Chapter 2: Shadows, Blood, and Pretend Vows

Flash forward—now, under a sky black as ink, he slips into the Mayor’s manor, leaps in through the window, grabs my wrist, and says, "I’m taking you with me."

The city outside was dead quiet—the kind of silence you only get after midnight, when the world belongs to the desperate and the dangerous. Eli’s hand was cold, but his grip was solid. He looked at me like nothing I said could change his mind.

I kept my face blank, like I didn’t care.

Inside, though, my heart was pounding, but you’d never know it from looking at me. I learned a long time ago not to show fear. Not to show anything, really. Especially not to him.

A dagger slipped from my sleeve; he dodged fast, but still got a cut on his wrist.

The blade caught the candlelight, flashing between us. He was quicker than I remembered, ducking aside, but not quick enough to escape the edge. The cut was shallow, but blood welled up right away.

A drop of blood hit the floor with a soft plop, blooming bright red against the wood.

It was so quiet, almost lost in the hush. But I heard it. So did he. The red spread across the old floorboards, sharp and vivid in the flickering candlelight.

In the shifting light, his face was all angles—wounded, stubborn, eyes locked on mine, unyielding:

He looked older than his age, dark circles under his eyes, jaw set. I could see the pain, but he wouldn’t show it. Not to me. Not now.

"Autumn, come with me."

His voice was low, almost pleading, but there was steel in it. He wasn’t really asking—he was daring me to refuse.

My dad is the Mayor, tight with the Governor’s crew, always fighting for power in the state capital, locked in an endless game with the Lieutenant Governor’s camp.

This city? It’s a powder keg, just waiting for a spark. Dad plays the game better than most, but that just means the enemies are sharper, the stakes higher.

The Governor, Samuel Cross, has a secret intel network all over the city. I run his covert team.

I was his eyes and ears in the shadows. I moved through the city like a ghost, trading secrets, calling in favors, always trying to stay one step ahead.

As the oldest daughter—Autumn Langley, no brothers—I’d trained in martial arts, kept my head down, slipped through the city like I belonged. I was the perfect fit for a shadow job.

It wasn’t the life anyone dreams up for their kid, but I made it work. I learned to fight, to listen, to vanish when I had to. The city was my playground—and my cage.

To keep me safe, Dad picked the best from the pack: Eli Warren.

Dad didn’t trust easy, but he trusted Eli. That said a lot. Maybe he saw what I did—that quiet fire, the promise of loyalty that couldn’t be bought.

I spent most of my time undercover, hitting the city’s bars and pool halls to sniff out and swap information. Eli was always there, my shadow.

We made a weird pair—me in some borrowed dress or thrift store suit, him lurking just behind, always on alert. The city’s underbelly was loud and messy, but Eli never looked out of place, even among the drunks and hustlers.

He hadn’t been with me even half a year before I landed a big case.

Sooner than I planned, but trouble doesn’t care about plans. Eli didn’t complain. He just followed, quiet as ever.

The Governor’s private cars vanished overnight in Maple Heights, on the way to Silver Hollow.

It was the kind of thing that made headlines—and got people killed if they asked too many questions. The whole city buzzed with rumors, but no one had answers.

It was a big deal—one wrong move and the whole thing could blow up. I was ordered to go in disguise, so Eli and I drove through the night to Maple Heights.

The road was long and winding, headlights slicing through the mist. Eli drove with both hands tight on the wheel, eyes locked on the road. We didn’t talk much. Didn’t have to.

We got there by noon the next day. Our cover was shaky, so we kept it quiet. During the city inspection, I naturally linked arms with Eli, playing the part of newlyweds visiting relatives.

I’d never tried that before, but Eli rolled with it, face unreadable. We blended in, smiling for the guards like it was the most natural thing in the world.

We slipped right in. Sunlight poured down on the broad, oak-lined streets. Eli led the horse with one hand, eyes down, gently nudging me away with the other. He blushed so hard I had to bite my lip not to laugh.

He looked ready to bolt, cheeks burning, but he kept his cool. I couldn’t help teasing him, just to see that rare crack in his armor.

Ma’am, we should keep our distance.

His voice was stiff, almost formal, but I caught the embarrassment flickering in his eyes. I almost felt bad for him—almost.

"Yeah, rules," I shot back. "Don’t you dare fall for me, Eli."

I kept it light, but the warning was there. We both knew what happened when lines got blurry.

After all, a blade that falls for someone? That’s when it gets dull—starts to hesitate, loses its edge. Like a quarterback who can’t take a hit anymore. That’s not what anyone needs.

That was just how it was. I’d seen too many people lose their edge for the wrong reasons. I wasn’t about to let that happen to either of us.

For a second, he looked almost scornful, then bowed his head. "As you wish."

His tone was careful, but I caught a flash of something sharper beneath. Maybe he was mocking me—or just tired of pretending.

