Chapter 198: Wanderer
She realised with a jolt of clarity that the Feral Convoy was starving. They weren’t just hungry for food; they were starving for a woman’s touch, for a mate, for any scrap of femininity in a world of chrome and rust. The City of Light had taken everything from them. To this man, she wasn’t just a prisoner. She was a miracle.
And a miracle needed to be grateful.
Felicity rubbed her bare arm against the rough stone, leaving her skin’s scent and faint musk in the grain. She shifted her hip, snagging her white dress on jagged rebar.
Follow the trail, Victor. Find me, Voss.
She looked up, blue eyes brimming. She hardly had to try to appear weak; she wanted him to see how exhausted, terrified, and shaken she was. A single tear traced her cheek, her lip trembling in the lantern light.
The Jackal, called Wanderer, straightened, predatory curiosity darkening his gaze. His tongue flicked out, searching her fear like scent. He expected her to scream, to rage, maybe beg—something raw. Instead, he met her wet-eyed gaze, expectation rising in his chest.
Instead, Felicity let out a soft, broken sob. Locking eyes with him, she wore an expression of raw, vulnerable relief, masking her fear with gratitude—she was determined to convince Wanderer he was her rescuer, even as she swallowed her pride and pushed thoughts of her husbands from her mind.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking perfectly. "Thank you for saving me from them."
The words hit the room like a physical blow. Wanderer froze. The smug, jagged smile he’d been wearing faltered, his sharp eyes widening in genuine shock. He’d spent his life as a scavenger, a thief, a man who plucked things from the dark. No one had ever thanked him. Especially not a woman who looked like a dream of the old world.
"Saving you?" Wanderer’s voice was dry and raspy. He took a step toward her, his spatial energy flickering around his fingers. "Little fox, I stole you. I’m taking you to the Boss. You’re the trade-in for the mountain pass."
Felicity shook her head, letting out another sob that she forced from deep in her chest. She curled into a ball on the cold floor, looking up at him through her lashes.
"You don’t understand," she whimpered, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "Those men... the ones I was with... they were monsters. They kept me in a cage. They used me for my Heals. They didn’t care if I was scared or tired. They just wanted my power."
She saw the flicker of interest in his eyes. It was the oldest trick in the book: the damsel in distress, the beautiful girl trapped by villains. Felicity knew men like Wanderer, who lived in the shadow of stronger beastmen, craved an opportunity to be a hero for their ego. She intended to use this to her advantage, feeding his desire to be the one who saved her.
"They were going to kill me if I stopped healing them," Felicity lied, her mind racing. She had to lead him away. If he took her to "the Boss" or the main bunker, she’d be lost in a maze of enforcers. But if she could convince him to take her away—to use his spatial jump to hide her for "himself"—she could deal with him one-on-one. She could find an opening.
"When you grabbed me... when everything went dark... I felt safe for the first time in months," she said, reaching out a trembling hand toward him, but pulling it back at the last second as if she were too afraid to touch him. "I thought I was going to die in that square. I thought Victor was going to burn me up with his fire."
Wanderer took another step, now standing right over her. He smelled the jasmine of her skin, saw the way her white dress was torn, and his Level 92 instincts, distorted by months of loneliness and the brutal culture of the Convoy, began to warp. He wasn’t the most handsome man, but in this moment, he felt like a giant.
"Victor," Wanderer spat the name. "The golden eagle. He thinks he’s the king of the road. He thinks no one can touch what’s his."
"He’s a nightmare," Felicity sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Please... don’t let them find me. They’ll kill you to get me back. They’re already coming. I can feel them. They’re like wolves."
Wanderer’s posture shifted. The "hot IT guy" look vanished, replaced by a twitchy, nervous arrogance. He looked at the heavy door, then back at Felicity. He knew the Feral Convoy was strong, but he’d seen what Victor did to the highway. If he stayed here, if he delivered her to Krux and the Boss, he was just a delivery boy waiting to be slaughtered when the pack arrived.
But if he took her...
If he used his space to vanish into the deep ridges where even a snow leopard couldn’t track a scent... he could have her. He could be the one she thanked every morning.
"The Boss is expecting a trade," Wanderer muttered, more to himself than to her. "
But the Boss isn’t the one who jumped into the middle of a Level 100 aura to pull you out. I did that."
"You did," Felicity whispered, looking up at him with wide, worshipping eyes. "You were so fast. They didn’t even see you. You’re... you’re amazing."
She felt a wave of nausea at her own words, the bile rising hot in her throat, but she kept the mask in place. She needed him to jump. She needed him to take her far enough away that she could use her own space-gate or find a weapon. She forced her lips into a brittle smile—she just had to keep him believing he was the saviour.
Wanderer reached down, his hand hovering over her blonde hair. He didn’t touch her... yet, but his gaze was heavy, possessive in a way that made her skin crawl. "I can take us out of here. Farther than any of them can follow. There’s a lookout near the peak, a place I’ve kept hidden for months. Not even the convoy knows about it."