fit better than I expected.
I made my way to the location of the fight. When I arrived, my stomach dropped. The place was completely empty. No bodies, no bloodstains, not even the faintest sign of a struggle. A wave of anxiety washed over me.
"Who the hell was that guy?" My thoughts were racing.
If there were any proof that the wolves had been killed, maybe I’d feel some relief. But nothing was left. If they weren’t dead, Merrick and his men would likely have sent reinforcements to search for me. And if they had already done that... my time was running out.
I looked around once more, even kneeling to touch the dirt, sniffing my hand for traces of blood or something—anything—out of place. But there was nothing. That could only mean one thing: the wolves were still alive. Even if the silver-haired man had broken their bones, they'd heal quickly—faster than I could escape. They’d be back.
I cursed under my breath and hurried back to my apartment, constantly checking over my shoulder. I packed my things—clothes, four sets of unused documents, my laptop—and left, leaving behind a quick note for my landlord with the rent money on the table.
I didn’t even bother picking up my last paycheck from Frost. The train station was my next stop. I retrieved the cash from the deposit box, picked a random destination, and bought a ticket. Saying goodbye to Thornmere this way wasn’t ideal, but it was nothing new to me. Leaving everything behind had become a habit.
The train pulled out of the station, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I could breathe. My mind finally had room to process the events. I hoped Merrick and his men wouldn’t pick up my scent, though, speaking of which, I was still wearing the silver-haired man's coat. I smirked and sniffed the collar. It had a faint, pleasant scent of male perfume.
"Seriously?! This is not the time to be thinking like that!" I scolded myself.
"Besides, he's dangerous..."
Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d single-handedly taken down all the wolves. Was he some kind of supernatural creature too? A super werewolf? Or something else entirely? My mind was a whirlwind of questions.
I was human, but I had long known about shapeshifters—beings humans called werewolves. They had senses sharper than any human, were far stronger, and could turn into wolves. Since I was five, I’d learned how to fight them, but it had never been a fair fight. I had never seen anyone take on a werewolf... until that night.
"Who was he?" I couldn’t stop wondering. "He wasn’t just a human. What kind of strength did he have? And why did he help me?"
It would take three years before I got any answers to those questions.

I gripped the stranger's phone nervously, the sound of the waiting signal echoing in my ear. After what felt like an eternity, someone finally picked up.

"Master?! Where are you?! Everyone's looking for His Highness!" The voice on the other end was frantic.

"Um... h-hello?" I stammered, unsure.

"Who is this?" The tone shifted instantly, sharp and demanding. "How did you get Master's phone?" The man growled.

"Am I... speaking to Gareth?" I asked, but the silence that followed made me immediately realize how foolish the question sounded. "Your... friend... Master or whatever, had a car accident. I found him. He told me not to call an ambulance, but to call you..." I blurted out, trying to explain as best I could, my voice shaking.

Gareth was quiet for a long time. I even checked to make sure he hadn’t hung up.

"H-hello?" I asked, feeling the growing tension.

"I’ve tracked the phone. Stay there. We’ll be there in 20 minutes, tops." His voice was cold before the line clicked off.

I wanted to protest, but all that came out was a frustrated breath as the call ended with a definitive click.

"Seriously?! No 'please wait,' or 'thank you for calling me'?! Who does he think he is?" I muttered, annoyed beyond measure.

I glanced at the car, at the unconscious silver-haired man slumped inside. The frustration in me only deepened. The idea of calling some "Gareth" instead of an ambulance seemed completely insane.

And the man in the car... he looked like he was already dead.

"What if this Gareth gets here and blames me for his 'master's' death?" I thought, panic rising.

In a knee-jerk reaction, I decided to at least try to get him out of the car and perform CPR. Regardless of how much this Gareth wanted to avoid a hospital, leaving someone to die without even trying to save them felt wrong.

I hurried back to the car and wrenched open the door. With some effort, I began pulling the man's unconscious body out, checking for signs of major injury. His blood was pooling around his nose and mouth, but there didn’t seem to be anything more serious. However, I noticed something strange—blood under his fingernails.

"What the hell?! Is he sick or something?!" My thoughts raced as I continued to drag him from the car.

Once I managed to get him onto the ground by the roadside, I looked down at his face. It was breathtaking—too perfect, angelic even. His sharp features and silver hair made him look like someone who didn’t belong in this world. He wore a black suit, perfectly tailored, and it made him look even more... captivating.

"What if I check for injuries under his shirt?" I wondered, a strange hesitation lingering in my chest.

I slapped myself mentally. "Focus, Thalassa!" I chided myself, trying to shake off the absurdity of the thought.

Instead, I reached for his neck to check for a pulse. My hands trembled for reasons I couldn’t explain. Was it his presence? Or something more? As my fingers gently pressed against the side of his neck, I felt his skin—cold. Too cold. His body temperature seemed abnormally low.

Then I noticed his pulse. It was faint, slow—unnaturally so. As I counted, I realized it was far below what it should be, less than twenty beats per minute.

