GUILDED MOON

A SAPPHIC SHIFTER ROMANCE

QUEERWOLF

BOOK THREE

HARMONY FULLER

Copyright © 2025 by Harmony Fuller

All rights reserved.

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Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

ISBN:9798287767174

This entire trilogy is dedicated to the lost who became found. To the broken who became whole. To the guarded who learned to trust again. And to every soul brave enough to believe that love, in all its forms, is always worth the fight.

CONTENTS

Jess

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Stay In Touch

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Just another Tuesday at the Office

JESS

The worst part isn't the cold. It's the quiet.

The kind of quiet that presses against your ribs, reminding you that you're alone.

That you chose this.

I shift slowly, my spine brushing the back wall of the hidden crawlspace at the back of the observation room I've been sleeping in for three nights straight. I stopped using the bunks after Sloane asked me, too casually, if I could start making her bed too, and all the others as well. She asked because she's a bitch, but also because my bed was always so perfectly made.

I think she already knew I wasn't sleeping there. I feel like she already knows everything. I hoped that was my imagination.

My knees crack as I move. I wince and press my face into the crook of my arm. The floor is tile and metal. No warmth, no cushion, no blankets. No scent of pine, or pack, or Jewel. Just recycled air and the acrid tang of disinfectant mixed with silver that clings to everything in this place. It gets in your clothes, in your skin, in your mouth. I can't taste anything else anymore.

The transmitter is hidden beneath a maintenance panel just outside the door. I used it three days ago, sent a message, short and tight. Just enough to say I was alive, that I might have something, that I was staying deep.

And then I waited.

No reply. No static. No green flicker to let me know it had gone through.

Just… nothing.

Maybe they blocked the frequency.

Maybe they found it.

Maybe Jewel never heard me.

Maybe she doesn't want to hear me anymore. The thought hurts more than the cold floors ever could.

I exhale and press my fingers to the transmitter cord. My hands are shaking. I tell myself it's from hunger. From sleep deprivation. From how close Sloane got last night.

But really, I know it's from guilt.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Luna. Little paws, wide eyes, struggling against my grip as I carried her away. I held her like cargo because that's what I told myself she had to be.

They didn't need to teach me how to be cruel. I was already broken. Already hollow. They just gave me direction and set me loose.

And then Jayne gave me a second chance I didn't deserve.

That's why I'm here.

Not because anyone asked me. Not because I owe the pack.

Because Jayne, and somehow even Jewel, looked at me like I was worth saving, and now I have to be the kind of person who wouldn't make them regret it.

Even if it kills me.

Footsteps.

Clipped and steady.

Coming down the hall.

I crawl out of the space, making myself look busy while smoothing the wrinkles in my coat, slowing my breath.

Three seconds. Two. One.

The door opens. I see polished boots. Tall frame. Confident.

Pierce.

She doesn't even glance toward me. Just steps into the observation room with her tablet and her coffee. She's always calm. Always clean. The kind of person who doesn't need to raise her voice to destroy someone.

I don't think she trusts me.

She doesn't have to because honestly, I don't think she even cares.

To her, I'm a tool. A former asset who is still vaguely useful. She didn't ask many questions when I came back. Just told me where to sleep, what to do, and what she expected.

"You're either still functional." Her eyes flicked over me like she was inspecting damaged goods. "Or you're something to be tossed. Don't make me test which you are.”

I think about that every day.

Is today the day I'm "tossed"?

Then there's Sloane. She's different.

She doesn't want me here. Doesn't think I'm salvageable. She doesn't see a tool. She sees a traitor pretending to remember which side she's on.

I know she's been watching me. I know she followed me two nights ago when I went to the mess hall and didn't eat. She didn't say anything. Just leaned in the doorway and smiled like a shark.

I asked if she needed something.

"You think they forgave you? For stealing that pup? For crawling back here like a whipped dog?" She smiled like a shark. "That's what I like about you, Jess. You don't waste words. You just waste people."

The worst part? I didn't even flinch. Because part of me agreed with her.

That's what scares me.

That I don't even know if I'm pretending anymore.

I press the transmitter's activation button when I am sure Pierce isn't looking, just for a second.

Nothing.

I try again.

Nothing.

One last time I hold it down and whisper, "Jewel, something's wrong. Moving the others in four days. New silver collars. If you get this…"

The green light dies and the signal's gone. Not blocked, cut. Someone here knows, but they let me get enough through. A fragment. A breadcrumb.

Maybe that's all Lydia needs.

I tuck the transmitter back into its panel and slide the cover into place as quietly as I can. My heart is hammering now, too loudly. I press my hand against my chest, as if I can muffle it.

Pierce walks back out, head angled down towards her notes. She never said a word because why would you acknowledge machinery when you enter or exit a room?

I exhale, trying to slow my heart.

I move fast but low, crawling back into the space between the wall and the storage crates. I curl into myself, knees to chest, and press my forehead against my arm.

This was always going to happen.

This was always going to be a one-way trip.

Still, I wanted her to hear me.

Just once.

Just in case this was it.

At least now Lydia knows where to find my body.

Maybe she’ll tell Jewel.

CHAPTER 1

Lydia

I smelled her before I saw her.

The scent hit like a truck, smoke and pine and iron. A scent I'd tried so hard to forget but my body remembered anyway, muscle memory of nights spent tangled together, of fingers tracing scars, of promises whispered against skin. It twisted in my chest, so sharp it made my throat ache. I gripped the porch railing to ground myself, my fingers curling around the splintering wood.

The grain bit back.

Good.

I needed it to bite.

They were walking up the ridge now. Jayne and Princess, returning with someone I had never thought to see again.

Alexis.

I didn't move. Didn't shift my stance. Just stood there, letting the crisp air bite at my skin and fill my lungs with the storm I'd spent years trying to outlast.

Footsteps behind me.

Naomi.

I didn’t need to turn to know it was her: steady, quiet, calm as ever. She didn’t say a word, but I felt her presence settle at my side like armor.

"They're coming in on foot," she said eventually, her voice low. "Tactical decision."

"No vehicles, " I murmured, watching the approaching figures. "Smart. Rolling in like a convoy would've put me in a mood."

Naomi snorted. “Would've?”

I didn't answer. The familiar tease fell flat today.

"Jayne better not have lost that fucking truck again…"

I almost smiled. Almost.

The group came into view fully now. Alexis was in front.

Of course she was.

That stride hadn't changed, shoulders squared, chin high, eyes forward, but something about her looked heavier, dulled in places I couldn't name.

I wondered what nightmare had been enough to strip some of her warrior shine.

And just behind her, Maya.

My chest seized. Not visibly, but the hit landed deep. Maya walked too close to her mother, like she needed to anchor herself to Alexis's shadow. Her eyes flicked up, scanning, cautious.

Then they landed on me.

I froze.

Naomi's fingers flexed at her side. She noticed.

I looked away.

Olivia stepped out of the house, as if she'd sensed we needed a buffer. Her presence always softened things. I hadn't approved of Naomi letting herself get sideswiped for love, but I wasn't complaining about having a full-time doctor on grounds.

Behind Olivia hovered Daisy, wide-eyed and twitchy. Newly mated. Human.

My gaze swept the rest of the group, Princess and Jayne with hands clasped like a lifeline, other wolves I didn’t recognize trailing behind with wide eyes and shifting feet, an older woman who looked like an Alpha, but clearly wasn’t holding, steady at their flank.

Survivors.

All of them.

And then Alexis looked up.

We locked eyes.

The ground didn't shake. The world didn't spin.

But I broke inside anyway.

Her eyes were the same shade I remembered. But they didn't soften now when she looked at me.

"Lydia," she said.

My name sounded clipped on her tongue. Like something that had once tasted sweet but now turned bitter.

"Alexis," I returned, just as flat.

She stopped a few paces from the porch. Her gaze flicked to the girls behind her, then back to me.

"I see you've brought more strays to add to my collection."

Naomi tensed beside me and I heard a growl from the group, Jayne, probably. Alexis didn't react.

"They're not strays," she said, her voice cool and sure. "They're pack."

I let my eyes sweep the group again. Trembling shoulders, wide eyes, haunted looks. Survivors, yes, but barely.

"And unless I'm mistaken," I said, my gaze cutting back to Alexis, then to Maya behind her, "they don't belong to you."

Maya flinched.

Alexis didn't.

There it was. That old rhythm. Words thrown out like weapons, clipped and careful and cutting.

Princess's eyes narrowed, but it wasn't the red wolf I was watching. It was Alexis. The way her jaw tensed. "We have much to discuss."

I nodded once and turned without waiting. "We do."

The porch creaked beneath my steps. I could feel her behind me, her presence like static on my skin as I walked through the front door.

The scent of home hit me: cedar floors, cooked meat, old books. Naomi started to follow, but I waved her away. The door clicked shut behind Alexis., cutting us off from the world.

I moved through the house on instinct. The hallways smelled like cedar and rosemary and various books leaned in tired stacks against the wall. Naomi had tidied recently: papers filed, weapons rack gleaming, but none of it felt settled. Not with her here.

I could hear Alexis following. Not hesitating and not rushing. Just… present.

We reached the main room.

I didn't sit. Neither did she.

She stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed. The fireplace was dead, just ash and memory, and the table between us had been recently scarred when Casey had thrown a blade during a bad briefing last month.

Alexis walked toward it, dragging her fingers along the nick like she was memorizing it.

I kept my distance.

"You didn't kill anyone in greeting," I said. “That's a good start.”

Her jaw twitched. "Would've been rude."

I didn't laugh, but my chest ached like I almost had.

She turned to face me fully. "They needed safety. The kids. I had to bring them. Some are mine, Ghost Pack. Most are…"

"Princess's," I finished, my voice steady even though my stomach rolled at how many unfamiliar alphas were in my territory. The fact that the red wolf had reappeared on my doorstep with an Alpha’s scent hadn’t escaped me.

She nodded. "We couldn't leave them. They would have followed anyway.”

"Mayfield isn't a charity," I said, the words sharper than I meant.

"I didn't ask for charity. I'm asking for unity."

"That what we're calling it?"

Her eyes flared. Not anger, this was something else. The still seeping shadow of a bond that hummed under our skin.

"I brought you allies," she said finally. "You can scoff at that if you want, but it doesn't change what's coming."

I crossed my arms, mirroring her. "And what is coming, Alexis?"

She didn't hesitate. "Silver collars. Behavioral triggers. Controlled shifts. Submission codes keyed to specific tones. You name it and they have it."

The words landed like blows. Not because I didn't know, Naomi had hinted and Jayne had whispered, but because she was saying it.

"Where?"

"Northwest Ridge. About three miles off the old Burnt Pine trail. Underground. Guard rotations every six hours, drone coverage light. They're confident."

Of course they were.

"And you think walking into my territory with half a pack of scared kids and scars qualifies you to call the shots and demand I what? Send in reinforcements?”

Her lips parted. "No. But I think I've earned the right to be heard."

That stopped me.

Because she had.

Not because she'd brought survivors. Not because she had intel. But because she was standing here, back in my house, back in my life, looking like she hadn't slept in weeks and still hadn't lost an ounce of the fire that once burned straight through me.

And I hated her for it.

I turned away and walked to the window. From here, I could see the tree line, the shadows where the Haven wolves lingered, the open space where Naomi would run drills later.

My home.

My burden.

"They'll follow you," I said. "Even if I don't."

"I don't want them to follow me,” she replied softly. "I want them to survive."

I looked back. She was still standing there, still unreadable, but something in her had cracked.

I tried not to look back at her. I really did. But my gaze betrayed me, drifting back over and over, cataloging things it had no business remembering. Her hair was the same, still pale as moonlight, thick and braided. My fingers remembered the silk of it, how it felt wrapped around my hand when I'd pull her close. Her eyes had that same sharp glint, the kind that saw straight through masks and never missed a flaw. Her body, always lean and lethal, had hardened in some places, but softened in others. Motherhood suited her. Every movement broadcast power, but there was a fatigue beneath it now.

