Unstoppable Unforgiven (Shermaine and Joshua)

Chapter 566

The wolf was fully grown and majestic, its coat a flawless white, thick and smooth like freshly fallen snow. But he was hurt. Blood leaked steadily from a wound in his side, staining his fur a deep crimson.

He looked like royalty. If wolves had kings, he would’ve been one.

When his eyes met Mireya’s, he bared his teeth in warning. There was no trust in him, only survival.

But Mireya didn’t flinch. She’d once been a soldier, trained to face down worse than this. A wounded wolf wasn’t enough to make her hesitate if anything, logic should’ve told her to put it down and kill it cleanly before it could turn on her,

But instead, she turned and walked back into the cabin, returning with a metal first–aid box.

People said wolves were clever, almost cunning. Mireya crouched a few feet away and spoke calmly, as though talking to a child. “I’m not here to hurt you. If you’ll let me help, just wag your tail once.”

The wolf hesitated. Then, slowly, his tait shifted.

She smiled. “Good boy.”

Cautiously, she approached. He stayed still, watching her with sharp, intelligent eyes, but he didn’t move, didn’t growl. And he didn’t stop her.

Outside, the storm thickened. Snow fell in heavy curtains, muffling sound, erasing every track.

Back at the fortress, the search had long since become futile. Any trace of the fugitive was buried under layers of fresh snowfall. Still, men were sent to scour the mountains, though they all knew it was hopeless.

When they returned empty–handed, no one dared breathe too loud.

Faye was seated in the center of the room, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, her eyes cold with fury. “Useless!” she snapped. “All of you.”

She stood, pulled out a pistol, and without hesitation, fired point–blank into a man’s skull. He dropped to the ground instantly, blood soaking the floor.

The rest stood frozen, eyes downcast, bodies trembling.

Faye Channing was every bit the mad scientist the stories warned about, brilliant, unpredictable, and vicious. Her experiments were legendary, and so were her executions. Life, to her, had no meaning beyond data.

“I want him found,” she said, voice like ice. “Bring him back to me.”

She paused, her fury only partially soothed by one fact that the research hadn’t been destroyed. The data was intact. But that man had been special. She wasn’t sure if anyone else could replicate what he’d become.

Still fuming, she descended to her private lab, selected a vial of serum from storage, and without ceremony, injected it into the neck of the nearest

assistant.

Within seconds, screams rang through the corridors, noveldrama

The man writhed, eyes bulging, veins splitting beneath his skin. Then his heart gave out. He dropped without so much as a twitch.

Faye’s expression twisted. “Dead already? Pathetic. No fun at all.”

That man, her subject, had been different. No matter how she broke him, he never screamned or cried. The genetic fusion had been flawless. Animal DNA and human resilience were locked together in harmony.

She stood motionless, frowning in thought. Something was off. The formula worked once. Why not again?

It was nearly an hour before Mireya finished bandaging the wolf’s wounds.

There were quite a few gashes, but thankfully none were deep. With a bit of rest, the wolf would likely be able to move around within a week, Until then, it could stay here, and she didn’t mind.

She brought it some water and food, then quietly turned in for the night, switching off the light as she went.

The night was still, the only sound the occasional creak of the door as the wind pushed against it.

In the dark, the white wolf lying on the straw began to shift. Slowly and silently, it transformed into a man.

His hair was long and tangled, falling over half his face tinged with a faint, almost ghostly pink.

A strong, straight nose cut a clean line down his features. His lips were pale from blood loss,

He lay unconscious, his breathing uneven. His body was lean and toned, muscles defined in a way that seemed almost sculpted. Mireya had tossed a blanket over him before she left. It now rested across his waist and hips, barely covering him.

Sweat slicked his skin. One hand gripped the hay beneath him as if clinging to something real in the middle of a nightmare. His brow was furrowed, jaw tight, and he kept whispering a name under his breath, again and again. “Momo… Momo…”

. Meanwhile, in a bar in Ustrana, Molly was halfway through a bottle of whiskey. She had the kind of constitution that didn’t get drunk easily, so the more

she drank, the sharper her mind seemed to get.

