The wolves who had been lounging around just moments ago were now on their feet, eyes burning with hostility, all fixed on the two of us. "That's him, boss! He's the one who had Dorian taken away!" A scrappy-looking werewolf ran out from the corner, pointing directly at Caden as he spoke to the man behind the counter. The shop assistant's face darkened instantly. He glared at Caden, voice thick with menace. "You got a death wish, kid? Do you know who I am? You think you can just snatch my guy and walk away?" Caden raised an eyebrow, glancing around the bar. "So you're his boss, huh?" His tone carried a hint of doubt. That drug they used on me earlier, it wasn't something ordinary people could get their hands on. This shop assistant didn't feel like a small-time thug. Sure enough, his eyes flickered with uncertainty for a moment before he barked, "Of course I am!" "Then what are we waiting for, boss?" Another werewolf growled impatiently; his expression turned menacing. "Just make him tell us where Dorian is!" "Grab him!" The shop assistant felt his words were valid and commanded. In an instant, over a dozen werewolves lunged forward, surrounding us from every direction. One of them charged at Caden with a punch, trying to separate us. I smirked, pivoted quickly out of the way, and slipped my phone out of my pocket. "She's calling the cops!" The shop assistant spotted me; he shouted, "Grab her!" One of the werewolves came barreling toward me, but I didn't even flinch. With a cold expression, I kicked him hard in the gut, sending him sprawling. "Call the cops?" I said, flipping my phone, and ended the call. With a soft chuckle, I challenged, "Please. I wouldn't dream of bothering the officers for something this small." Meanwhile, Caden had already knocked several werewolves to the floor. He pinned one down with his foot, yanked the guy's collar down, and revealed a tattooed number near his collarbone. I leaned in, keeping my voice low. "Is that the mark you told me about?" Caden had mentioned a tattoo used by a particular werewolf clan. I'd noticed the same tattoo near the base of the shop assistant's hand earlier—and now I was connecting the dots. "Yeah," he said solemnly, frowning. "This group's got powerful backing. We have to be careful."I blinked. Before I could reply, the shopping assistant—who'd been sprawled on the ground—suddenly sprang up, pulling a dagger from inside his jacket. He lunged at me, shouting, "You're dead!" The blade gleamed in the light as it flew toward me. My heart dropped. But then a hand blocked my vision—Caden's hand. He caught the dagger mid-swing and grabbed onto the blade. With a sharp twist, he flung the weapon across the room. It hit the wall with a thud, sinking several inches deep into the drywall. Caden stood calm and still, unfazed, his commanding presence freezing the shop assistant where he stood. That werewolf's knees buckled. I grabbed a nearby chair with my foot and swung it at him. It hit him squarely, knocking him off balance. As he tried to scramble away, I kicked him again, sending him face-first into the floor. Just then, the doorbell jingled. Caden's bodyguards had arrived, storming into the room and swiftly taking control. The werewolves were restrained and dragged into line within seconds. "You okay?" I turned to Caden, grabbing his wrist to check his hand. There was an open wound on his palm. My face pained at the sight. I asked, "Are you out of your mind? Why'd you use your hand? You think you're made of steel?" He gently touched my cheek, smiling. "Well, I did bring all those first-aid supplies. Figured I might as well use them." "Caden!" I glared at him, frowned, and fumed. Even if he was joking, I hated how casually he treated his injuries. Noticing my anger, Caden immediately pulled me into his arms and murmured an apology. I turned to the side and sighed. Finally, I gave in, grabbing some gauze from my bag to stop the bleeding. "Hold still. I'll treat it properly when we get back." We were supposed to be relaxing for once—just a month off. Instead, trouble kept finding us. It truly dampens our holiday mood. Caden's POV: Rosaline was mad. Like, really mad. Even after we returned to the hotel, she hadn't cracked a smile. She sat on the edge of the bed, treating my wound in silence, her face like stone. After tying off the bandage, she turned to tidy up the medical supplies—but I wasn't about to let her walk away. I reached out, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pulled her back to me.She didn't shriek or struggle, simply glanced down to check which hand I used—relieved that it wasn't the injured one—and then rolled her eyes at me, finally relaxing a little. I buried my face in the curve of her neck, breathing in her soft scent. We didn't say anything. The quiet between us felt heavy but not uncomfortable. "You're still mad?" I asked after a long moment. "Yes," she said without missing a beat. "I'm really mad." As soon as she spoke, the fire flared back up. She tried to pry my arms off her waist, but I held her tighter. "I'm sorry," I said softly. She was stunned in surprise. "I won't scare you like that again," I promised solemnly, locking eyes with her. Finally, her shoulders relaxed. She pouted her lip, reached for my hand, and straddled my lap with a pout. "Caden, I love you." I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you, too." She frowned, still a little frustrated. "That's why I get scared when you get hurt. It crushes my heart. So much has happened lately; I just need you to understand something—I'm not some delicate little songbird hiding in your shadow. I can stand beside you. I can protect myself, too."