There were new scars, too. I couldn't see all of them, but I didn't need to. They lived in the way her shoulders stayed tight, how her stance always favored the left leg, how her jaw clenched when she turned her head too quickly. Ghosts. She carried them like a second spine.

And even knowing what stood between us, the past she ran from, the daughter at her side who didn't know the truth, I still felt it.

That unbearable, inconvenient pull.

The bond hadn't frayed. It had just burrowed deeper.

"You still wear it," I said quietly.

Alexis looked up, confused, but then her hand drifted to the worn leather cuff around her wrist. The one I'd given her.

She didn't answer.

She didn't have to.

I turned back to the window, my reflection blurred against the glass.

"I'm not the same woman I was," Alexis said finally. "Neither are you."

No.

I wasn't.

The woman I had been, the one who kissed her in the rain, who stayed up late mapping patrols with one hand tangled in hers, that woman was gone. Burned out and rebuilt.

"You left," I said, quiet but hard. "You let them rip us apart. And now you show up here like time didn't pass."

"I didn't let them," she snapped. "You think I wanted this? You think I chose to⁠—"

Her voice broke. She clenched her jaw, reined it back in.

"I know what I lost," she said, quieter. "Don't think I don't."

I swallowed the retort clawing up my throat because if I told her what it cost to see her only in reports, to feel her pain through a bond I wasn't allowed to claim—I’d break.

So I said nothing.

She moved closer, not by much, but enough that I felt her shadow reach for mine.

"The girls who came with us," she said, "they think this place is safe. They think you're someone who might let them believe in a future."

I huffed, bitter. "They're wrong."

"No," Alexis said, stepping even closer. "They're not."

I turned to face her, hands clenched. "You don't get to walk in here and tell me what I am."

"I'm not telling you,” she said. "I'm just reminding you."

The silence stretched.

Too long.

Too raw.

And then, footsteps. Light. Hesitant.

Maya.

She hovered at the doorway. Her eyes flicked to Alexis, then to me.

My mouth dried.

Alexis turned, her expression softening, protective and tired. Maternal in a way that twisted something deep in my chest.

"You should rest," Alexis told her gently. "You've had enough for one day."

Maya nodded, but her gaze lingered on me, on something in my expression I couldn't quite hide.

Then she was gone.

The moment she left, something broke in me, quietly, like a glass shelf collapsing.

"She still doesn't know," I said.

"No," She whispered. "Not yet."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Alexis hesitated. "Would you?"

I didn't answer.

Because the truth was… I didn't know.

I hated her for leaving. Hated myself for letting her go. And I hated that, somewhere deep, I still loved her.

But this wasn't love. Not yet.

This was survival.

"If you came here looking for forgiveness," I said, stepping past her, my shoulder brushing hers, leaving a spark, "you came to the wrong place."

She didn't stop me as I left the room.

And I didn't look back.

CHAPTER 2

The porch door creaked open, as weary as I was for what was about to come next.

I had given myself exactly five minutes to compose before facing the packs. Five minutes to bury the want and the rage, the bone-deep ache of seeing her again. It wasn't enough, but it would have to do.

I stepped out. The sky above Mayfield was turning gold at the edges, and that false early spring warmth layered over chill air, causing mist to rise from the damp earth. It didn't fool me. The air still carried winter's bite, sharp enough to make my breath visible in small puffs.

Alexis emerged behind me, her footsteps deliberately measured. Neither of us acknowledged the other, but I could feel her eyes between my shoulder blades like a physical weight. The familiar scent of her, pine soap and something uniquely her that made my wolf restless, drifted on the morning breeze.

I tried not to inhale too deeply.

Naomi stood near the deck rail, her posture alert and watchful as she surveyed the gathered wolves below. Olivia and Daisy were whispering with Rylee, their faces lit with something halfway between nervous energy and tentative calm. Daisy laughed at something, a bit too loud, with the edge of hysteria that came from too much stress and too little sleep, and Rylee punched her in the arm, the gesture fond but sharp enough to ground them both.

I scanned the yard below, taking inventory with the practiced eye of an Alpha who'd learned that survival meant knowing exactly who stood where, and why.

All heads turned toward us.

The territorial dynamics were immediately clear, even to someone who hadn't been watching pack behavior for decades. Three distinct groups, each clustered around their own center of gravity. Mayfield wolves stood with easy confidence, this was their home ground. Ghost Pack maintained a careful distance, alert and ready, visitors who knew their place but wouldn't be pushed. And Haven…

Princess clutched Jayne's hand like a lifeline, but the set of her mouth was fierce. Something had happened to this group while they'd been gone. I could smell it on them, the metallic tang of old fear mixed with new determination. The wolves I would come to recognize as Haven clustered around her, eyes wide, movements tentative. Half of them looked like they'd bolt if I so much as lifted a brow. Their shoulders hunched inward, bodies angled toward escape routes they'd already mapped.

Prey animals learning to be predators.

But the older female I had noticed before stood at the back of the group, flanked by two teenagers. She didn't fidget. Her spine was straight as a blade, her gaze steady and assessing. Here was someone who'd learned to stand when others fell.

Good.

She would need that steel.

The silence stretched, heavy with expectation and the kind of tension that came when too many Alphas shared the same space. My wolf paced restlessly under my skin, aware of the challenge, even if no one had spoken it aloud.

"We have much to discuss," I said, my voice cutting across the space like a blade through silk.

Every wolf stiffened. Even the early morning birds quieted in the trees, as if the forest itself was holding its breath to hear what I would say.

Alexis stepped forward, her tone calm and practiced. "As you all know, the Hunters' activities have escalated. We need to coordinate a response."

Her voice carried easily across the yard, pitched with the kind of authority that made wolves listen without question. Command sat on her shoulders like it had been tailored for her, and I hated how attractive that confidence still was.

Princess, still holding Jayne's hand, tilted her chin up, trying for poise but not quite managing to hide the uncertainty that flickered behind her eyes. I could see her pulse fluttering in her throat. "What did you two decide?"

I turned my gaze to her, holding it. This was important. How I answered would set the tone for everything that followed. "Nothing yet. That is what we must determine. There are… differing perspectives, I'm sure, on how best to proceed." I let the words settle, each one deliberate. "And apparently, there is now a third Alpha whose voice must be heard."

That truth landed harder than I expected, rippling through the crowd like a stone thrown into still water. A murmur moved through the younger wolves, their eyes shifting between Princess and me with something like awe. Or maybe fear. She didn't shrink from it. She had to have known I would sense the change the moment she stepped foot in my territory.

Alphas recognized each other like predators scenting blood.

Alexis's voice softened, just slightly, as she addressed her. "Lydia is concerned about the risks of direct confrontation. She believes we should prioritize protecting the wolves we've already rescued, rather than risking an offensive."

My eyes narrowed.

We hadn't discussed any of that, not really, but protesting would look weak in front of the packs. I fought to keep the snarl from my voice, even as irritation prickled down my spine like electricity.

Princess furrowed her brow. "And you disagree?"

Alexis nodded. "I do. We have a responsibility to fight back. The Hunters have grown bolder. If we don't take a stand, more of our kind will suffer, or worse, simply cease to be."

I didn't look at her.

I didn't need to.

I could feel the shift in the crowd, the way bodies leaned slightly toward Alexis, drawn by the magnetic pull of someone who promised action over endless caution.

The pack responded before I could. A low murmur rose through the Haven wolves, agreement, a small surge of fire, the sound of wolves who'd tasted freedom and were hungry for more. The older woman, Sara, didn't bother with noise. She stepped forward, spine straight, and looked me in the eye like she was daring me to tell her she wasn't ready.

My gaze hardened. So we were playing this game, the careful dance of dominance and submission that determined pack hierarchy.

Fine.

"These Hunters are no ordinary enemy. Reckless action will lead to more casualties, wolves we cannot afford to lose will fall if we don't prepare."

The words came out sharper than I'd intended, carrying the weight of every loss I'd witnessed, every wolf who'd died because someone had chosen courage over caution.

Princess shifted her weight. I watched her consider her words, weighing them like weapons. Her grip on Jayne's hand tightened before she released it, stepping forward alone. "I understand both of your concerns. The Hunters are dangerous, and we can't afford to be careless." She paused. "But I also believe that if we unite our strength, we have a chance to put an end to their cruelty once and for all."

That surprised me.

Not the words. The steadiness.

For a wolf who hadn't even looked me in the eyes after we rescued her from that underground prison, Princess had grown teeth. There was steel in her voice now, tempered by fire and loss into something unbreakable.

Alexis smiled at her. Not smug, not even victorious, just… proud. "She's right. We can't hide forever. The Hunters will only grow stronger if we don't take action."

I glanced between them. Two Alphas, not born, but made. Scars still fresh. Eyes still too bright with the kind of determination that came from surviving the unsurvivable.

And me?

I was tired.

But I wasn't about to lie down.

"Very well," I said, folding my arms. "As I appear to be outnumbered in my own territory, I will hear your plan."

Subtle tension eased across the group. Jayne let out a breath. Olivia met my eyes and gave the smallest nod, one I didn't return, but accepted.

As one, we moved back inside the two alphas, Naomi, Jayne, Sara, and I. The others dispersed with the practiced efficiency of wolves who understood when the real planning began behind closed doors and wanted to be as far away as possible.

The walk to my office felt longer than usual, weighted with the knowledge that the dynamic had shifted in ways I wasn't sure I could control. Behind me, I could hear Alexis and Princess speaking in low tones, their voices carrying the easy camaraderie of wolves who'd fought together.

When had I stopped being part of conversations like that?

In my office, Princess stepped forward to outline her proposed strategy: shifts in patrol coverage, combining Haven scouting with Ghost recon experience, and using Mayfield's terrain to our advantage.

It was thoughtful. Incomplete, but promising.

I found myself grudgingly impressed despite my reservations. She'd clearly spent time thinking about this, had consulted others, had considered not just the what but the how. This wasn't the desperate rage of a new Alpha drunk on power. This was strategy.

I let her talk.

I let Alexis interrupt.

And I said nothing until it was clear the circle had formed—with or without me.

I caught Alexis watching me when the topic shifted to Hunter protocols. Her expression wasn't cold. It was worse than that.

It was knowing.

And I hated how much she still knew.

She could read the tension in my shoulders, the way my hands clenched when I disagreed with something but chose not to speak. Over a decade of separation, and she still parsed my moods from the smallest details.

The sound of something heavy hitting my old table snapped me out of it. I glared at Naomi, knowing she didn't care as she unrolled the canvas with the kind of casual disregard for my furniture that came from years of friendship.

The map was old. At least three decades. I'd updated it a dozen times: new markings, new boundaries, bloodlines layered over old tree lines, but the canvas still curled at the edges. The paper had gone soft with age and handling, edges worn thin from countless fingers tracing routes and boundaries. The penciled in ridge lines always faded too fast. The ink smudged near the southern river.

This map held the history of everything I'd built. Every safe house established, every patrol route tested, every boundary negotiated through blood or diplomacy. It was the physical manifestation of Mayfield's growth from a desperate sanctuary to something approaching a real territory.

I focused on that flaw in the ink because it was easier than focusing on the conversation unfolding in front of me, easier than acknowledging how peripheral I'd become to my own operation.

Princess was speaking again, firm and level. Her voice had steadied somewhere between leaving and returning, and I found myself wondering who had taught her how to stand like this, spine straight, chin level, hands relaxed at her sides.

Maybe Jayne.

Maybe the Hunters.

Maybe pain.

From my experience, it would have been all three that made her an Alpha. The best leaders were forged in fire, not born to thrones.

Naomi moved in clean, competent circles around Princess's plan, adding details with the precision of someone who'd been thinking about defensive strategies since before Princess was more than a pup. "If we station two from Ghost Pack on the northeast fence, Mayfield can backfill the west, and Haven stays central. Rotations every six hours. No unmated wolves on night patrol. We need to secure our space here before we think about moving toward the Hunters."

I nodded. It was a good strategy. Conservative enough to minimize losses, flexible enough to adapt if the situation changed.

