(Was messing around and here's an aesthetic for The Ghost (; if you'd like to see Ripley's in the next chapter, let me know)

Ripley
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I inhale deeply, but all that I can detect is the putrid scent of rapidly cooling bodies in the room down the hall. I can't smell the killer. I can't smell them. It's true. I don't know how, but they have no scent. My heartbeat picks up a little at the realization. This is definitely The Ghost. My wolf is at the forefront of my mind, pushing to shift. Fight or flight mode.

The figure's back faces me, a black hoodie drawn up over their head. The moonlight makes it much easier to see the assassin in my home. When they turn, I hold my breath. No one has seen The Ghost and lived to tell the tale which means no one could prepare me for what I would see.

From this distance, I can make out that the killer is male. The hoodie manages to hide most of his face, casting him in shadow despite the moon's desperate attempt to present him in the light. My fear turns into icy hot rage as he takes a few silent paces to my parents' door. Despite wearing black jeans and shoes, he doesn't make a sound in this creaky, old house. My hand slowly slips to the knife at my side. His gloved hand touches the door knob gently. No. No, no, no. The knife is in my hand now. I have one shot. One chance. That's it. I push my door open more after seeing his attention diverted to quietly twisting my parents' doorknob. Panic wells in my chest.

Without hesitation, I send it flying in his direction straight for his neck. I am known for my accuracy, so I know it'll fly true. Just as expected, it's right on target.

What I don't expect is for his hand to raise and catch the knife as if he were catching a baseball. Not even by the handle, but by the blade.

What kind of ninja shit is this?

His head snaps in my direction so quickly that his black hood flies off his head. My heart stops. That was my one chance. But I never actually had a real shot, not really. Not when he clearly knew of my presence the entire time.

My breath catches when I see his face for the first time. How can someone so evil be so beautiful?

His face is all sharp angles and edges with tan skin and eyes framed with long dark lashes and serious eyebrows. Chocolate colored hair flies in wisps on his head, seemingly messy. His skin remains unmarred except for a single, thick scar along his throat, what I'd guess to be the only time someone almost bested him. He's muscular, built like an athlete, which would explain his ability to travel great distances quickly and evade being seen. His eyes are the color of the sky but without the vibrancy. Something appears off in them, like they're dull, flat, and have no life. It unnerves me. It's not right.

He stares at me, not seeming to be surprised at my presence. His nostrils flare as his eyes dart around my face for what feels like hours. His gaze is calculating and critical. Not a single emotion displays itself on his face, as if he were carved from stone.

He looks at the knife in his hand, holding it up to his face to examine it. Dark red blood coats the edge from it slitting his glove and slicing his palm. All I can do is watch him with wide eyes. Should I mind-link someone? No. No, he'll slaughter us all then.

I open and close my mouth a few times, taking a small step back into my room. Instantly, his gaze snaps up to mine, peering at me through the corner of his eye. My mouth opens to say something but shuts once again when he lifts a gloved finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet. I don't know why, but I do as I'm told. I know I should fear him, but the only thing I can conjure up is fear from knowing I am not scared of him. I have accepted my fate. Him catching the knife has eliminated all hope of me getting out of this alive. That shouldn't have been possible. My heart patters rapidly in my chest. Thank God he's not an Alpha or of Alpha blood, otherwise I'm sure he could have heard it.

He swipes the hand with the slit glove along his pants, turning the black of his pants an even darker shade from his blood. I inhale deeply but find I can't even scent his blood. He is completely without a smell.

I find myself scanning him. He is the most beautiful being I have ever seen. My breath catches in my throat once again in disbelief. Here I am face to face with someone who has killed hundreds of wolves and I'm ogling him. Goosebumps raise on my skin.

For a long moment, we stand there looking at each other. I'm not sure why he hasn't killed me yet. Maybe he's not sure what to do about my presence. Maybe he never thought he could be caught.

Without breaking the stare, he lets the knife clatter to the floor. If the rooms weren't sound proof, as is necessary for Alphas' rooms, then there would be a horde of half-asleep blood-thirsty Alphas in the hallway by now. He finally breaks the hold we have an each other to glance at my parents' door. A low warning growl rumbles in my throat. He may kill me but he will not touch my parents. His strange blue eyes flicker back to me before his head snaps to the side as if listening to something. He looks like a golden retriever with his head tilted just so.