A whirlwind of thoughts flooded my mind.

"Should I perform CPR just because his heart is slow? Is he in some kind of hibernation state? What if his body is just cold? Should I warm him up first?"

Suddenly, I saw something even more bizarre—blue lines, thin and glowing, tracing across his veins and arteries beneath his skin. My curiosity got the best of me, and I unbuttoned his shirt. The lines were more visible on his chest, marking every one of his blood vessels in eerie detail. This wasn’t just the result of an accident. This looked... like an illness.

I swallowed hard. "What is happening to him? Is he contagious?" Despite the growing alarm, a strange sense of attraction lingered. My hand hesitated over his chest, and without thinking, I traced a finger along the strange blue line on his jugular.

The moment I realized what I was doing, I jerked my hand away. "Thalassa, get a grip!" I chastised myself silently, embarrassed.

I quickly buttoned his shirt back up and draped his jacket over him, not just to cover him, but to avoid any more awkwardness. I told myself it was to keep him warm.

Just then, headlights cut through the night, blinding me. Three cars were approaching—a limousine, a large van, and a car transporter—all black, their lights harsh against the darkened street.

The limousine came to a stop right beside us. The other two cars followed, parking behind it. Men in black suits emerged, their movements swift and efficient, like a well-trained team. They ignored me completely, focusing only on the silver-haired man lying on the ground. Briefcases in hand, they hurried toward him, while others spread out, securing the area.

I tried to catch a glimpse of what they were doing, but one of them stepped in front of me, blocking my view.

"Are you the one I spoke to on the phone?" he asked coldly.

"I... I guess. You’re Gareth, right?" I stammered, forcing a nervous smile.

He moved closer, his posture elegant, almost aristocratic. His pale skin and meticulously combed dark brown hair gave him an air of sophistication, but his intense gaze made me uncomfortable.

"My name is Gareth Larkspur. I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly," he said, his voice a venomous hiss. "Now, would you care to introduce yourself, Miss?"

His arrogance made my head throb. I barely managed to stretch my lips into an awkward grin, holding back the irritation bubbling inside.

"My name is Thalassa Halloway... Mr. Larkspur," I forced out.

"Halloway? As in Alaric Halloway?" He smirked, his voice laced with mockery.

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?" I snapped, irritated.

"Not at all, Ms. Halloway," he replied, his gaze lingering a moment too long.

A wave of unease washed over me. How did he know my name was fake? How had he figured it out so quickly?

I decided to change the subject before I started panicking.

"Is... is he going to be alright?" I gestured toward the silver-haired man, leaning to peek over his shoulder.

Gareth stepped to the side, blocking my view once again. "Master's condition will improve once he gets his medicine," he stated flatly, irritation creeping into his voice.

"What kind of medicine are we talking about?" I pushed, trying to provoke him.

"This is none of your concern, Ms. Halloway," he snapped.

"Well, it kind of is," I retorted, staring directly into his eyes. "His condition wasn’t caused by the accident. He’s sick. If it’s something contagious, wouldn’t it be best if I knew about it too?"

"Oh, don’t worry," Gareth chuckled coldly. "Master’s condition isn’t easily transmitted."

"Really? Then what is it?" I pressed, not about to back down.

Gareth sighed deeply, the annoyance in his voice palpable. "He was poisoned. And thanks to you, we were able to get here in time to save him."

"That’s the worst ‘thank you’ I’ve ever heard," I muttered under my breath.

"Don’t worry. I’m sure Master will reward you once he wakes up. A check, I imagine, will be more than satisfactory," he added with a hint of condescension.

"No need," I shot back. "Your master saved my life once. I’m just returning the favor."

Gareth’s eyes widened, and he leaned in, suddenly curious. "How did you meet Master before?" he asked, his voice tinged with something unsettling.

His intense stare made me take an instinctive step back, but his eyes never left mine, demanding an answer.

I took a deep breath. "He came into the café where I worked. And when I was in trouble, he showed up and saved me."

Gareth’s gaze dropped to my neck, his eyes narrowing as though scrutinizing me for something. It made me self-conscious, and I instinctively covered my neck with my hands.

When I did, he clicked his tongue, as though displeased.

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Continue Reading.

Chapter 1

Thalassa had spent her life slipping through the cracks, always on the move, always in hiding. It was the cost of her freedom, a steep price she paid simply for existing as a lowly human. Born into a family that discarded her without a second thought, her childhood was defined by solitude and survival. But the same people who abandoned her saw her differently once they realized her body held a price. To them, she was nothing more than a commodity, a slave to be traded for profit.

That revelation spurred her to flee—to fight for the fragile hope of a normal life. She refused to be a prisoner to anyone’s greed. Yet, in the midst of her struggle, when her path seemed endlessly bleak, she stumbled upon someone unexpected. Someone who didn’t see her as a possession or a burden, but as something extraordinary. They became her shield, offering her safety and a future she had never dared to imagine. For the first time, Thalassa was not invisible but treasured—irreplaceable in someone’s world.