Alexis stepped in next, tapping the marked supply routes in the far corner of the map. "We've used this line before, at Ghost Pack, when they sent dogs after us. They won't expect it again."

Her finger traced a path I remembered helping to establish, back when we'd believed we could map every danger, plan for every contingency between here and the mountains to the East. The route wound through rough terrain that favored wolves over humans, with multiple escape options and natural choke points.

Jayne added, "I'll take the first run if needed. Me and Princess both."

Of course she would.

The mated pair moved as a unit even when they weren't touching, each anticipating the other's thoughts with the kind of synchronization that made them dangerous in a fight and deadly effective as a team.

Sara shifted, arms still crossed, but her expression grudgingly impressed. "We'll need to scout first. They've changed tactics before. They'll do it again."

Naomi gave her a tight smile. "We've accounted for that. I've got drones going up tomorrow."

"When did you get those?" Jayne asked, genuinely interested in the new tech.

Naomi shrugged. "Daisy bought them for the clinic crew, but I'm commandeering them for this."

Both wolves grinned, and for a moment the tension eased into something almost normal.

And me?

I hadn't said a word in twenty minutes.

Not because I didn't have opinions—I did. But because they weren't asking for them.

Not directly. Not anymore.

They were building something without me, creating new alliances and strategies that didn't depend on my approval or input. It should have been satisfying, proof that I'd taught them well, that they could function independently. Instead, it felt like watching my own death in real time.

They were building a circle.

And for the first time since I'd built this house, mostly with my own hands, I wasn't sure I was at the center of it.

Time to change that.

I leaned over the map, drawing my finger along one of the older ridge lines, the ones I'd once patrolled with Alexis in the dead of night almost twenty years ago. I used to feel so certain then. So powerful. Now the lines blurred, memories overlaying present reality until I couldn't tell where the past ended and the future began.

"I still don't like the numbers," I said finally. "Too many new wolves. Too little training. Too much distance between here," I pointed to Mayfield, "and there." My finger stabbed the Hunter facility in the mountains, at least two days drive away.

The facility was marked with red ink that had faded to rust over the years. I'd put that mark there myself after the first reports came in, never imagining it would become the center of our universe.

Alexis didn't flinch. "We'll train them."

Sara nodded. "Some are already better than they look."

"And some are barely more than pups," I shot back. "Scared and scattered. What happens the first time they smell blood? Get silver‑shocked?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. I'd seen too many young wolves freeze when the violence started, too many who couldn't reconcile their need for safety with the reality of what fighting back actually meant.

Silence.

Not agreement. Just calculation.

Princess stepped in. "Then we train fast. Pair them with stronger wolves. Mix packs when we can."

She didn't look at me when she said it.

But I could hear the challenge in her voice, the quiet assertion that she would lead her wolves whether I approved or not.

Jayne did. But her expression held no judgment. Only steady faith.

Faith in Princess, in the plan, in something I wasn't sure I could still provide.

I looked at Naomi, but she was already reviewing something on her tablet.

Alexis spoke next, voice quiet. "They're already in a war, Lydia. You think they don't know it? We brought them to you from the frontlines. They were being picked off and picked up, one by one. Experimented on, killed, or worse."

Her words carried the weight of witnessing, of losses that went beyond numbers on a page to become faces she'd failed to save.

My jaw locked. "Knowing and surviving are different."

"Then teach them both."

It landed too close.

Like she knew what I'd wanted to say. Like she remembered the day I asked her to stay, not to fight. Told her that I couldn't lose her.

I looked away. Back at the map. Back at that damn river smudge.

They kept talking.

I let them.

Because right now, I didn't know whether I wanted to lead them or run.

The conversation continued around me, voices rising and falling in the rhythm of wolves planning war. But I felt separate from it, isolated by my own caution and the growing certainty that I was becoming irrelevant in my own house.

We were almost done when it happened.

Naomi was outlining fallback protocols, her voice even and precise, when I felt it. A shift in the room. Quiet but sharp. Like the pressure changed.

The air itself seemed to thicken, carrying a scent that made every nerve in my body snap to attention. Young wolf, female, nervous but determined. Unknown but somehow familiar in a way that made my chest tight.

I looked up.

Maya stood in the doorway.

She hadn't knocked. Hadn't said a word. Just stood there, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket, shoulders hunched like she wasn't sure if she'd come to ask a question or simply couldn't keep still.

She was smaller than I'd expected, built like Alexis but softer around the edges in the way of wolves who hadn't been fully tested yet. Her dark hair, a reminder of her father, was pulled back in a messy braid, and there were shadows under her eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights.

Every instinct in me bristled.

Not with threat but with recognition. Something in the way she held herself, the angle of her jaw, the careful way she watched the room triggered memories I'd buried so deep I'd forgotten they existed.

She was staring at Alexis, then at the table, then those amber eyes shifted to me.

Our gazes met.

The floor might as well have given out beneath me.

It was like looking into a mirror that reflected not my face but my soul. The same intensity, the same careful assessment, the same walls built high enough to keep the world at bay. But underneath it all was something else… a hunger I recognized, a need for belonging that she tried to hide but couldn't quite manage.

It was her mother's stare. That same strength wrapped in hesitation. That same too-old grief swimming behind her pupils. Goddess, she looked so much like her.

My mate.

My heart.

My greatest failure.

The resemblance was subtle but unmistakable now that I was looking for it. The shape of her eyes, the stubborn set of her mouth, the way she held her head when she was thinking. All the little details I'd catalogued and memorized and lost.

Alexis's posture shifted immediately, protective without moving. She didn't say anything, but her body leaned slightly, like she was ready to step between us if this went badly.

The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch. Everyone could feel it now, the weight of something significant happening, even if they didn't understand what.

Naomi cleared her throat. "Maya, wasn't it? Do you need something?"

Maya didn't answer. Just shook her head. Her gaze hadn't left mine.

We stared at each other across the room, across years of secrets and lies and careful distance. I wanted to look away, to break the connection before it became something I couldn't control. But I was trapped by the recognition in her eyes, by the growing certainty that she knew exactly who I was.

I tried to hold steady. I had stared down full-grown Alphas with blood still wet on their teeth. But this girl, this not-quite-woman with war behind her and innocence just out of reach, she unraveled me with nothing more than a look.

Because she was mine. Not in the way the pack was mine, not through dominance or territory or choice. She was mine the way breath was mine, the way heartbeat was mine. Essential and irreplaceable and absolutely terrifying.

Alexis took a step toward her, voice soft. "We're finishing up. You can wait with the others if you don't want to nap."

But her eyes never left me, and I could see the questions forming, the pieces clicking together in a mind too sharp for her own good.

Maya blinked, then nodded. She lingered, just long enough to make it feel like something had passed between us, some acknowledgment of the truth we both carried, then turned and disappeared down the hall.

The second she was gone, I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the table, using the solid wood to anchor myself to the present moment, to the room full of wolves who couldn't know what had just happened.

No one said anything.

But I could feel their curiosity, their awareness that something significant had occurred. Naomi's eyes were sharp with questions she was too polite to ask in company. Sara's expression had gone carefully neutral. Even Princess looked uncertain, as if she'd sensed the undercurrents but couldn't identify their source.

Sara returned to supply chains. Naomi picked up where she left off. But my mind wasn't on maps anymore.

It was on the way Maya's eyes had narrowed.

Not in fear. In recognition.

She knew.

Maybe not all of it. Yet, she felt the crack in me. And something inside her, some feral old piece, was reaching through it.

She was going to ask questions. Soon. And I wasn't sure I had answers she could live with.

I stood before anyone could stop me. "I need air."

No one argued.

They understood, even if they didn't understand. Sometimes Alphas needed space to think, to process, to remember how to breathe.

I left the office, letting the door click shut behind me. The day had deepened toward afternoon already, the golden light of morning giving way to something softer and more forgiving. Light rain threaded through the trees at the edge of the woods, dripping from their branches with the gentle push of spring asserting itself over winter's grip. Somewhere far off, a wolf barked twice and went quiet.

I stepped off the porch and walked toward the fence line, stopping just before the outer watch posts began.

The compound spread out before me, a testament to everything I'd built and everything I was afraid of losing. Wolves moved between buildings with the easy confidence of safety, going about their daily routines without the constant fear that had once defined their lives. This was what I'd worked for, what I'd sacrificed for. A place where wolves could simply exist without terror.

In the distance, I saw Maya again. She was walking toward the cabins. Alone. Her head low, arms wrapped around herself like armor.

She moved like someone carrying a weight too heavy for her shoulders, but refusing to put it down. Like someone who'd learned that showing weakness was dangerous, even here in the safest place she'd ever known.

She has your eyes, Alexis.

If they had been his eyes, I could have hated her.

Damn you both.

CHAPTER 3

I didn't sleep.

Not well, anyway.

I closed my eyes, but my thoughts kept tracing her silhouette in the doorway, that too-knowing stare, the tilt of her head that didn't belong to a child but someone older. Someone familiar. Someone who carried herself with the quiet confidence of wolves who'd learned that survival meant watching everything and trusting nothing.

But it wasn't just Maya keeping me awake. It was the way Alexis had looked at her. Protective, fierce, and maternal in a way that carved something hollow in my chest. And underneath it all, the growing certainty that the fragile peace I'd built was about to shatter.

I growled at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, waiting for the sun to chase them away.

The house settled around me with the familiar creaks and sighs of old wood adjusting to the changing temperature. Somewhere down the hall, I could hear the quiet murmur of voices, night shift guards checking in. The scent of too many bodies in too small a space lingered in the air, foreign and unsettling after years of knowing exactly who belonged here.

When the sky finally showed a hint of life, I got up. The house was still asleep. I moved through it silently, muscle memory guiding me around the spots that creaked loudest, past the rooms where new wolves slept fitfully. I didn't bother changing out of yesterday's clothes. Let them smell my exhaustion, my restlessness, my uncertainty.

Outside, the dew was evaporating off the eastern fence, rising in thin wisps that caught the early light like spider silk. I walked the perimeter, not because I didn't trust our new patrols, but because I needed to feel the land under my feet. The earth was soft from yesterday's rain, giving slightly under my boots and releasing the rich scent of loam and growing things. Spring was winning its war against winter, slowly but inevitably.

The trees were quieter this morning. Not peaceful. Just…watching.

It was the kind of silence that made the hair on my arms rise, the absence of sound that preceded either dawn or danger. Even the insects and early morning birds seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for something to shift.

Near the cabins, I caught the scent trails of new wolves. Haven wolves, mostly. Still carrying the tang of stale metal and medicated soap. They'd clustered tight last night, three to a bunk where one would've been enough. There were plenty of beds. I'd always prided myself on knowing that we would never turn away a wolf in need, that there would always be spare space, spare food, spare compassion for those who'd lost everything.

But they huddled not out of fear, not exactly, but out of habit born from fear. Years of captivity had taught them that safety was temporary, that space was a luxury they couldn't afford. It would take time to unlearn that lesson. Time we might not have.

I paused at the edge of the cabin cluster, breathing in the complex layers of scent that told the story of last night. Nervous sweat and nightmare fears, yes, but also something else… the first tentative threads of pack bonding. They were starting to trust each other, even if they couldn't trust the world yet.

The shift came easier this time, bones flowing like water, muscles stretching and reforming with the practiced efficiency of decades. My human thoughts simplified, sharpened, focused on immediate sensory input rather than complex emotional tangles.

I snorted, tail swishing in slow, agitated sweeps. The wolf understood territory, understood pack hierarchy, understood the simple mathematics of threat and response. It was the human side that complicated everything, with guilt and longing and the weight of choices that couldn't be unmade.

I wouldn't force them to leave, and Alexis knew that when she brought them here. My paws turned on the slick grass, needing to stop that train of thought. It was too complex for the wolf, who would just get a headache worrying about why our human side wanted to rip our mate's head off.

Our ex-mate , I corrected, the wolf agitatedly looping off in another direction. She had made her choice and I had made mine.

