Chapter 3 That's All I Get

Vivian's POV:

Could it really be him?

As soon as the possibility crossed my mind, the memory of what had happened on the field pierced my chest like a blade.

I couldn't bring myself to believe it was Adrian.

The helmet had completely concealed his face, leaving me with no way to tell who he was.

There were countless men who rode motorcycles. Besides, he despised me. What reason could he possibly have for coming all this way just to rescue me?

"Mind your own damn business, you filthy bastard! I'll kill you!" Furious at being interrupted, the arm-tattooed leader charged at the motorcyclist, throwing a powerful punch straight at him.

The rider didn't even rise from his seat.

With nothing more than a slight tilt of his head, he let the punch whistle past him. In the next instant, he seized the leader's wrist with a reverse grip, dragged him forward, and drove a vicious elbow into his ribs!

A horrifying crack rang through the narrow alley as the leader's bone gave way.

Although my wolf had never awakened, being born into the Ashford family meant I understood werewolf laws and abilities better than most.

Among humans, every werewolf was required to abide by the Werewolf Pact.

Unless faced with an immediate threat to our lives, we were forbidden from transforming, revealing our fangs, or displaying strength beyond human capabilities in public.

And yet, the man before me had taken down a towering six-and-a-half-foot brute with one effortless move, using nothing but astonishing reflexes and sheer physical force.

The leader's pained howl sent the remaining thugs rushing toward him all at once.

The rider casually got off the motorcycle and moved in front of me, placing himself between me and the attackers.

I stared in amazement as he took apart the group of muscular thugs one after another in mere seconds, until they were sprawled across the pavement, groaning in pain.

He had defeated every one of them with nothing but his bare hands.

As I gazed at his broad back, an unfamiliar tension gripped my chest. My heartbeat thundered so loudly that I could hear it in my ears.

His movements lacked the savage instinct and bloodthirsty aggression that usually gave away a werewolf. Was it possible that he was simply an exceptionally skilled human who happened to be passing through?

"Get out of here." His tone was chillingly cold. Though the helmet muffled his voice, its deep resonance still carried an intimidating authority that was impossible to ignore.

The color drained from the thugs' faces. They hurriedly picked themselves up, helping one another to their feet before scrambling onto their motorcycles and speeding out of the alley as fast as they could.

Silence descended over the alley again, broken only by the lingering haze of dust and the sharp, unpleasant smell of scorched rubber.

Although the threat was gone, my heart was still pounding in my throat.

I had noticed the smell of blood earlier and naturally assumed it came from the thugs.

Yet the thugs had disappeared, while the unmistakable metallic scent remained.

I watched the rider's chest rise and fall steadily, then swallowed nervously and found myself moving closer. "A-are you all right?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry," he replied in a slightly weak voice.

I retreated a few steps, examining him from head to toe.

That was when I noticed a deep tear across the pristine black leather covering his left shoulder. A dark stain was spreading through the torn seam as blood slowly seeped out, leaving the leather glistening with a wet sheen.

He must have been injured during the fight when he intercepted a surprise attack aimed at me.

"You're hurt..." I exclaimed in alarm.

Fear and concern swept away every trace of hesitation. I instinctively reached for his shoulder, wanting to check the injury. "How serious is it? Hold on, stay still. I'm calling an ambulance!"

Maybe he heard the panic in my voice, because he suddenly stopped moving.

He took his time removing his bloodstained gloves. With effortless familiarity, his long fingers reached for the clasp beneath his helmet.

A soft click sounded as the clasp came undone. He lifted off the helmet and tucked it beneath one arm as casually as if nothing had happened.

The warm afternoon sunlight slipped through the narrow space between the buildings, scattering patches of light and shadow across his face.

His tousled hair, damp with sweat, fell against his smooth forehead.

Underneath those thick eyebrows was the face I could never forget. I had seen it in my dreams more times than I could count over the past two years.

His well-defined jaw, those familiar, striking features, and the icy blue eyes that seemed to have no end—all of them were unmistakable. And right then, those eyes were looking directly at me.

I was so stunned that I couldn't think straight.

There was no mistaking him.

It was Adrian!

I couldn't find the words to make sense of what was happening. The whole situation felt ridiculous, and a bitter ache was building inside me.

Only a week ago, he had crushed my pride without giving it a second thought.

Barely thirty minutes earlier, I had been glaring at his face on a billboard, clenching my jaw as I vowed never to let him back into my life.

Yet, at the very moment I felt most helpless and had nowhere else to turn, he showed up out of nowhere and rescued me like some kind of hero.

How was I supposed to do?

He had hurt me more than I could put into words, yet he had also put himself in harm's way to protect me. What was I meant to make of that?

All the feelings I had tried so hard to bury—the love, the resentment, the hurt, and the nervous flutter in my chest—came rushing back. They spread through me like poisonous vines, tightening around my heart until I could hardly breathe.

Despite the storm of emotions inside me, my family upbringing kept me grounded. He had, after all, just saved me. I couldn't deny him that much.

I pulled myself together, raised my chin, and met his gaze head-on. Keeping my voice steady, I said, "Thank you, Adrian."

I expected him to respond with his usual mocking smile, or casually brush it off as nothing worth mentioning.

But to my surprise, the stern expression he always wore softened into the faintest smile. "That's all I get? A thank-you?"

His low, slightly rough voice broke the silence of the alley, sending a strange shiver through my already frayed nerves.

Perhaps I was seeing things, but his gaze didn't have its usual cold detachment. There was something intense and unsettling in his eyes, as though a predator had just fixed its sights on its target.

Before I could make sense of his unexpected behavior, he offered me another helmet, holding my gaze as he spoke. "Why don't you come along while I get this wound taken care of?"