Before I can blink or breathe, I'm being roughly pushed into my room while I hear the sounds of him dropping the knife that he must have picked back up on my floor. He's so close, I can feel the heat radiating from his body. So he's not literally a ghost.

His gloved fingers shove into my gums to prevent me from talking or biting him while his other hand holds both my wrists with strength that shouldn't be possible. I'm so close I can see the fine hairs making up the faint stubble on his cheek and finally hear his breath. I notice his face is not as perfect as I originally thought. Upon closer inspection, he has several tiny white scars near his eyebrows and along his cheeks.

In all the commotion, he had managed to crack my door to where it would be barely noticeable to anyone who was looking. His head cocks to the side, as if still listening to whatever it is he heard. His body keeps mine trapped against the wall just out of sight of the cracked door, and I can feel his chest rise and fall in time with his breaths.

My heartbeat picks up slightly from our proximity. I eye his hand on my wrists, noticing how he keeps my wrists away from the part of his glove that's torn, revealing olive skin. I'm not sure what he did to Gabriel's parents, but I feel as though it has something to do with why he keeps his hands gloved. I don't want to find out.

When he finally turns his head to look down at me, I realize how tall he is. Footsteps sound outside in the hallway through the crack in the door. He looks at me as if daring me to try and speak, but I know better than to get anyone else involved.

After several minutes, he yanks himself away from me, adjusting his long sleeves to make sure no skin reveals itself. Before I can blink, he has my knife back in his hand. I shuffle closer to my door. I can't fight him. I don't want to know what would happen to me if I made contact with his hands. I don't know what he did, but it explains why there was never any blood or signs of struggle. He just touched them and they died.

I also know I could never win with a weapon, not when he can catch it like it's nothing. My eyes flicker to the cracked door to my left. I take another step and let my eyes shift to where he's standing. He's already watching me with those dead blue eyes, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. A muscle in his jaw ticks. He knows.

Without another thought, I jerk towards the door, flinging myself at the handle. My heart lodges itself in my throat, but before I can even touch the door handle, my knife embeds itself into the door next to my face. I look at it with wide eyes, freezing in place as the momentum of the knife shuts the door the last little bit with a quiet click. Slowly turning around, my mouth drops open when I see my room is empty. He's gone. I can finally breathe again as my hand comes to clutch at my chest, ragged breaths leaving my lips.

Why didn't he kill me?

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After a restless night of tossing and turning in my bed, practically thrashing, the morning light finally frees me from the chains of slumber. Jolting upright, the memories of last night flood my brain. I have to tell someone. But wait, will he come for them if I do? No one has seen him and lived to tell the tale. No one.

I am so screwed.

Before I went to bed, I had notified one of my packmates on guard via mind-link to check Gabriel's parents' room, claiming I had heard weird noises from behind the door. I was still processing what I saw, and I didn't have the heart nor the mind in the moment to deal with the death of the two Alphas. Gabriel will be devastated.

Gabriel. I need to check on him. Surely, he's heard. But there's something I must do first. I make up my mind.

'Grayson?' I call hesitantly through the link. Instantly, he responds.

'Ripple," he states in a jovial tone, using his childhood nickname for me.

'I need you to meet me at the Wishing Tree. Ten minutes,' I reply back, abruptly cutting the link. I quickly change out of my pink pajamas, throwing on some activewear. We're going on a manhunt after all.

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Author's Note.

Heyyyyyy😏

Soooo what are your thoughts on The Ghost? Why do you think he didn't kill Ripley?

Do you think she will find him on her and Grayson's 'manhunt?'👀

Attached to this chapter is how I imagine The Ghost. Let me know what you think 🤔

But now I want to know about you guys! Where are y'all at? I'm in the United States!

Anyways, if you liked this chapter, please consider dropping a vote and a comment to let me know! It means so much to me to have y'all's support!

Stay tuned for next week!

Xoxo,
Sydnee