Another scent trail caught me off guard, though not entirely unfamiliar, but strong and recent. Someone had walked the northern tree line alone, and recently enough that their scent was still sharp in the morning air.

I traced it to a patch of flattened pine needles and damp earth, crouching to examine the marks more closely.

Wolf, female, steady gait. Not scared. Curious, with an undertone of restless energy that spoke of someone who couldn't stay still when their mind was racing.

Maya.

The recognition hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. I could smell Alexis on the trail too, faint but unmistakable, they'd walked together for part of the path before Maya had branched off on her own.

I straightened, pushing the scent from my thoughts before it could drag me deeper into dangerous territory. I didn't want to think about her shifted form, how closely she would resemble her mother's beautiful blonde fur. Or maybe it would be more like her hair, darker fur to match her father.

Duty over all else was her mother's mantra. The need to contribute, to be useful, to earn her place through service rather than simply existing. I'd loved that about her, the way she threw herself into every task with complete dedication. And I'd hated it too, the way she couldn't rest, couldn't simply be without constantly proving her worth.

I kept walking, letting the rhythm of movement calm the restless energy that threatened to pull me apart at the seams.

At the ridge, a mechanical whirr broke the quiet.

Naomi stood in the clearing with a controller, focused. A drone was lifting off directly in front of her, its rotors creating small whirlwinds in the grass. Her hair was pulled back tight, and there were lines around her eyes that spoke of too little sleep and too much caffeine. She looked like she hadn't slept either.

Of course she was already working. Naomi dealt with stress by staying busy, by finding problems to solve and systems to optimize. It was one of the things that made her an excellent second-in-command and a terrible patient when she was injured.

I approached, shifting quickly and pulling a sweater from the pouch across my chest. Shifter-proof pouches were easily one of the best inventions for wolf-kind.

She glanced up, startled enough that she nearly crashed the drone into the nearest tree.

"This thing flies about as straight as Casey walks after a night out."

"That's not very fair to the drone," I muttered, joining her on the small platform she'd built for better visibility.

We stood side by side, eyes on the sky, as the drone adjusted its flight pattern. The device hovered, compensated for a gust of wind, then zipped higher into the brightening sky.

The morning was quiet except for the drone's mechanical hum and the distant sound of wolves beginning their daily routines. Smoke rose from the kitchen chimney was the big house. Olivia would be starting breakfast soon, feeding the small army that had taken up residence in my territory.

"She didn't sleep either," Naomi said, as if we'd already been talking rather than standing in comfortable silence.

"Who? Casey?"

Naomi kept her eyes on the drone, but I could see the concern in the set of her shoulders. "Maya. She was on the porch around three this morning. Daisy offered her tea when she went to check on our newest patients. Said Maya didn't even look at her, just kept staring into the darkness like she was searching for a pawn in the dark.”

I frowned, unease prickling down my spine. Three in the morning was the hour of wolves who couldn't outrun their demons, who found sleep more dangerous than exhaustion.

"She shouldn't be out while it's still dark."

"She's not on your leash, Lydia."

That landed harder than it should've.

Maya wasn't mine to command or protect, wasn't part of my pack in any official sense. She was here as Alexis's daughter, under Ghost Pack protection, owing me nothing and expecting the same in return.

"She shouldn't be shifting here," I said flatly, grasping for some semblance of authority. "Not without the Alpha's permission."

Naomi turned toward me, gaze level in a way that let me know she had opinions about my territorial posturing. "Why not? Because you don't want to see it? Because it makes all this—" she gestured broadly at the compound, "—feel too real?"

I stared at her, caught off guard by the directness of the challenge.

Naomi held the look, unflinching in the way that only old friends could manage, then looked away, tapping the screen with more force than necessary. "I told Daisy not to push. She listens better than you do."

I let the jab slide, mostly because I deserved it.

"What about the others? Did we hear anything overnight?" Princess had filled us in about Jess's mission to stay behind—a plan I thought was stupid and suicidal, but I understood the logic. If she'd returned here instead, I might have exiled her myself. Too many traitors in my den recently, and I couldn't afford to harbor wolves who might sell us out when the pressure mounted.

Naomi hesitated, and I could see her choosing her words carefully, then shook her head. "No movement. Not yet. But you can feel it, can't you?"

I said nothing.

She didn't need me to answer.

The drone disappeared over the horizon, becoming a speck against the pale sky before vanishing entirely.

"Something's coming," she said, voice quiet but certain. "Too many pieces shifting at once. Jess still hasn't checked in. Jewel's signal yesterday was glitchy. We're overdue for a break… or a hit."

There was a rhythm to these things, a pattern I'd learned to recognize over the years. Periods of relative calm followed by bursts of violence. The signs were all there if you looked. Communications going dark, allies moving positions, and the subtle shift in atmosphere that preceded conflict.

I crossed my arms. "If it's a hit, we'll be ready."

Naomi nodded, but her expression remained troubled. "Let's hope it's not both. I don't want to get hit and then break apart."

The wind picked up, cool and sharp, cutting through my sweater and carrying the scent of distant rain. Spring weather was unpredictable at best in the Midwest, capable of shifting from warm sunshine to freezing rain in the span of an hour.

"She reminds me of you," Naomi said suddenly, her tone carefully neutral.

I didn't have to ask who.

The observation hung between us like a challenge, demanding acknowledgment of truths I wasn't ready to face.

"She watches people like you do. Doesn't speak until she's certain. And when she does, it's not for anyone's comfort, it's because something needs to be said, consequences be damned."

I flinched, the accuracy of the assessment cutting deeper than I'd expected.

"She's nothing like me.”

"No," Naomi agreed, but there was something almost gentle in her voice. "But she might've been. If someone had let her grow up knowing where she came from, who she belonged to, what she was capable of becoming."

I couldn't answer. Not because I didn't want to, because the words were there, crowding my throat like broken glass, but because speaking them would make everything real in a way I wasn't prepared to handle.

We didn't speak again, the weight of unfinished conversations settling between us like fog.

Naomi stayed to work with the drones, muttering about signal strength and weather interference. I circled the compound once more, taking note of the small changes that marked the integration of new wolves into established routines, shifting just as I stepped onto the porch.

The shift always came with a dull ache, the kind that settled in your bones like you were caught halfway between wolf and human, never quite fully one or the other. Luckily, you got used to it. The discomfort became background noise, as familiar as heartbeat or breathing.

Inside, the warmth didn't reach me, couldn't penetrate the chill that had settled in my chest. I passed Olivia in the hallway, and she murmured something about checking on the pups before moving on, her medical bag in hand and her face already focused on the tasks ahead.

The house was coming alive around me, wolves stirring and beginning their daily routines. I could hear water running in the bathrooms, quiet conversations drifting from the kitchen, the soft shuffle of feet on wooden floors. Normal sounds of normal lives, the kind I'd worked so hard to make possible.

I found Princess in the radio room, hunched over the comms desk with the focused intensity of someone trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. Her fingers moved across the controls with practiced efficiency, adjusting frequencies and scanning channels.

The tone in the room wasn't right, there was tension in the air, sharp and metallic, like the taste of blood.

"What is it?"

She didn't look at me, just adjusted a frequency dial with more force than necessary. Static crackled through the speakers, punctuated by occasional bursts of interference that sounded almost like voices.

"Jewel's a few hours past scheduled check-in. That wouldn't usually worry me, but…" She trailed off, gesturing at the radio with frustration.

"But?"

"I just got a partial ping. Something came through about twenty minutes ago, but it was so broken up I could barely make sense of it."

The hairs on my arms rose, primitive instincts recognizing danger even when my rational mind was still processing the information.

Princess slid headphones toward me. The static changed pitch, and then, faintly, like a voice calling through fog, Jewel's familiar tone emerged.

"…repeat, this is Ghost Relay Nine. Position unknown movement near Sector Nine… not… Hunters…"

Then silence.

Full, terrifying silence that seemed to echo in the small room.

My teeth clenched. "Replay that."

She did, her fingers steady despite the tension radiating from her body.

No new details emerged, no hidden words buried in the static. Just that single, broken transmission, and then nothing.

My pulse picked up, adrenaline beginning to flood my system as the implications sank in. Sector Nine was the forest cut near one of the old fuel lines. A remote territory that served as a buffer zone between safe areas and Hunter-controlled land. Too far out for a casual raid unless they were planning something much larger, much more coordinated than their usual operations.

"What does she mean, 'not Hunters'?"

Princess shook her head, frustration evident in every line of her body. "Could be internal, maybe she was trying to say it wasn't what they expected. Could have also been 'not sure, Hunters’, the transmission was too broken to be certain. It could be Sloane, or someone else entirely."

I growled, the sound coming from somewhere deep in my chest.

"She's still out there?"

Princess shrugged, but I could see the worry she was trying to hide. "You didn't kill her either, so yeah, she's probably still causing problems somewhere."

I turned away, jaw clenched. The shift from shy captive to confident Alpha had been remarkable to watch, but Princess's newfound willingness to challenge authority, especially mine, was taking some adjustment.

"Jewel's not alone. Jess should've been nearby."

“If she's trying to stay embedded, she can't just check in whenever she wants. Radio silence might be the only thing keeping her alive."

I stared past the wall, vision unfocusing as I tried to piece together what might be happening in territory I couldn't see, couldn't protect, couldn't control.

"She's walking into it," I said quietly, the certainty settling in my gut like lead.

Footsteps behind us, quick and purposeful. Alexis's voice cut through the tension: "Did I just hear Jewel?"

She stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation, her face already shadowed with the kind of concern that came from too much experience with bad news. "Play it again."

Princess hesitated, glancing between us as if weighing the wisdom of involving more people in what might be a crisis, then activated the playback.

When the static cut out for the second time, Alexis stood there with her shoulders tight enough to snap, every line of her body broadcasting readiness for action.

"Do we go after them?"

"We can't," Princess said, though I could hear the reluctance in her voice. "Not yet. Not without more information, more certainty about what we'd be walking into."

Alexis looked at me, and I felt the weight of her expectation, her trust that I would make the right call even when there was no clearly right answer.

I didn't look away.

"Not yet," I agreed. "But we plan like we will."

* * *

The fire crackled low, throwing gold shadows that danced across the clearing like living things.

I stayed back, near the edge of the trees, where the light didn't quite reach and where I could observe without being observed. The others had gathered naturally: Ghost Pack, Mayfield, Haven, tangled together in a way that should have been awkward but wasn't. Maybe trauma sanded down the rough edges faster than time did, creating bonds forged in shared survival rather than simple proximity.

Princess sat on a low stone, her posture easy but her eyes sharp as she scanned the faces around her. The firelight made her hair blaze like copper, and there was something timeless about the scene—wolves gathering around flame, sharing stories and warmth against the darkness.

She wasn't holding court, there was no Alpha dominance in her posture. Just sharing stories, being present with her pack in the most fundamental way.

She was telling them legends about how we, as shifters, had started. Creation myths and origin stories that connected them to something larger than their individual traumas. About the first walls we built, the first packs to run under the Goddess's moonlight, the ancient covenants that bound wolf to wolf across time and distance.

The younger wolves hung on her every word, their faces reflecting the firelight and the wonder of discovering they belonged to something ancient and meaningful.

Tali and Emma sat closest, their knees brushing Princess's legs in the unconscious way of pack animals seeking comfort. Neither seemed to notice, their attention completely focused on the story unfolding.

Touch meant trust.

Touch meant home.

My chest tightened, memory and regret twisting together like thorns.

I remembered when the pups of Mayfield used to pile around my boots without fear, when being near me meant safety rather than judgment. When just my scent could settle a campfire full of restless bodies, when my presence was comfort rather than authority to be navigated carefully.

Before.

Before I'd learned that leadership meant isolation, that protecting others required keeping them at arm's length.

I shifted my stance, feeling the dampness of the earth seep through the soles of my boots. The smell of woodsmoke drifted across the clearing, curling around the edges of my jacket, but it didn't warm the cold place in my chest that seemed to grow larger every day.

