CHAPTER 248

**ZION**

I stumbled through the front door, chest heaving, legs trembling from the adrenaline still screaming through my veins. My shirt clung to my skin, torn and streaked with dirt. Sweat dripped into my eyes, my hair plastered to my forehead. Every nerve in me was strung tight, still half convinced I’d turn and see that shadow right behind me.

But before I even had time to register the familiar walls of the house—she was there.

Winter.

She collided into me like a storm, arms around my neck, legs winding around me as if she could fuse herself to me and never let me go.

Relief hit me like a gut punch.

Her weight anchored me, yanking me out of the haze of violence and blood I’d been running on. And her scent—fuck, her scent—wrapped around me like it always did. That mix of her perfume and something that was just her—warm, soft, addictive. It cracked something in my chest wide open.

I hadn’t realised how bad I needed this until she was in my arms. Until she was clinging like I was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

And I held her back, tighter, because she was the only thing keeping me sane.

Fuck, I loved this girl. More than my own life. More than my next breath. If anything had happened to her—if this nightmare had touched her—I wouldn’t have survived it. I knew that with terrifying clarity.

She wasn’t just grounding me. She was me. My reason. My everything.

“Zion…I was so scared,” she sobbed, voice muffled against my shoulder.

“Shh… ” I murmured into her hair, voice raw—jagged from the rush of adrenaline and the razor-edge of fear still cutting through me.

She didn’t answer. She just held on tighter, and God, I couldn’t let her go either.

Every frantic beat of her heart against mine was a reminder—she was here, she was safe, she was mine.

“I’m here,” I whispered again, rougher this time, like I needed to believe it as much as she did. “I’m fine.”

I pressed my forehead to hers, drinking her in, breathing her like oxygen. She was trembling, tears streaking down her face, clinging like letting go would tear us apart.

And then—her hands slid down my sleeve. I flinched, too slow.

Her head snapped up, eyes locking on the dark stain seeping through the torn fabric.

Her face drained of colour

“Oh my God—!” she gasped, fingers hovering just above the blood. 

“Zion, your arm—you’re bleeding!”

She looked like she might pass out right there. 

Her chest heaved, sobs choking her throat as her trembling hands hovered near the wound, not knowing whether to touch it or not.

I caught her wrists, firm but gentle, forcing her eyes back to me.

“Snowflake,” I murmured, steady, even though my arm burned like fire. 

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

“Just a scratch?” she shot back, voice breaking, frantic. 

“What if it had been worse—what if—what if—”

Her panic spiralled, her voice shattering as tears streamed down her face. She gripped my jacket, trembling so hard it shook me with her.

“Snowflake.” My voice dropped, rougher, sharper.

Her eyes snapped up, swimming with terror. 

Christ, it gutted me.

I covered her hands with my good one, anchoring her. 

“Look at me. I’m fine. Do you hear me? I’ve had worse. This? This is nothing.”

Her breath hitched, ragged and uneven. I pressed my lips to her temple, trying to ground her, to steady her trembling body.

“Breathe, Snowflake… just breathe,” I murmured.

She jerked back, eyes blazing through the tears streaking her cheeks. “Breathe? Are you serious right now? You’re bleeding, Zion! And you want me to just breathe? How am I supposed to calm down when you—”

Her words were cut off by a voice that sliced through the room like a whip.

“Zion?!”

Mom.

She stormed in, face pale, eyes wide with terror and raw fury, every step radiating panic.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” she shouted, voice trembling but sharp enough to make my chest tighten. “Chasing a lunatic in the middle of the night? Do you even realise what could have happened? He could’ve killed you!”

I clenched my teeth, heat snapping through me. “Mom, calm down—”

“Calm down?” she barked, her voice rising, cracking at the edges. “You expect me to calm down when my son ran after a potential murderer—alone?! You want me to calm down?!”

“Yes. I fucking do!” I shot back, my voice sharp, raw with adrenaline. “Because this wasn’t just some random maniac in the street. He was here. In this house. In Winter’s room! He was going to hurt her—you think I could just watch that happen? You think I could stand by and do nothing? I’d rather risk myself a hundred times over than let him touch her, Mom!”

Her hands shook violently, fingers curling and uncurling like she couldn’t decide whether to pull me close or strike me for scaring her half to death. Her chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, each one trembling with terror and fury.

“You don’t get it either!” she screamed, stepping closer, eyes glossy and desperate. 

“You could’ve died, Zion! Do you even think about the consequences? What does your recklessness do to everyone around you? To me? To Winter? What would’ve happened if you hadn’t come back through that door?”

Her voice cracked on the last words, sharp and jagged with anger, but beneath it all lay raw, suffocating fear.

I stepped toward her, voice low, every word clipped with frustration and desperation. 

“I am thinking, Mom! I’m always thinking—about her! Everything I did tonight, every risk I took, was to make sure she stayed safe. That’s the only thing that matters! Not me. Not the danger—I don’t care about any of that if it keeps her alive!”

“You think that makes you a hero?!” she screamed, voice cracking, wet with tears. 

“It makes you insane, Zion!”

“I don’t give a shit!” I snapped, my voice breaking out raw. 

“I love her. Do you hear me? I love her. And I’d tear the world apart before I let anything happen to her!”

The words tore out of me before I could stop them, the truth laid bare.

Mom froze, swallowing hard, her hands shaking. 

“Zion…”

The air between us vibrated, thick with fury, fear, and the kind of love that only came when you were seconds from losing everything.

And then—Winter’s voice cracked through the chaos.

“Jenny… please.”

We both whipped to her.

“He’s hurt… he's bleeding ..all because of me,” Winter whispered, her voice trembling, raw with guilt.