Men glanced her way now and then, some openly intrigued, others trying to work up the nerve to approach, but no one dared.

There was something about her, something dangerous. Molly wasn’t the kind of woman an average man could even dream of having.

Beckett walked into the bar and immediately spotted Molly with yet another drink in her hand. His face twisted in frustration. She’d been like this ever since Roy disappeared, colder, harder, like something inside her had died.

He strode over and snatched the glass from her grip. “Seriously, Momo? This is pathetic. That guy wasn’t worth it. Just a pretty face with a manipulative streak a mile wide. Why the hell are you still hung up on him?”

Molly lifted her gaze slowly. Her eyes were icy, emotionless and sharp enough to make someone flinch. “Give it back.”

Beckett softened his tone, trying to sound gentle. “Let me ta

you home, alright?”

“I said,” she replied, slowly and clearly, “give me the damn drink!”

He clenched his jaw. “If Roy ever shows his face again, I swear I’ll kill him!”

Beckett was burning inside. For the past two years, Molly had been distant. She hadn’t even shown up to their engagement party last year, and things had gone downhill from there.

Now, the two families could barely sit in the same room. If not for Beckett holding the line, his own family would’ve dropped their support for hers a long

time ago.

He could risk his life for her, just like Roy had. But no matter what he did, she never saw him the same way. She never wanted him. And still, like some pathetic fool, he kept chasing after her, year after year.

Beckett snapped.

He hurled the glass against the floor, then lunged toward her, grabbing both her arms. If kindness wouldn’t work, maybe force would. If he couldn’t have her heart, maybe having her body would be enough. Maybe that would count for something,

He leaned in, lips twisted with desperation, ready to steal a kiss she would never give.

But cold steel pressed against his throat before he got the chance. Beckett froze.

Molly was holding a gun. Her expression was pure ice, her stance unwavering, her finger already curled around the trigger. “You really wanna find out if I’ll shoot?” she said, voice low and lethal.

The gun was cocked, and the click had been unmistakable. Around them, the bar fell into a tense silence. Everyone was staring.

“Momo…” he started.

“Take your hands off me.”

Beckett backed off, slowly raising his hands. His face had

hed a deep, ugly shade of red.

Molly shoved him hard in the chest, sending him stumbli

back a few steps.

She stood tall, looking down at him with disdain. “Talk shit about him again, and next time I won’t just pull a gun.”

Beckett lost it. With a roar, he turned and slammed a chair into a table, shattering them both. Then he looked back at her with a bitter sneer. “You’ll never have him, Momo. For all you know, he’s already dead.”

After leaving the bar, Molly lost all desire to drink. Instead, she headed straight home.

The estate was vast, yet all it ever gave her was a suffocating sense of dread.

The last assassination attempt had been orchestrated by her third sister, Karina Hill, the same night Roy disappeared.

Once Molly uncovered the truth, she didn’t hesitate. She ruined Karina’s face and crushed her legs.

Their father, Fred Hill, terrified that Molly might actually kill her, had Karina shipped out of Ustrana in the dead of night. She’d likely never come back. Naturally, her name was struck from the list of heirs.

But even with Karina out of the picture, there were still nine heirs left in the Hill family, Molly included.

As Molly stepped inside, she found her mother, Hillary Hill, lounging on the sofa. Just over forty, Hillary carried herself with the elegance of a woman well aware of her allure.

She glanced at Molly, catching the scent of alcohol. “Been drinking again?”

Molly didn’t answer. Instead, she asked flatly, “Did you send Beck

t to mess with me?”

Hillary’s brows pinched slightly. “Mess with you? He’s your fiancé.”

Molly gave a cold laugh. “Did I say yes to that? If you don’t want me to kill him, do us both a favor. Keep him the hell away from me.”

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