The cars vanished at the Hawthorne Estate. It was a mess—too many investigators from the capital, including the Lieutenant Governor’s people.

Everybody had their own angle. We had to watch our backs, move carefully.

That night, we even ran into them.

The air was thick with tension, the city buzzing with rumors. I felt eyes on us everywhere. Eli never relaxed—not for a second.

In this kind of business, if I died undercover, the Governor couldn’t even ask about it. The Lieutenant Governor would want us wiped out completely.

One wrong move, and we’d be erased—no questions, no second chances. Stakes couldn’t be higher.

Under the pitch-black sky, wind howling, we raced across rooftops, blades flashing in the moonlight—a chase between life and death.

My lungs burned, wind biting at my face. Eli was a shadow beside me, moving like he was born for this. All I could hear was our feet pounding and the ring of steel behind us.

We barely made it out alive.

By the time we found safety, my heart was pounding out of my chest. Eli just checked me over, making sure I was in one piece.

Eli was covered in blood and rage, silver hunting knife flashing as he fought our way out.

I’d never seen him like that—wild, almost feral. He fought with everything he had, eyes blazing. It was terrifying. And a little awe-inspiring.

I was unscathed; Eli took all the hits.

He tried to hide it, but I saw the blood soaking through his shirt. No complaints—not even a wince.

He was young and proud, trying to hide it. But once we ducked into an old farmhouse, he finally collapsed, legs giving out. I barely caught him in time.

Only then did I see the deep wound on his back. It took everything I had to drag him inside.

The sight of all that blood made my hands shake. I’d seen injuries before, but never this bad—not on someone I cared about.

I flicked on a lamp, fetched water, tore up cloth. He tried to resist, but I yanked his shirt off anyway, stripping him down to patch him up.

He grumbled, but I wasn’t having it. I’d patched up worse, but never on someone so stubborn.

His ears turned bright red, which almost made me laugh.

Even half-dead, he was embarrassed about me seeing him shirtless. Only Eli.

But all I saw was blood.

It was everywhere—soaking the fabric, dripping to the floor. My hands moved on autopilot, cleaning and bandaging, refusing to let myself think about what would’ve happened if I’d been a second slower.

On Eli’s pale back, a deep, slanting gash cut right to the bone.

It looked bad, the kind of wound that could haunt you for life. I gritted my teeth, focused on stopping the bleeding.

Ma’am, we should keep some distance.

His voice was barely a whisper, but the stubbornness was still there. Even now, he couldn’t let go of the rules.

Even with a hole in his back, he worried about manners. This little wolf was too rigid.

I shook my head, almost smiling. Only Eli would care about that now.

"Don’t move." I pressed his shoulder, cleaning the wound. He trembled a little but didn’t make a sound.

His jaw was clenched so tight, I thought he might break a tooth. But he never flinched.

When I finished and turned to face him, his face was covered in cold sweat, jaw locked. His long hair, tied high, hung damp and plastered to his cheeks.

He looked like he’d been through hell, but still held it together. I felt guilty for being so rough.

He looked miserable. Fierce, too.

There was a wildness in his eyes, something raw. For a second, I saw the boy he used to be, before the world got its claws in him.

I paused, regretting my roughness, but all I said was, "If it hurts, why not say something?"

My words came out softer than I meant. I wanted him to know I cared, even if I couldn’t say it straight.

His lashes lifted slightly, bloodshot eyes staring straight at me.

The look he gave me was sharp, almost accusing. Like he was daring me to really see him.

That look made my heart skip. I forced a calm smile. "Don’t tell me you’re falling for me just because I patched you up."

I tried to joke, but the words hung between us. I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince.

He rolled his eyes, looking away, letting out a little snort.

He didn’t have to say anything. The tension broke, just a little.

I laughed out loud, unrestrained.

The sound surprised both of us. For a moment, the weight of everything lifted, and it was just us—alive and safe, for now.

The Lieutenant Governor didn’t let things go, but the Governor sent more men in secret. By the time we wrapped up the Maple Heights case, it was late summer, the air thick with frogs and cicadas.

The city had changed—greener, noisier, more alive. It felt good to be back, even if the danger wasn’t over.

Finally, the months of living on a knife’s edge were over. I smiled for the first time in days, but Eli didn’t look happy. I realized I’d never seen him sad, either, so I asked.

He was always so composed, it was easy to forget he was still a kid. I wondered what it would take to crack that mask.

Life and death happen; joy and sorrow don’t change anything. Since I’m here, I’ll settle in.

He sounded like an old soul, world-weary and wise. But I could tell he was just trying to make sense of things, like we all do.

He sounded ancient, but he was so young…

It was almost funny, the way he talked—like he’d lived a hundred years in those fifteen. Maybe he had, in his own way.