Tali laughed, bright and quick, the sound of someone young enough to still find joy despite everything she'd survived. Emma leaned in, her shoulder pressing against Princess's thigh, and Princess simply smiled and let them stay like that, accepting their need for contact without making it about dominance or permission.

No command.

No ownership.

Just belonging.

I turned away before the scene could cut any deeper, before I could start cataloging all the ways I'd failed to create this kind of easy intimacy with my own pack in recent years.

Beyond the fire, the cabins stood dark and still, though I could see lights in a few windows where wolves had chosen solitude over community. Most of the younger Haven wolves were here, but some of the older ones had found excuses to be elsewhere. I couldn't blame them. Sometimes it was easier to face silence than kindness, especially when kindness felt too fragile to trust.

Maya sat apart from the others, positioned where she could see everything without being fully part of it. Not so far as to be rude, but far enough that firelight only touched her in fragments, leaving half her face in shadow.

She wasn't laughing or asking questions like the others. Just sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, watching everything with the kind of intensity that missed nothing.

It wasn't distrust I read on her face. It was calculation, assessment, the careful evaluation of someone who'd learned that survival meant understanding the dynamics of every group before deciding how much to invest.

Maya was measuring us, weighing the authenticity of what she saw against whatever experiences had taught her to be cautious. The way any wolf would when deciding whether a new den was worth trusting, whether the pack bonds on display were real or performance.

But there was something else in her expression, something that made my breath catch. Recognition, yes, but more than that. It was a hunger for belonging that she was trying very hard to hide.

She didn't know. Not yet. But somehow… she knew.

I forced myself to look away before the old, broken bond with her mother could somehow come to life and call her attention to what I was trying to keep buried.

Princess's voice rose, carrying clearly across the clearing. "…we chose to stay. We chose to fight for something better. You're not alone anymore. You never will be again."

A ripple moved through the crowd, shoulders easing, heads lifting, the subtle physical signs of wolves allowing themselves to hope.

Pride flickered in my gut, warm and unexpected.

Princess had grown into something we needed. Not just another Alpha, but a leader who could inspire rather than simply command.

And I… I was still standing at the edge of everything I'd built, pretending the distance was my choice, pretending I didn't ache to be part of what they were creating.

I had no one touching me anymore, no easy intimacy or casual contact. And it was my own damn fault, the price I'd paid for choosing duty over connection, for believing that leadership meant isolation in order to keep them safe.

I left before the fire burned low, while the stories were still flowing and the laughter still carried hope.

Naomi's eyes followed me as I retreated into the shadows, and I caught the concerned tilt of her head before I turned away. No one tried to stop me though. The one in my pack understood, or thought they did, that sometimes Alphas needed space to think.

The woods swallowed me within a few steps, darkness closing around me like a familiar embrace. No torchlight penetrated this far, just the soft crackle of leaves underfoot and the distant rustle of small creatures going about their nocturnal business.

I didn't shift this time.

The human part of me needed to ache tonight. I wanted the bruising thud of boots against soft earth, the rough catch of breath in my lungs, the sharp bite of cold air against my skin. Something to hold on to that was real and immediate and mine.

The wolf would have dulled the pain, simplified the complex tangle of emotions into basic categories of threat and safety. But if we were going to have any chance of surviving what was coming, if we were going to see the other side of this without silver wrapped around our necks, we would have to embrace the human capacity for fear and anger and love before we could channel it through our wolves.

The old trail curved toward the southern ridge, following the path I'd walked so many times it was worn smooth under countless footsteps. The same route I used to take when the nights got too heavy, when the weight of leadership pressed down like physical force.

Back then, a second set of footsteps always followed me.

Back then, I never had to walk it alone.

I stopped near an old meeting ground from the early days of Mayfield. It was a small clearing where we'd once held pack meetings before the numbers grew too large for the small, intimate space.

Too many ghosts lived here, too many memories of decisions that had seemed so clear at the time.

I breathed in sharp pine and damp moss, letting the familiar scents settle in my lungs like armor against the chaos of my thoughts.

And then there were footsteps, soft but purposeful.

I didn't turn.

I knew that gait as well as I knew my own heartbeat, could recognize the rhythm of her movement even after all these years apart.

Alexis.

She came up beside me without announcement, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her skin and catch the scent that still made my wolf restless with recognition.

Neither of us spoke, the silence stretching between us like a bridge we were both afraid to cross.

Firelight from camp was just a faint glow behind us, filtering through the trees in scattered patches. The woods ahead were pure darkness, vast and unknowable.

Alexis shifted, her bare soles making soft sounds against the forest floor. Her shoulder brushed mine in a contact so brief it might have been accidental, except nothing about Alexis was ever accidental.

I didn't move away.

"Old habits die hard, huh?" she said, voice low and rough with something I couldn't quite identify.

I stared straight ahead, not trusting myself to look at her. "Some don't die at all.”

I felt her smile rather than saw it, a subtle shift in her breathing that I remembered from a thousand other nights.

Silence stretched between us, taut, heavy, alive with everything we weren't saying and all the things we'd said before that couldn't be taken back.

She exhaled, breath visible in the cool air like a small ghost. "I saw how you looked at her."

I didn't pretend not to understand.

Maya.

The name sat between us like a stone thrown into still water, creating ripples that spread in all directions.

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to center myself in the present moment rather than the complicated web of past and future that Maya represented.

"If she asks me the truth," I said quietly, "I don't know what I'll say."

Alexis didn't flinch, didn't offer platitudes or easy answers. Just stood there beside me, solid and present, both of us facing the woods like we were waiting for answers to emerge from the darkness.

"Then say what you couldn't before," she said, voice steady like a lifeline thrown across dangerous water. "This time, no one can stop you. The bond isn't in the way, there's no pack politics or territorial disputes to navigate. Just truth."

The laugh died in my chest before it could form, crumbling into something brittle and sharp.

I turned just enough to catch her profile in the weak moonlight that filtered through the canopy. Her face was thinner than I remembered, carved into something harder by years of survival and loss. But the basic architecture was the same, the strong line of her jaw, the way her hair caught light even in darkness, the stubborn set of her mouth that had always meant she was thinking about something she didn't want to share.

She must have felt me looking as her gaze flicked to meet mine with the same magnetic pull that had always existed between us.

And for a second, just a second, I saw it.

Gold overlaid with emotion, vulnerability bleeding through the careful control she usually maintained. The flicker of the woman who had once pressed her forehead to mine in the dark and promised me forever, who had believed we could build something that would last.

I jerked my gaze away, the contact too intense to sustain.

"It's not that simple.”

"Nothing ever is," Alexis replied, and there was resignation in her voice along with something that might have been regret. "It never really was, even when we pretended everything was okay, even when we thought love was enough to overcome everything else."

We stood there until the chill crept under my jacket and settled in my bones, until I could feel winter reasserting itself despite spring's earlier promises.

I wondered how she wasn't shivering. But Alexis had always run warm, could walk barefoot through snow and emerge with pink cheeks instead of frostbite. It was one of the things that had made sharing a bed with her so appealing, her body heat seeping through blankets and skin to warm places I didn't even know were cold.

Finally, Alexis straightened, the movement subtle but decisive, brushing her hand lightly against my arm in a gesture that was goodbye and promise all at once.

"I'll see you in the morning.”

Not a question asking for permission.

Not a threat demanding compliance.

A promise offered freely, the kind that could be broken without consequences but wouldn't be.

I didn't answer, couldn't trust my voice to remain steady.

Just watched the shadows swallow her as she made her way back toward the lights and warmth of home.

I stayed long after her footsteps faded, long enough for the cold to seep through my jacket and settle in my bones, wishing I didn't still know how she smelled after a long patrol, like pine and effort and the wild spaces between safety and danger. Wishing I didn't remember the weight of her hand against my spine when nightmares made sleep impossible and only touch could chase away the darkness.

Wishing I didn't still want things I had no right to want, didn't still need someone I'd already lost once and couldn't afford to lose again.

CHAPTER 4

The pre-dawn cold bit deep as I crossed the eastern field, boots crunching over dew-slick grass. The moisture had frozen overnight, leaving each blade coated in a thin shell of ice that cracked underfoot with tiny, crystalline sounds. The sky was still iron-gray, the first slices of light barely bleeding over the horizon. Dawn came reluctantly this time of year, as if even the sun was hesitant to witness what the day might bring, as the weather was a cruel mistress in this area. Summer and shorts one moment, power lines down from ice the next. I remembered once standing in a field with hail to one side and sun on the other.

Training drills were already underway, voices carrying across the field in a harsh symphony of commands and grunts, the shouts a clumsy, uneven mess that made my wolf itch beneath my skin.

My territory was supposed to be a sanctuary, not a training center for wolves looking to fight back. That was Alexis's thing. The belief that every wolf should be a warrior, that safety came through strength rather than strategy.

Now she'd made it my thing, whether I'd chosen it or not.

I could smell the nervous sweat and determination rising from the training groups, could hear the slightly off rhythm of wolves who were still learning to trust their bodies, their instincts, and each other. It set my teeth on edge, not because they were trying, but because I could see how desperately they needed to succeed and how far they still had to go on such a short deadline.

Jayne barked out instructions near the tree line, voice sharp but not cruel. She was good at this, had the natural authority and patience that made other wolves want to follow her, but even she couldn't disguise the problem: we were trying to forge a fighting unit out of scattered pieces. Haven wolves moved on instinct more than training, flinching at sudden sounds, cutting corners like they expected cages to snap shut if they slowed down even a fraction to think.

The contrast was stark.

Mayfield wolves moved with easy confidence, their training so ingrained it was second nature, even though the thought of actually using it in battle seemed far off. Ghost Pack wolves were alert but controlled, ready for anything. But the Haven wolves… they fought like they were still in captivity, still expecting punishment for any mistake.

I stopped near the old fence, where the wooden posts had weathered to silver-gray and the wire sagged in places that would need repair before Summer storms finished the job, arms crossed, watching.

Two younger females, Tali and a wiry Haven wolf named Brenna, sparred under Jayne's watchful gaze.

Tali showed promise, moving with the natural grace of someone who'd found her rhythm: feet planted, center of gravity low, strikes sharp and deliberate.

Brenna moved like she expected to be punished for winning. Defensive, twitchy. Every successful hit made her flinch, as if waiting for retaliation. Useless if she didn't shake it off.

I'd seen it before, wolves so damaged by captivity or trauma that they couldn't separate training from torture, couldn't understand that here, success was rewarded rather than punished.

My mouth tightened.

"Better than nothing,” Jayne said, stepping up beside me, her breath visible in small puffs in the cold air.

"A breath better than dead's still dead," I muttered.

Jayne snorted. "It's a start. You weren't a wonder your first fight either."

I shot her a sidelong look. "You didn't know me for my first fight. And in my first month, I was smart enough not to get caught sparring before sunrise. They'll be exhausted and useless before lunch."

The criticism was fair, and I could see Jayne processing it, weighing the tactical wisdom against the emotional need to keep moving, keep improving, keep busy enough not to think about what might be ahead.

"Fair. But we don't have months, do we? Normal cardio in the morning, sparring in the afternoon, that takes time."

She said it lightly, trying to sound unworried, but the words landed heavy, settling between us like stones.

We don't have months.

Not with the two-week deadline hanging over us like a guillotine. Not with Jess still missing, possibly dead, possibly worse.

The truth sat heavy in my chest. We were racing against time with wolves who barely knew how to walk, let alone run. And if we failed, if we moved too slow or too fast or made the wrong choice at the wrong moment, people would die.

People I was responsible for.

I turned back to the field, forcing myself to see potential rather than problems. Princess moved among them like a steady heartbeat, correcting posture, offering encouragement and soft words. Her presence alone seemed to calm the more nervous wolves, give them something stable to anchor to. Olivia was also moving between groups, checking a younger female's shoulder, making sure no one was pushing through actual injury. Sara circled the edges with sharp-eyed precision, watching for problems before they developed into actual issues.

