Weeks before Kaylee’s world unravels…

 

LUCIEN

The autumn air bit into Lucien’s fur, sharp and crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and dying leaves. The season was changing, but the cold wasn’t enough to slow him down. Nothing ever was.

His massive paws pounded against the forest floor, muscles shifting effortlessly as he wove between the trees. Running like this—on four legs, in his true form—felt cleaner, purer. No lies, no power games, no fucking deals to negotiate. Just the raw force of instinct and strength, a predator at the top of the food chain.

But tonight wasn’t about pleasure.

Tonight was about finding Skoll.

The bastard had been off-grid for too long. Ignoring calls, avoiding the world, drowning himself in his own rage the way only Skoll fucking Ulfric could. But now, with fighters showing signs of the same sickness that killed Kane, Skoll’s brother, Lucien didn’t have time for Skoll’s self-imposed exile.

He needed to come back. And if he refused, Lucien would drag him back himself.

The wind shifted, carrying something heavy, pungent.

Blood.

Not just any blood—Skoll’s kills. The moment the scent hit, he saw the corpses of one to many bobcats. Their bodies scattered miles apart but their bodies were torn open, ripped apart in a way that wasn’t just hunting.

This wasn’t for survival. This was slaughter.

The first bobcat was ripped apart, its legs and upper body separated by feet of mangled entrails, guts tangled in the roots of a nearby tree. The kill was vicious, unnecessary—not hunting, but destruction.

Another lay sprawled near it, its throat torn open, the wound jagged—like Skoll hadn’t even waited for it to die before moving on to the next. The way the blood pooled beneath it, still glistening under the moon, told Lucien it had died only moments ago.

And the last one—the worst.

The moose sat in a crumpled heap, its fur matted with dirt and gore, but its eyes… they were still open. Frozen in horror, locked in the final, desperate moment before it met the monster in the woods.

Lucien exhaled hard, his breath misting in the cold.

"Fuck, Skoll," he muttered, shaking his head. "Waging war on the entire damn forest, are we?"

Lucien slowed, inhaling deep, allowing the night to tell him what his eyes couldn’t yet see. His Alpha was close.

And there it was—the thick musk of his friend. Lucien took off again, weaving through the dense forest, his powerful limbs devouring the distance between them. Each breath dragged in more of Skoll’s scent, the heavy musk of sweat, blood, and something feral.

The wind bit at his fur, crisp and cold, carrying the last traces of autumn before winter claimed the land. The air tasted like rain, like death. Like the aftermath of carnage.

His claws dug into the earth, every step deliberate, instinct taking over.

Find him.

The forest had gone silent around him—no owls, no small prey rustling in the underbrush, nothing but the whisper of leaves and the steady pound of his own movement. The animals knew better.

Something was out here that they didn’t want to cross.

Something bigger. Something worse.

Lucien pushed faster, deeper, breaking through the dense undergrowth, the scent thickening with every breath—Skoll was near.

Then, ahead in the clearing, bathed in moonlight and blood—Lucien found him.

Skoll stood over a massive black bear, its throat ripped open, steam rising from its still-warm carcass.

His fur—once sleek, midnight-dark—was drenched in crimson, dripping onto the dead leaves below. His eyes, a savage green even in his Lycan form, glowed under the moonlight, locked onto his kill like he might go for another round just for the hell of it.

Lucien had seen a lot of monsters in his time, but few looked as fucking feral as Skoll did right now. He thought the terror Skoll had unleashed in those fight pits years ago was bad—breaking men like they were made of paper, drowning in his own rage. 

But this? 

This was a fucking spiral.

"That thing was already dead five minutes ago," Lucien rumbled, stepping into view. "You’re just playing with your food at this point."

Skoll didn’t move, didn’t blink. Didn’t even acknowledge him.

Fucking typical.

Lucien’s hackles rose, but this time, something uneasy curled in his gut. How long had Skoll been like this?

The scent of old blood clung to him, thick and stale beneath the fresh kill. 

Days? A week? Too long.

Staying in Lycan form for extended periods made them stronger, faster—but it also made them more animal than man. More instinct. More violence. Less control and Skoll wasn’t just any Lycan. He was fucking Alpha.

Lucien exhaled sharply, knowing that If Skoll had gone over the edge… fuck. That would be a problem. A big fucking problem.

But hesitation wasn’t an option. He’d fought his friend before, pulled him back from the brink more times than he could count and if tonight was another one of those nights?

Then so be it.

"Skoll." His voice was edged with warning now.

Nothing.

Lucien bared his fangs. Fine. They’d do this the hard way and he lunged.

Skoll whirled around fast—faster than any normal Lycan should be able to move—and met him with a snarl, their bodies colliding in a blur of black fur and raw strength.

Teeth snapped. Claws scraped against thick hide. Lucien felt the force of Skoll’s weight slam him into the dirt, the bastard fighting like a feral animal.

Good.

It meant he wasn’t completely lost.

Lucien rolled them, pinning Skoll down, fangs bared. "Enough."