I studied him for a while, then smiled. "You’re awfully clearheaded for your age."

I tried to tease, but it came out fond. Couldn’t help it—he was impossible not to care about.

Then I went back inside, missing the storm of emotion that flashed through his eyes right then.

If I’d looked back, maybe I’d have seen it—the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled tight around the knife. But I didn’t. Not then.

We set out for the city, facing several more assassination attempts on the way. No mystery who was behind it. Luckily, with Eli, nothing got through.

He was a shadow, always one step ahead. I stopped being surprised at how many times he saved my life. It became routine.

We made it back in one piece. Before I could even shower or sleep, the Governor, Samuel Cross, summoned me to The Oak Barrel Tavern.

The message was blunt, no room for argument. But I was too tired to care. My whole body ached, all I wanted was a hot bath and a soft bed.

I refused, flat out.

No excuses. If Cross wanted to see me, he could wait. I’d earned that much.

I’d just gotten back, exhausted and sore. Even a sharp blade needs to rest sometimes.

It was the first time I’d pushed back, and it felt good. I was more than just a tool—at least, I wanted to believe that.

Yeah, a blade.

That’s what I was to him. Nothing more, nothing less. I’d learned to live with it, but sometimes I wished for something else.

I was Samuel Cross’s blade. That childhood sweetheart stuff? Just a front.

People liked to romanticize it, but the truth was colder. Cross needed me sharp, not sentimental.

Skirt swirling, I grabbed my keys and called to my uptight little wolf, "Eli, let’s go home."

The words felt weird, but I meant them. Home was wherever Eli was, even if I couldn’t say it out loud.

The messenger looked nervous, wanting to stop us, but shrank back when Eli’s knife flashed. He just watched us go.

Eli didn’t say a word, but his presence cleared the way. No one wanted to mess with him—not after what they’d seen.

"Home" wasn’t the Mayor’s estate, but a little house I’d bought on the edge of town.

It was small, quiet, ringed by trees. I liked it that way. It felt safe, away from the city’s madness.

If you want loyalty, you have to win hearts first—then show your strength.

Dad always said that. I took it to heart, tried to treat people right, even if the world didn’t.

So at dinner, I called Eli down from the roof to eat with me.

He looked surprised, maybe even suspicious. But I insisted, and he finally sat at the table.

He protested, "We should keep our distance," but sat down anyway when I pushed.

His voice was stiff, but I saw the hunger in his eyes. He hadn’t eaten a real meal in days.

Honestly, I owed him thanks—for not leaving me in danger, for risking his life.

It wasn’t easy to say, but I tried. I poured him a drink, watching for any hint of emotion.

When I said it and poured his drink, Eli’s face didn’t change. He just took the toast in silence, like always.

He lifted his glass, eyes steady, and drank. I wondered if he even tasted it.

In the candlelight, I watched his face and raised my glass. "To surviving together."

It felt like a win, just being alive. I wanted to mark it, even if he didn’t.

He glanced at me, took the toast, and clinked his glass with mine.

The sound rang out in the quiet room, sharp and clear. For a second, it felt like a promise.

A clear voice called from the doorway, cutting in.

The hairs on my neck stood up. I knew that voice.

"What a harmonious scene between boss and bodyguard."

Samuel Cross stepped out of the shadows, looking every inch the politician—perfect suit, gold and purple tie, a smirk on his lips. He carried himself like he owned the place.

His eyes swept over us, lingering a little too long. I felt exposed, caught doing something I couldn’t name.

Eli and I froze, glasses midair.

The tension was thick enough to slice. I felt Eli’s muscles tense beside me.

I hadn’t expected him to be so impatient for news that he’d come here himself.

It was out of character, and that made it worse.

Eli, knowing his place, tidied up and nodded to Cross as he left. As they passed, Cross suddenly barked, "You think you’re worthy to eat with Autumn?"

The words stung. Eli stopped, eyes down, waiting for permission to speak.

The mood dropped to freezing.

The air sucked all the warmth from the room. I watched, helpless, as the power shifted.

I sipped my wine, watching it all unfold.

Nothing I could do but wait. Cross always liked to make a scene, to remind everyone who was boss.

Eli was smart—he didn’t get cocky. He bowed, voice trembling, "I was wrong."

He kept his head down, shoulders stiff. I saw the humiliation burning in his cheeks.

I almost laughed, but Cross’s icy glare shut me up. I shivered, turned away, and drank more.

It was safer to stay quiet, not when Cross was in this kind of mood. I let the wine burn down, wishing I was anywhere else.

This Governor—he was a smiling wolf, ruthless underneath.

He wore charm like armor, but underneath it was nothing but sharp teeth.

After that, Eli and I kept it all business. By day, he was as elusive as ever; as long as he didn’t interfere, I let him be.

We fell into a routine—distant, professional, never letting things get too personal. It was safer that way.