Good.

We needed wolves who remembered hell, ones who had been through it and emerged with their strength intact rather than their spirits broken.

Still, my gut twisted at how many shoulders still hunched automatically when voices were raised, how many eyes still flicked toward escape routes, bodies flinching when they landed a successful blow.

I dug my fingernails into my palm, using the small pain to ground myself in the present rather than the frustrated helplessness of watching wolves fight their own conditioning.

I couldn't touch this. Not directly. Not yet.

They weren't mine.

And maybe that was the safest thing for everyone. My track record with keeping wolves safe wasn't exactly stellar.

Jayne shifted, and I could feel her reading the tension in my posture, the way my hands had clenched into fists, sensing my tension.

"They'll toughen up," she said. "Or they'll die trying."

"Comforting."

She chuckled, but there was no real humor in it. "You want soft words, Olivia's over there. You want survival odds? You're looking at 'em."

I didn't answer because the truth was more complicated than survival odds. Simple survival wasn't enough, not when what we really needed was for these wolves to not just survive, but to thrive, to become something more than what their captivity had made them.

We watched as Princess stood a little taller, authority settling on her shoulders as she watched over them. As Mayfield wolves folded the Haven teens into their drills like stubborn older siblings who refused to let family fail. As something that looked almost like hope began to take shape in the practice yard.

All of it made something ache deep in my ribs, a place I'd boarded up so long ago I'd almost forgotten it existed. A place that whispered: you used to believe in more than surviving, used to think that safety meant more than just not dying.

I shoved the thought down, right next to all the creeping Alexis memories that surfaced every time I saw her teaching the younger wolves, every time her laugh carried across the field and made my chest tight with recognition.

Jayne peeled off, muttering under her breath, cursing as Tali landed a good hit and Brenna crumpled, but not before I saw the flash of pride in the older wolf's eyes at Tali's progress. I stayed, arms folded, the cold seeping into my bones and making me grateful for the physical discomfort that was easier to handle than the emotional kind.

Across the field, Maya lingered near the trees, positioned where she could observe without being observed, half-shadowed by a crooked pine.

Watching.

Not participating. Not hiding. Just watching with the kind of intensity that missed nothing.

Her posture was wrong for a teen her age, too controlled, too alert. Too still. Too sharp. Like she was cataloging movements, memorizing weaknesses, storing information for purposes I couldn't guess and wasn't sure I wanted to know.

There was something almost predatory in her stillness, the way she tracked movement and assessed capability with eyes that were far too knowing for someone who should still be learning what it meant to be a wolf.

I looked away.

Because some battles aren't fought with teeth and claws. Some are fought inside you, old wounds reopening just when you think they've healed, and she didn't need to see me lose to that invisible opponent.

Because every time I looked at her, I saw echoes of a woman I’d lost, carrying secrets I should have shared and love I should have protected.

I broke away, needing distance before the weight of regret and recognition crushed something vital in my chest, heading for the far ridge. Jayne had it covered. She and Princess working together with the kind of easy partnership that reminded me of what I'd lost. They didn't need another Alpha breathing down their necks, and I needed air that didn't taste like broken promises.

Real air.

The kind you couldn't find in a yard full of ghosts wearing young faces.

I found Naomi on a makeshift platform built out of salvaged lumber and stubborn determination. A drone buzzed overhead, its mechanical hum a counterpoint to the organic sounds of training below, no bigger than a butterfly against the brightening sky.

Naomi didn't look down when I approached, her attention completely focused on the controller in her hands and the data streaming across her tablet.

"She's holding," she said, thumbs steady on the controller with the kind of practiced ease that came from hours of repetition. "Signal's clean. No disruptions yet."

I stopped beside her, grateful for the solid presence of my second-in-command and the problems that had clear, technical solutions. "How far out?"

"Fifty miles, almost to the foothills, where the real danger starts."

Fifty miles wasn't Mayfield territory—that was no-man's land, the kind of space where wolves went missing and no one asked too many questions about what had happened to them.

"Daisy's modifications holding up?"

Naomi grunted, a sound of grudging respect. "Kid's got a knack for hacking junk into useful things. Honestly, I don't know how some popsicle sticks and vet tape made just enough difference to the stabilizers, but I'm not going to jinx it by complaining."

I climbed onto the platform, the improvised structure creaking slightly under my weight, watching the screen as images flickered past like fragments of a world I couldn't quite reach. Grainy footage showed tree lines, an old gas station overrun by vines, and a crumbling stretch of highway that nature was slowly reclaiming.

Government land. No one touched it, no one claimed it, no one wanted to take responsibility for what might be hidden in all that emptiness.

Nothing moved.

The landscape looked peaceful from this distance, but I knew better. Peaceful places didn't stay that way when politics and governments were involved.

Someone always finds a way to turn sanctuary into battleground.

"She's out farther than I like," I muttered, unease prickling between my shoulder blades.

Naomi's mouth quirked, the expression almost fond. "You don't like anything right now."

Fair point.

"These are just test runs for when we go pick up Jess. Assuming, there's anything left of her to pick up. Girl has a lot of explaining to do before I throw her in the basement for the next three decades."

I almost smiled at the threat I knew would never be carried out. Naomi's bark was worse than her bite, and if Jess survived this, she might get three days in the makeshift cells downstairs before Princess and Jayne staged an intervention.

The wind picked up, carrying the sharp tang of coming rain and the promise of weather that would make everything more complicated. I watched the drone skim the abandoned landscape, flittering over broken fences and wild hills. Wolves had once run free from human intervention in that area.

Now they ran because of it.

The irony wasn't lost on me. We'd created sanctuaries and safe spaces, but in doing so, we'd also created targets. The very act of trying to protect shifters had made them more vulnerable, drew the attention of people who saw safety as a challenge to be overcome, who hated anyone now like them.

"You think Jess is still alive?" Naomi asked, her tone carefully casual in the way that meant she was worried but didn't want to admit it.

I stiffened, old guilt and newer fear mixing into something caustic in my throat.

"She's tough," I said eventually. "And stubborn enough to survive on spite alone if nothing else."

It wasn't enough. Wasn't close to enough.

But it was all I could offer without unraveling right there under the brittle sky. She had been part of my pack, had trusted me to keep her safe, and I had failed her as surely as I'd failed everyone else who'd ever looked to me for protection.

Naomi hummed, a sound that might have been agreement or comfort, adjusting the drone's path with tiny corrections. "They'll either make it out or they won't. Nothing we can do from here except watch and wait."

“I’m not a fan of hurry up and wait either.”

"I know."

The way she said it, dry, fond, exasperated, carried the weight of years of friendship and the kind of acceptance that came from seeing someone at their worst and choosing to stay anyway. It almost pulled a smile from me. Almost.

"How long until we have to move?"

Naomi didn't look up, but I could see the calculation in the set of her shoulders. "Soon. Sooner, if that facility's active again and they start moving prisoners or stepping up security."

It was coming. The reckoning we'd been avoiding this far from the action, the fight that would determine whether we stayed a collection of survivors hiding in the wilderness or became something that could actually challenge the systems that sought to use us.

The fight I wasn't sure we were ready for.

"Tell me if you catch anything."

Naomi lifted a hand in acknowledgment, her attention already back on the screen and the endless stream of data that might contain the key to everything or nothing at all.

I headed down the ridge, my boots finding purchase on the rough slope with muscle memory that went back decades.

Across the field, Alexis emerged from the woods like she belonged there, her silver-blonde braid catching what little light filtered through the clouds. She carried herself with that dangerous, magnetic pull that had once been the center of my world, the gravitational force around which everything else orbited.

She spotted me.

I looked away first, unwilling to deal with whatever expression might be on her face, whatever mixture of concern and frustration and old affection I might see there.

Because I didn't know if I wanted her to come closer. If I ever wanted her to offer comfort I didn't deserve and couldn't accept, or if I wanted her to stay the hell away before she made everything more complicated than it already was.

* * *

By sunset, the camp had shifted into something.

Training drills ended, giving way to the quieter rhythms of evening. A few Haven wolves had started a fire in the old pit, which seemed to be becoming a nightly habit, this gathering around flame and shared warmth.

Something my pack had lost long ago, sacrificed on the altar of efficiency and security.

I lingered on the porch, hidden in the deepening shadows, where I could once more observe without being observed.

The younger wolves were gathered around Princess again, their bodies naturally gravitating toward her warmth like moths to flame, instinctively brushing against her as they settled by the fire.

Touch.

Closeness.

The first language a young wolf learned and the only one they never truly forgot, no matter what the world threw at them.

It was primal communication that bypassed conscious thought and went straight to the part of the brain that understood safety, belonging, home. Pack bonds made physical, the reassurance of skin on skin that said you matter, you belong, you are not alone.

Princess didn't shy from it. She'd grown into her role as Alpha in ways that surprised me. She leaned into them, letting them press against her like flowers bending toward sunlight. Her laugh, small but genuine, carried across the field, a sound that spoke of healing and hope and the kind of joy that had seemed impossible for her not so long ago.

Something jagged unspooled in my chest, part pride and part loss.

She was becoming the Alpha they needed. Not through dominance or fear, but through presence, through the simple act of being there when wolves needed her most.

Not through force, through presence.

Jayne sprawled near the fire in her wolf form, her larger frame somehow managing to look relaxed despite the alertness that never quite left her eyes. Even Naomi had drifted in from her technical concerns, crouched beside Daisy with their heads bent together over something that made them both grin with the kind of easy camaraderie that spoke of friendship rather than just working relationships.

When Olivia approached, medical bag in hand and stern expression in place, both women looked up with identical expressions of fake innocence that immediately devolved into laughter. The sound was bright and normal and painfully beautiful.

Sara watched from across the field, arms folded, expression unreadable. I wondered what it was like for her, watching her pack drawn to another Alpha, seeing the bonds she'd helped nurture being transferred to someone who could offer them more than survival.

Actually, maybe I didn’t wonder what that felt like.

The way Tali's fingers brushed Princess's jacket without conscious thought, seeking reassurance. How Emma leaned into her Alpha like it was the safest place in the world, trusting completely in a way that spoke of wounds beginning to heal.

It wasn't discipline that created these moments.

It wasn't command.

It was trust. The most fragile and most precious thing any living thing could offer each other.

The fire snapped and sparked, sending embers dancing into the darkening sky like scattered stars. One landed dangerously close to Emma's boot, and she yelped in surprise, laughing as she kicked dirt over the glowing coal. The others laughed too, a ripple of sound that carried warmth and belonging and the kind of easy intimacy I'd forgotten was possible.

I stayed in the shadows.

Close enough to watch, to protect if needed. Far enough not to contaminate what they were building with my own doubts and fears.

Because whatever warmth flickered there, whatever fragile hope grew between these young wolves and their battered but determined Alpha, I didn't belong to it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever again.

The door creaked behind me, wood protesting against metal hinges that needed oil.

Alexis.

She stepped up beside me with the kind of careful deliberation that meant she was choosing to be here rather than simply ending up in the same place by accident, a careful distance between us. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could smell pine soap and the wild scent that clung to her hair.

But I felt her anyway.

Sharp as old scars that ached when the weather changed. Soft as old memory that surfaced when I wasn't careful enough to keep it buried.

"She's good with them," Alexis said, voice pitched low enough not to carry to the fire.

"She is."

My voice came out rougher than I'd intended, scraped raw by emotions I didn't want to name.

Alexis shifted, the old boards creaking under her weight in a sound that was purely domestic, purely normal. "You're the one who built this place. You gave them something worth believing in."

A bitter smile tugged at my mouth. "I built walls. Fences. You think that's what they're clinging to down there? The almighty infrastructure?"

The fire popped loudly enough to make one of the younger wolves jump, and Princess immediately reached out, steadying the startled girl with a hand on her neck. It was a touch that conveyed safety and belonging more clearly than any words could have.

"They're clinging to each other," Alexis said, her voice carrying a note of something that might have been admiration. "But they're standing here because you made it possible."