Mom froze, eyes widening as they roamed over me, before finally landing on my arm.

“Snowflake… no,” I rasped, my own panic pressing against my chest, desperate to stop her from sinking into the guilt that threatened to swallow her.

Mom’s hands trembled as she lunged forward, fingers hovering, unsure whether to cradle me or shake me, eyes locked on the dark stain spreading across my sleeve.

“Zion—”

“It’s fine,” I said, forcing calm into my voice, though every word throbbed with the pain in my arm. “Really… just a scratch. The knife barely grazed me.”

“A knife? Just a scratch?” Mom’s voice tore through the room, a jagged mix of fear and fury, half scream, half sob.

“What if it had been your throat, Zion? What if—”

Before she could spiral, William’s voice cut in, cold and sharp.

“Enough.”

He strode forward, first-aid box in hand, eyes cutting through all of us.

“He’s bleeding, not dying. You two need to stop being hysterical.” His tone snapped like a whip, leaving no room for argument. 

“Sit,” he barked at me. 

“We deal with the wound first.”

I ground my teeth, heat boiling in my chest, but I dropped onto the couch anyway. 

My arm throbbed, the pain sharp, steady, blood seeping through my sleeve. Winter hovered beside me, trembling, eyes wide, silent but panicked.

William knelt in front of me, first-aid kit open, his hands moving with sharp, precise efficiency. Winter was still clinging to my side, her small frame trembling, and I wrapped my good arm around her, holding her close.

“Stay still,” William barked, voice sharp, cutting through the panic in the room. 

“Both of you women. Stop hovering over him like he’s about to crumble. He’s bleeding, not dying. Let’s get that wound taken care of first.”

Winter’s lips trembled against my chest, but she didn’t let go. I could feel every heartbeat of hers, erratic and frantic, and it fueled my own determination to stay solid—for her, for myself.

“Your mother’s right,” he said, voice low but sharp, cutting through the chaos. 

“Charging after him without backup… that was reckless. You got lucky it wasn’t worse.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, then his gaze flicked coldly up to mine.

“I hope it was worth it,” he said, voice clipped, controlled—but full of unspoken warning.

William’s hands were steady as he probed the cut, the sting making me hiss through clenched teeth. 

“Did you get a look at him?” he asked, voice low, scanning my face like he could pull the memory from my mind.

My jaw tightened. Fuck. How I wanted to scream yes. How I wanted to rip that bastard’s face from memory and hand it to William. But the truth—what I actually saw—was nothing.
.

.

“No. He covered up. Hood. Mud smeared. Did it on purpose.” My fists clenched. 

“Made sure I couldn’t see a damn thing.”

The words tasted like failure. 

My arm pulsed, sharp and insistent, a reminder of just how close it had been.

“But,” I ground out, voice low, rough with lingering adrenaline,

“I got him. Left arm. Blade went in deep. That’s not nothing. That’s something we can grab onto. Someone shows up with a wound like that—we’ll know. That mark? That’s our lead. That’s how we track this bastard.”

My jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. “We don’t wait for him to strike again. We stay sharp, eyes open. Someone with a cut like that—he’s ours to find.”

William gave a short, approving nod, hands steady as he cleaned the gash.

I let a small, almost imperceptible smirk creep across my face, pride flickering despite the ache.

William caught it—just for a moment, a flicker of something almost like a smile softened his features—but it was quickly gone, replaced with that razor-sharp focus I knew so well.

“You did well, boy,” he said, flat, but there was an edge of pride buried in it.

I froze, blinking.

Did step-daddy just—?

A humourless laugh escaped me.

“Wait… was that praise? From you… step-daddy?”

His glare sharpened immediately, cutting through the room like a blade.

“Don’t get cute. One lucky hit doesn’t make you invincible. That bastard could’ve ended you. Remember that.”

I let a smirk creep over my face, the adrenaline still roaring through me. 

“Oh, I’m sure that fucker won’t forget tonight — probably whining like a little bitch, licking his wounds, wondering how he got bested. Nobody—nobody—messes with Zion Royal’s girl and walks away. Unscathed.”

William rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, betraying just a hint of approval—a begrudging acknowledgement of my bravado. 

“Don’t let it get to your head,”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. 

But my mind burned with one truth.

This wasn’t over. 

Not until the bastard was caught.

THIRD POV

The room reeked of antiseptic and blood. A single bulb swung overhead, its dim light flickering against the cracked plaster walls. He sat hunched forward, sweat dripping down his temple, his left arm stretched out across a battered table. 

The gash burned like fire, every stitch pulling sharp curses through his teeth.

“Hhh—fuck…” he hissed, jaw locking as the needle pierced his skin again. Blood oozed through his crude work, staining the rag he pressed to the wound. His hood lay tossed aside, but his face was still a mask of mud and shadow, smeared on purpose even now, even in private.

The door creaked open.

He tensed, hand instinctively going to the knife at his belt—but relaxed when the voice came.

“You fucking got lucky tonight.” The man stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a thud. His eyes were cold, assessing, lingering on the half-stitched arm. 

“If Zion had caught you…” He let the thought hang, sharp and heavy. 

“Everything would’ve been finished. Game over. You almost blew the whole goddamn thing.”

The stalker’s head lifted slowly, eyes gleaming through the grime. He gave a twisted smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“He didn’t catch me,” he rasped, voice raw from running, from shouting. His lips curled wider, even as his hand trembled around the needle. 

“And he never will.”

The man stared at him for a long moment, jaw tight, before finally muttering, 

“For your sake, you’d better be right.”

The bulb above them flickered again, throwing their shadows long and jagged against the wall.

And then, as he stepped closer into the light, his features sharpened, unmistakable now—

Damien.