Skoll growled, his massive paws digging into Lucien’s shoulders, muscles flexing. His strength was still brutal, but Lucien didn’t let go.

This wasn’t about dominance. It was about reminding him who the fuck he was.

"You done yet?" Lucien rumbled and teeth met fur, clamping down on Skoll’s throat—not to tear, not to break skin, but to hold.

To remind him.

Skoll snarled, muscles coiling to fight back, but Lucien didn’t let go. This wasn’t about dominance. It was about pulling him out of the abyss before he sank too deep.

A warning. A tether.

"Fucking bastard. Runa would be ashamed of you—acting like some rabid stray, harassing the damn ecosystem."

Skoll’s growl rumbled through Lucien’s fangs, a low, primal warning for mentioning his dead sister. The instinct to fight—to rip, tear, reclaim control—coiled tight, waiting to snap. For a second, Lucien thought he might. 

Then, finally, the tension bled from Skoll’s frame.

Lucien exhaled through his nose, holding firm just a second longer before releasing his friend.

No words. No apologies. Just breath misting in the cold, the quiet weight of understanding.

And for now, that was enough as he watched as Skoll stepped back and then it began.

Bones snapped, fur retracted, muscle twisted and contorted, warping back into human form. The grotesque, seamless agony of shifting—a transformation that should’ve been painful but felt like second nature.

A heartbeat later, Skoll stood in front of him as a man once more—naked, blood-splattered, and completely unbothered.

The air between them was thick, charged with something unsaid.

Lucien followed, his own bones breaking, reforming, his body shrinking down into something human again. When he straightened, his breath misted in the cold air, tension settling between them like a live wire.

They stood there, bare, unashamed, two beasts returned to skin.

Lucien rolled his shoulders, the last ache of his shift settling in his bones before he narrowed his eyes.

"How long have you been out here?" His voice was a low growl, edged with disapproval.

Skoll just rolled his shoulders, stretching, muscles taut beneath bloodied skin. "Don’t start," he commanded and Lucien let out a slow breath. 

Patience. 

Fucking patience. "You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

"You have the Apex Pit under control.”

"Yes, but that doesn’t stop others from questioning where the Apex Alpha of Toronto disappeared to. For five fucking years."

The words hit like a strike to the ribs, sharper than Lucien intended. Too sharp. He hadn’t meant to snap like that—not at Skoll, not this way. But fuck…Five years.

Five years of holding the Apex Pit together with blood and bone. Five years of handling the fighters, the dealers, the power plays—making sure the whole damn empire didn’t collapse under its own weight.

Lucien wasn’t complaining. He was lucky the fighters and the other supernaturals respected him enough not to challenge him. Lucky that fear was just as effective as loyalty.

But still—five years was a long fucking time to run a kingdom that wasn’t his and now, after all of it—Skoll was finally back. 

Or at least, what was left of him was.

"Didn’t feel like talking," he said flatly, rolling his shoulders like the last decade was nothing but an afterthought.

Lucien exhaled sharply, jaw ticking. Of course. "Yeah, well, that’s not my problem." He crossed his arms, tension rolling through his spine. "We have a situation."

Skoll raised a brow. Disinterested and detached. 

Lucien knew that look. The same fucking look he gave the world five years ago before he vanished into the wild but this wasn’t half a decade ago. And Lucien wasn’t letting him run again.

His next words hit like a gunshot. "The drug, Skoll." His voice dropped lower, sharper. "It’s back."

Skoll stilled. Not much. Just a slight tightening in his jaw, a flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Lucien saw it—the shift. The thing lurking beneath the surface, coiling, waiting.

Skoll’s voice came quieter now, deadlier. "What did you say?"

“You heard me.”

Lucien held his stare. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. "Fighters are dropping, Skoll. Same symptoms as Kane."

That name was a fucking bomb and a muscle in Skoll’s jaw twitched. His fingers flexed. Tension locked in his shoulders, in the way his chest rose slower, measured.

Lucien knew that look too. The one before blood was spilled.

Kane, Skoll’s brother. Runa his sister… Five years wasn’t long enough to bury the rage. Not even close.

Skoll’s voice was low, dangerous. "Who’s supplying it?"

"We don’t know yet.” he shook his head. “But we will. It’s only a matter of time considering now that it's becoming more popular."

Lucien hesitated. He knew what he was about to say would set Skoll off, but he wasn’t here to coddle him. "Cyrus Ramirez reached out to me."

That got a reaction. Skoll’s emerald gaze sharpened, lethal as a blade. "The fucking blood-leech? Didn’t give a damn before."

“Because stormed into his Blood Lounge, fucking accusing him of manufacturing the mysterious drug that killed Kane.” Lucien countered. "But he knows something. He wants a meeting."

Silence.

The tension between them thickened, darkened. Then, finally, Skoll exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the last bit of restraint before it shattered.

Then came the words Lucien had been waiting for.

Skoll cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and exhaled. "Then let’s hunt."

-

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