I closed my eyes, letting the weight of her words settle into the hollow places in my chest where hope used to live.

When I opened them again, Alexis was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite understand. Not the anger or disappointment I'd expected, but something softer, more complicated. Like she was seeing something she hadn't allowed herself to see in a long time.

Goddess help me, I looked back, caught in the gravitational pull that had always existed between us.

The moment stretched thin, taut and dangerous, full of things we hadn't said and couldn't take back if we did.

I broke it first, turning to stare out over the trees toward the mountains where danger waited.

"We'll need to leave for the mountain soon."

Not to her. I didn’t say it to her. I said it to myself, to the night air, to anyone who might be listening. A reminder of why we were here, why we couldn't afford to get lost in the complicated geography of old love and new possibility.

Alexis nodded, accepting the deflection without argument.

The fire crackled below us, young wolves laughed, hope burned fragile and reckless in the space between heartbeats.

And beside me, Alexis stayed, solid and present and dangerously familiar.

* * *

The shift came easy for once, my body welcoming the change like an old friend.

Bones slipped and stretched, muscle and sinew reorganizing with practiced efficiency, as fur split through skin in a way that never quite stopped feeling like magic. Then I was on four paws, the world sharper, cleaner, filtered through senses that prioritized survival over sentiment.

Easier.

The wolf didn't think about choices made in the dead of night, didn't ache when memories pressed too hard against the walls I'd built to contain them. The wolf just moved, just existed, just was.

I ran the fence line, muscles pulling smooth and powerful under fur that held the scents of smoke and mist. Cool air moved through my coat, carrying information about the territory: who had passed this way, when, what their emotional state had been.

The world looked different from here. Colors muted but textures enhanced, scent and sound taking precedence over sight in a sensory landscape that was both alien and intimately familiar.

Sharper. More honest.

But no kinder.

The stars wheeled overhead, cold and distant, while the earth hummed with the low-frequency vibration of life going about its nocturnal business. It was a rhythm I used to trust before I got too tangled in human concerns, words, and regrets and the weight of choices that couldn't be unmade.

Maybe if I ran long enough, fast enough, I could leave it all behind.

Leave her behind.

Leave myself behind and become something simpler, something that didn't carry the weight of failure like a stone in its chest.

I slowed at the northern oak, the old boundary marker. It had stood long before Mayfield existed, and would continue standing long after all of us were dust and memory. I brushed against it, adding my scent to the accumulated layers of territorial markings, scent-marking territory that was already mine.

Mine.

The word carried weight in the wolf's understanding. Not ownership in the human sense, but responsibility, protection, the sacred duty to defend what had been entrusted to my care.

Wasn't that why I stayed when leaving would have been easier? Why I hadn't fought harder when the bonds were severed, and I could have walked away?

A low whine caught in my throat, unbidden and embarrassing. The wolf didn't whine. The wolf endured, adapted, survived. But even in this simpler form, some fractures ran too deep to ignore.

I dropped to a crouch, ears pricked for any sound that might signal danger or simply provide distraction from thoughts that chased their own tails.

Soft footfalls in the distance, careful and deliberate. Human feet picking their way across uneven ground with the kind of practiced quiet that spoke of long familiarity with moving through darkness.

I didn't lift my head.

Alexis.

Her scent reached me before her voice did, pine and iron and smoke, layered with the complex chemistry of grief that clung to her like a second skin, no matter how she tried to scrub it away.

She stopped a few feet away, close enough to communicate but far enough to respect the invisible boundaries the wolf needed.

I kept my gaze averted, tail still, head low. The posture of wary tolerance rather than submission, acknowledgment without surrender.

She understood, as she'd always understood my language, no matter the form.

“I figured you'd be out here," she said, voice pitched low and careful, like she was afraid sudden sounds might spook me into flight.

I flicked an ear in acknowledgment but didn't rise, didn't offer any other invitation to closer contact.

She settled against the tree without asking permission, her back against the rough bark, mixing her scent with the territorial markers I'd just refreshed.

"You always ran the lines when you couldn't sleep."

The observation was gentle, without judgment, carrying the weight of shared history and nothing more.

The mist carried her scent more strongly now, complicated layers of emotion that spoke of sleepless nights and difficult choices. There was also a hint of the kind of bone-deep weariness that came from carrying too much for too long.

"I'm not here to force you to talk," she added, settling more comfortably against the tree. "I just didn't want you to think you were alone."

The wolf recoiled instinctively. Not from her presence, but from the offer itself. Alone was safer, cleaner, didn't require the complicated negotiations of trust and vulnerability that came with connection.

I shifted my weight subtly, one paw moving back half a step. It was not quite a retreat, but a line drawn in the damp earth between us.

Alexis didn't cross it.

She just waited, patient and still, letting the silence stretch between us like a bridge I could choose to cross or ignore.

A small sound escaped me, half-growl, half-sigh, the wolf's equivalent of frustration with circumstances beyond my control. I pressed my nose to the earth, drawing in the rich scents of decomposing leaves and growing things, trying to ground myself in the immediate and physical rather than the emotional minefield of her presence.

But even the wolf wasn't immune to her. She smelled like home and heartbreak, like everything I'd lost and everything I'd been too afraid to fight for.

Finally, I lifted my head.

Met her gaze.

Gold to gold, the color of autumn leaves and old honey, and the kind of warmth that could burn if you weren't careful.

She didn't flinch, didn't look away, didn't make demands or offer empty reassurances.

Didn't ask for anything beyond this moment, this acknowledgment of shared space and history.

Just stood there, steady and maddeningly patient, like maybe she knew the wolf needed this contact more than the human was willing to admit.

Without a word, she crouched down, settling onto her heels at the very edge of what the wolf considered safe distance, close enough that our breath mingled in the cold night air as we faced each other, visible as small clouds that rose and dissipated in the space between us.

"I'll keep watch," she said softly, the words carrying the weight of old promises and new possibility.

I huffed, a soft puff of mist that might have been amusement or resignation.

Not agreement.

I hadn't asked for protection and didn't need a guardian.

Not gratitude.

This was more complicated than simple favor and repayment.

Just… acceptance of what was being offered, for tonight, for this breath, for this small and dangerous thing between us that refused to die despite all the reasons it should.

I laid my head on my paws, eyes half-lidded but alert, letting the weight of her presence settle around me like a blanket.

Not touching.

Not speaking.

Just staying, existing in the same space without the need for words or explanations or promises about what tomorrow might bring.

And for the first time in a long time, the ache in my chest, the hollow place where connection used to live, didn't feel like something I had to bear entirely alone.

The night stretched around us, vast and cold and full of dangers I couldn't see or predict. But here, in this small pocket of shared warmth, the darkness felt less absolute. The silence less like abandonment.

CHAPTER 5

One of the reasons I had settled in the flat, calm Midwest was because mountains never whispered good news.

They held secrets in their peaks and valleys, stored violence in their caves and hidden places. Mountains were where wolves went to die or disappeared entirely, where the landscape itself seemed to conspire with those who hunted us.

The transmission came in with a pop of static sharp enough to cut through the country music Princess had left playing to "keep spirits up" during the morning briefings. The loud crooning was giving me a headache, all twangy vocals and overly cheerful lyrics that felt obscene against the gravity of what we were dealing with. I was about to ask Naomi to turn it off when she spun in her chair before the second tone hit.

Jayne stood behind her like a sentinel, arms crossed, every line of her body broadcasting tension. I leaned over the desk, my fingers gripping the edge harder than necessary. The wood was worn smooth by years of anxious half-shifted claws and desperate planning sessions. The scent of melted circuits and burnt plastic still lingered from when Casey had fried a backup console last week. We hadn't had the parts to fix it, and the burning smell was a constant reminder of how fragile our technical infrastructure really was.

The radio crackled again, and all three of us leaned forward like we could somehow will better reception through proximity alone.

Jewel's voice came through, low and clipped, her usual dry sarcasm missing.

"This is Ghost Relay Nine. We have partial contact only. Jess's last transmission dropped mid-ping. She was watching a new Hunter testing group… just arrived… headed back west. Repeat: West. Her beacon blinked once about a click outside Sector 12. Then nothing."

A pause that lasted an eternity, filled with the kind of silence that meant someone was making decisions they didn't want to make. Then:

"I'm checking again in five, but… damn it, I think something's wrong."

The words hit the room like physical blows. From what I had heard, Jewel didn't curse in front of her Alpha, didn't dramatize, didn't waste words on uncertainty. If she thought something was wrong, something was definitely wrong.

Jayne moved first, her body coiling into action before her mind had fully processed the implications, stepping up behind Naomi, her hand pressing to the desk like she needed grounding.

"She doesn't panic," Jayne growled, reaching for the keyboard with hands that weren't quite steady, snatching the keyboard. "Jewel doesn't panic."

No. Jewel, Alexis's second, had nerves like tempered steel and a mouth that could cut through chaos with surgical precision. But her voice now carried the kind of edge that came from watching careful plans unravel in real time, from knowing that every minute of silence might mean someone was already dead.

Naomi snagged the keyboard back with the kind of protective instinct, growling at Jayne to back off while typing commands with quick, precise motions that spoke to years of emergency protocols.

Jayne growled low in her throat as the response came back, garbled, half-swallowed by interference that could have been natural or deliberately caused.

"… I'm going out again. If she shifted, she might've ditched the comm… Goddess, I told her not to go that deep alone…"

The transmission cut to static, leaving us staring at speakers that had gone dead silent. The weight of the room folded in around me. It wasn’t just the physical space, but the emotional gravity of wolves who were trying not to panic, trying not to assume the worst, and failing.

Alexis hadn't arrived yet. Princess was still running morning training with the kind of determined normalcy that kept everyone from falling apart when everything else was chaos. It was just us, three wolves in a room full of expensive equipment that couldn't bring back the voice we needed to hear.

"She should've checked in hours ago," Jayne said, turning to me with the kind of desperate hope that expected miracles from Alphas who had none to give.

I took a deep breath, tasting copper and fear on the air. The pack needed decisions, needed leadership, needed someone to pretend they knew what the hell they were doing even when the world was coming apart at the seams.

On one hand, I would be within my rights as Alpha to dismiss Jess's disappearance as another betrayal. She'd earned that suspicion, had violated trust in ways that still left scars. But on the other, deep down, underneath the anger and disappointment, she was still one of mine. And I didn't abandon pack.

"She didn't because she couldn't," I said flatly. "Or she wouldn't for fear of being caught. Either way, it's not good."

The words felt inadequate, too small for the magnitude of what we might be facing. Jess could be captured, tortured, dead. She could be leading Hunters straight to us. She could be anything, and the not knowing was almost worse than bad news would have been.

Naomi stopped typing, her hands frozen above the keyboard, like she was afraid to learn what the next command might reveal. "We've got a four-hour window before Jess's comm battery will simply die given normal operating conditions. If we're sending someone, it has to be soon."

I turned toward the window, needing something to look at that wasn’t the screen. The sun was just beginning to touch the trees, painting the far off fields in shades of gold and rose that looked deceptively peaceful.

"She's not dead," Jayne said, more to herself than anyone else, the words carrying the weight of prayer and desperation. "Not Jess. Not before I had my chance to kill her."

The attempt at dark humor fell flat in the heavy air. I didn't say anything because the truth was uglier than Jayne's worst fears. If the Hunters had taken Jess alive, death might be the kindest outcome we could hope for.

"It took you two days to drive to the mountain." Jayne nodded, understanding where I was going with this. "Then we can't make it in four hours. Even as wolves, taking a straight line through rough terrain, we wouldn't make it in time to matter."

The mathematics of distance and time were brutal in their simplicity. Whatever was happening to Jess, whatever choice she was being forced to make, we wouldn't be there to help her make it.

Jayne's jaw flexed, muscles bunching with the effort of not snarling at truths she couldn't change. "If she's hurt…" She trailed off, unable to finish a sentence that led to places none of us wanted to go. "Princess won't like this."

