As Ethan put some distance between them and the chaos, Michael kept squirming in his arms. Not subtly either—full-on panic thrashing. Carrying him like a sack of potatoes was one thing; doing it while the sack fought back was another.
"Okay—nope," Ethan muttered, forced to slow.
The struggle threw his balance off. Ethan released him before it turned worse, and Michael hit the ground hard in a narrow alley, rolling once before scrambling back on his feet.
"You know," Ethan said, exhaling, "you're being very uncooperative for someone I'm actively trying to save."
"Stay away from me!" Michael shouted, backing up, hands shaking as he stared at Ethan. Even now, even in the dim light, he could see them—those glowing red eyes. Not human. Not normal.
Ethan blinked, genuinely confused. "What? I just pulled you out of a—"
Then he noticed it.
A shallow puddle at his feet caught the light. In it, his reflection stared back—eyes burning red, sharp and unmistakable.
"…Oh," Ethan said quietly.
That explained a lot.
He looked back at Michael, who was pale and breathing fast, fear written all over his face. Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah. Fair reaction," he admitted. "I'd freak out too."
He couldn't really blame Michael. His eyes only did that when he was excited—fighting, using his powers, adrenaline spiking. Not exactly comforting under normal circumstances.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. Just for a second.
When he opened them again, the red glow had faded, leaving his eyes normal—at least normal enough.
"See?" Ethan said, gesturing vaguely at his face. "Less nightmare fuel."
Michael didn't look fully convinced, but he wasn't backing away anymore.
"Now, Michael," Ethan continued, voice steady, "I know I'm… strange. But you remember what just happened, right? You were about to be dragged off by a guy with a gun. I pulled you out of that."
Michael hesitated, then nodded slowly. His memory caught up with the fear.
Ethan extended his hand. "I saved you."
After a beat, Michael took it.
Ethan pulled him up easily, offering a brief smile that was meant to be reassuring—though it probably landed somewhere between calm and unsettling.
"There is one piece of bad news," Ethan said, tone shifting. "Those guys aren't going to let this go just because I interrupted once."
Michael stiffened. "What?"
"They'll try again," Ethan said plainly. "Sooner or later."
The alley suddenly felt much smaller.
On Selene's side, she followed the Lycans deeper into the underground tunnels.
The air grew heavier the farther she went—rust, oil, damp stone. The kind of place sunlight had never touched and never would. Her footsteps were silent, controlled, weapon steady in her hands.
Then she saw them.
Not two. Not five.
Hundreds.
They filled the cavern-like chamber ahead—armed, restless, moving with purpose. Men in human form, but the smell of Lycan was unmistakable.
Selene slowed, disbelief tightening her grip.
That wasn't possible.
The Lycans were supposed to be nearly extinct. Scattered. Hunted down over centuries until only small, desperate cells remained. That was the war she had been fighting.
And yet—here they were.
***
On Ethan's side,
They were in Michael's apartment. Not because Michael had invited him—but because Ethan had forcefully invited himself. That was the only accurate way to describe how he'd ended up here.
Michael handed him a drink, then hesitated halfway. "Wait—how old are you?"
Ethan stared at him, flat. Of all the questions.
Michael sighed and passed it over anyway. "Right. That was a stupid concern, considering everything else."
"So what are you?" Michael asked, keeping his distance. "Some kind of government experiment? Or a disease that causes… abnormalities in your body?"
He paused, thinking it through the only way he knew how.
"As a medical intern," he went on, more to himself than Ethan, "that's all I can come up with. Some extremely rare condition. Something that boosts physical parameters. Changes eye color. Heightened reflexes. Adrenal response taken to an extreme."
He looked back at Ethan, unsettled. "It has to be medical."
Ethan shook his head slowly. "Nah. Nothing sci-fi like that."
Michael frowned. "Then what?"
Ethan lifted his gaze, meeting Michael's eyes without blinking.
"You must have heard about me in stories," Ethan said with a small smile, his fangs briefly visible. "Skin pale as the moon. Eyes red as blood. Teeth sharp as beasts. Speed that isn't human. Walks at night. Drinks human blood."
Michael swallowed hard. Every description Ethan had listed lined up with one word he'd only ever accepted in books and movies.
Vampire.
He wanted to say they weren't real. Wanted to laugh it off. But the memory of impossible speed, the red glow in Ethan's eyes, the way bullets hadn't stopped him—those facts pressed down on his chest.
The brief relief he'd felt moments ago drained away, replaced by a familiar, crawling dread.
"But relax," Ethan said lightly. "I'm a gentleman. I'm not going to drink your blood."
Michael barely had time to process that before Ethan continued, his tone cooling.
"The men coming for you?" He tilted his head. "They won't be so polite."
Michael took an instinctive step back toward the door.
Snap.
Ethan flicked his fingers, and the door slammed shut behind Michael, the lock snapping into place like a final punctuation mark.
Ethan met his eyes, calm, unhurried. "Trust me, Michael. I'm the safest option you have right now."
He glanced toward the sealed door.
"Because whatever's out there?" A faint smile touched his lips. "It doesn't talk first."
On the Lycans' side,
"You can't do one job right," Lucian snapped, his voice echoing through the underground chamber. "I asked you to kidnap one human. One."
He paced a step, fury barely contained. "And not only did you fail, you turned it into a public firefight."
The Lycans in front of him lowered their heads. No one spoke.
Lucian clenched his jaw. He'd lived through centuries of war, ambushes, and extinction-level losses—but this? This was incompetence. Michael Corvin had slipped through their fingers when he should've been dragged here screaming.
His eyes hardened.
"Fine," he said coldly. "If you can't handle it—"
He turned, already reaching for his coat.
"—then I'll take care of it myself."
*****
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