The understatement might have been funny under different circumstances. Princess wouldn't just dislike it. She'd be furious, heartbroken, ready to tear through anything that stood between her and her new pack mate.

Naomi broke the silence with the kind of practical observation that kept everyone grounded in reality. "We can't send a team that far blind."

I nodded, my mind automatically sorting through possibilities and discarding the ones that led to more dead wolves. "We don't need to make it all the way. Just get close enough to scan. If they were heading this direction, maybe we can find them somewhere in the middle."

The plan was thin, full of gaps and assumptions that could get people killed. But it was better than sitting here doing nothing, better than abandoning Jess to whatever fate had found her in those mountains.

With Alexis’s return, I had realized I was done simply doing nothing and waiting for fate. I needed to move, to do something, as though that could absolve me from my inaction years ago.

Jayne blinked, frustration and hope warring in her expression. "Middle of what? The whole fucking region? And how are you planning to find them if we don't go?"

"Drones," Naomi answered, already reaching for her tablet with the kind of focus that meant she was shifting into technical problem-solving mode. "I can reprogram the two Casey didn't crash. Get them into Sector Twelve to pick up heat signatures. If Jess shifted, her wolf will radiate high enough for the thermal cameras to pick up, assuming she's still alive to generate body heat."

The qualification hung unspoken in the air… all of this assumed Jess was still breathing, still capable of generating the heat signature that would make her visible to our equipment.

"How long to get them in the air and able to go that far?"

Naomi frowned, fingers already flying across the tablet as she ran calculations. "Two hours. Maybe less if I strip some non-popsicle hardware to shed weight and push the range limits."

It was risky.

"Do it," I said. "I want a thermal scan and any sign of movement logged."

Jayne opened her mouth, probably to argue, to demand we do something more decisive, more immediate, but Naomi was already moving, muttering under her breath about calibrations and signal boosters and the kind of technical magic that might give us an edge.

"Are we planning for recovery?"

The question carried weight beyond its simple words. Recovery assumed there would be something left to recover, someone left to save. It assumed hope in a situation that was rapidly falling down hill.

I hesitated.

Jess wasn't a friend, friendship required trust, and she'd broken that beyond easy repair. She wasn't even a reliable ally, given her history of choosing survival over loyalty when the pressure mounted. But she had been loyal once, deeply and nearly completely, in the way that had cost her everything. And now she was the only one inside, the only one who might still have eyes on what was really happening in that facility.

I couldn't lose that. Couldn't afford to lose our only source of intelligence.

"We plan for everything," I said. "We get eyes first. If we have a shot, we take it. But we don't throw wolves at a shadow."

Jayne nodded, but her shoulders stayed tight, every line of her body broadcasting frustration with the limitations of reality. "She's not going to wait for us."

"She'll have to if she needs us.”

The words felt like a lie even as I spoke them. Jess wouldn't wait because she couldn't wait. Whatever was happening to her was happening now, and our timeline was determined by factors completely outside our control.

Jayne scowled, and for a moment I felt the ground shift beneath my feet, the subtle but unmistakable sensation of authority slipping away. I was no longer her Alpha, no longer someone whose commands carried the weight of absolute obedience. My words meant nothing beyond whatever respect our previous friendship could command, and we both knew it.

Finally, in a low tone that carried more threat than any shout could have, she gritted, "She might not be able to."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, a reminder that sometimes waiting meant losing everything that mattered while you were busy being careful.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, heavy, familiar, moving with the kind of purpose that meant someone already knew bad news was waiting.

Alexis.

She didn't knock, had never felt the need for permission to enter spaces where she could be useful. Just stepped into the room like she'd known the exact second the world tilted sideways.

"What's wrong?"

Her eyes swept the room, taking in our positions, our expressions, the tension that crackled in the air like electricity before a storm. She could read a situation faster than most people could process individual details, could see the shape of a crisis in the way bodies held themselves.

I waited for Naomi to confirm the upload, for the quiet hum of drone rotors spinning up outside the window that would mean we were doing something, anything, instead of just standing here helpless.

Then I met Alexis's gaze, drawing strength from her presence even as I dreaded having to be the bearer of bad news. "Jess missed check-in. Jewel says her signal's gone dark in Sector Twelve."

Alexis stilled, the kind of absolute motionlessness that preceded either violence or very careful thinking, her mouth flattening into a line. "She was tailing Sloane."

The confirmation hit like another blow. Not just because apparently my ex-mate had been keeping critical information from me, but because following Sloane meant Jess had been walking into danger deliberately, had known the risks and chosen them anyway. It made her disappearance feel less like bad luck and more like an inevitable consequence.

"We don't know what happened. We're sending drones."

She crossed the room, moving with predatory grace that made the space feel suddenly smaller, stopping just short of the desk. "What good are drones? We need to pull her out."

"No," I countered. "Not yet."

Her nostrils flared, and I could see the argument building behind her eyes, all the reasons why waiting was a luxury we couldn't afford, why every minute of delay might be the difference between rescue and recovery.

She knew.

If we moved too soon, if we charged in blind and desperate, we'd lose more than just Jess. We'd lose the element of surprise, the careful positioning that might be our only advantage. We'd lose wolves who couldn't be replaced and gain nothing but the satisfaction of having tried.

Satisfaction didn’t bring back bodies.

* * *

I was astonished by how fast my office had filled—wolves appearing as if summoned by some invisible signal, packing into the space until it felt like the walls might burst outward from the pressure of too many bodies, too many opinions, too much barely controlled energy.

And yet, despite being surrounded by my pack, by wolves who lived in my territory and ate my food and slept under my protection, I felt like a stranger in my own space.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, but not one of them looked to me for guidance. Their attention was focused elsewhere, drawn by magnetic forces I couldn't compete with.

Naomi was at her usual post, calibrating flight paths with Casey and Rylee. Olivia stood close enough to offer quiet technical advice, her medical training lending itself to the kind of systematic thinking that emergencies required. Alexis stood across from me, her stance wide and confident. It was the posture of someone who belonged here, who had every right to make decisions and be heard.

Like nothing had changed.

Like this was still her place, like the years of separation had been nothing more than an extended patrol that was finally ending.

Princess and Jayne entered last, moving with the synchronized awareness of mates who shared more than just physical space, herding the Haven wolves like the natural leaders they'd become. Sara tucked in behind the map table, arms folded, eyes flinty with the kind of hard wisdom that came from watching too many operations go wrong.

The rest of the wolves positioned themselves with careful precision, close enough to show they belonged, far enough back to respect pack hierarchy. They knew their place in the complex social mathematics that governed groups of predators, but they weren't afraid. This was what I'd tried to build: wolves who felt safe enough to stand close to power without fearing it would consume them.

I should have found that reassuring.

I didn't.

Because their body language spoke of allegiance to Princess, to Alexis, to anyone but me. I was being tolerated in my own space, suffered rather than followed.

"Let's go over what we have," I said, letting my voice cut through the low murmur of side conversations and whispered questions. "Drones are en route to Sector Twelve. If Jess is alive and still in wolf form, we'll pick her up. If not⁠—"

"If not," Alexis cut in, "we move."

The interruption was smooth, natural, the kind of interjection that came from someone who was used to being listened to, who expected their voice to carry weight.

The room shifted.

Subtle but unmistakable. A lean in her direction, a tilt of attention that spoke of wolves recognizing authority they were willing to follow.

Toward her.

Not me.

I met her eyes, refusing to let the challenge pass unacknowledged. "We don't move until we have a target. I will not send my wolves running into the dark with nothing but a guess and a prayer."

The words came out harder than I'd intended, carrying the weight of every loss I'd witnessed, every wolf who'd died because someone had chosen courage over caution.

Jayne looked between us, clearly reading the undercurrents, holding back what might have been either support or snarl depending on how this played out.

"She's right," Naomi said, her voice cutting through the tension. "We need visuals. If Jess went quiet on purpose, charging in could burn our only intel and get more wolves killed in the process."

The practical observation carried weight that emotional appeals couldn't match. Everyone in the room had lost someone to poorly planned rescues, to the kind of desperate heroics that made great stories with terrible outcomes.

Alexis's jaw twitched, but she nodded, acknowledging the wisdom even if she didn't like it.

I let the silence draw out longer than comfortable, trying to reclaim some sense of authority in a room that seemed determined to slip away from me.

Princess cleared her throat, the sound carrying the weight of someone who was tired of waiting for others to make decisions. "Then what do we do in the meantime? Sit here?"

Her tone wasn't disrespectful. Princess was too smart to challenge me directly. But it wasn't deferential either, didn't carry the automatic deference that Alphas were supposed to command.

I let my gaze land on her, steady and cool, trying to project the kind of confidence I didn't feel. "We plan for contingencies. Sara, I want a fallback route out of Mayfield plotted, if they push east to west, we need options. Naomi, try to loop Jewel in for a second sweep if the drones pick anything up. Everyone else… you rest, you eat, and you don't pick fights you can't finish."

A chorus of nods followed, though they felt forced.

But I could still see it, the subtle shift in allegiance, the way attention kept drifting to Alexis and Princess as if waiting for their approval of my decisions. The room had changed since yesterday, and not in ways that favored my continued leadership.

Not enough to be dangerous yet. But enough to leave me feeling isolated in a space I'd designed to be the center of my power and for their protection.

As the room began to empty, Alexis lingered. She watched me with an expression that might have been sympathy or assessment, the same unreadable look that had once driven me to distraction when I was trying to figure out what she was thinking.

"I'm still the Alpha here," I said quietly, the words coming out more defensive than I'd intended.

Alexis tilted her head, not mocking, just measuring, like she was weighing my words against observable reality. "You are."

The confirmation should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like a concession, acknowledgment of a title that was becoming more ceremonial than functional.

She turned, hesitating at the door with the kind of pause that meant she was deciding whether to say something that might make things worse, fingers brushing the frame. She looked over her shoulder.

"You're doing fine," she said. "Even if you don't believe it."

The room felt too big now that the voices had gone, too quiet without the buffer of other wolves to absorb the weight of whatever was happening between us.

"You didn't use to care what anyone thought, about you or themselves.,” I said, my voice sharper than I'd intended, carrying more hurt than I wanted to reveal. "Not even me."

Alexis stepped back into the room, closing the distance between us with deliberate steps, one slow step at a time until she was across the table again.

"That's not true," she said quietly. "And even if it was, I didn't care what people thought of me. But you do. It bothers you." She met my gaze, her eyes holding the kind of patient certainty that had always made her dangerous in arguments. "But you're still their Alpha."

I folded my arms, trying to create some barrier against the intensity of her attention, forcing my face into something neutral. "Then why does it feel like I'm losing them? Like everything I built is slipping out from under me?"

"Because you've been carrying it alone."

"I've always carried it alone."

Her gaze softened, and for a moment I saw something that looked almost like regret. "And look what it's cost you."

That landed like a punch, driving the air from my lungs and leaving me speechless.

I turned away, toward the far wall. There was a map there, old and ripped at the edges, marked with years of plans and fears and hopes that had mostly come to nothing.

Alexis's voice was lower now, almost gentle. "You don't have to keep proving yourself, Lydia. Not to them. Not to me."

My laugh came out brittle, sharp enough to cut. "You think this is about you?"

"No," she said, stepping forward until I could feel the heat radiating from her body. "I think it's about what you've always done. You give and give and give until there's nothing left, and then you act surprised when no one can reach what's left of you."

Heat and something that might have been panic rose in my throat, making it hard to breathe, hard to think beyond the immediate need to defend myself against accusations that cut too close to truths I didn't want to examine.

"I'm not your responsibility."

"No," she agreed, but her voice carried undertones I couldn't identify. "But you were my mate."

Were.

The word rang through the air like a funeral bell, breaking me down to the bone and reminding me of everything I'd lost, everything I'd given up, everything that could never be recovered. All of a safety that was suddenly in the balance.

"You think I'm not scared too?" she asked. "Jess disappearing. Jewel cracking. The wolves looking to me like I have all the answers when I'm barely keeping my own head above water. I'm scared too, Lydia. I'm just not letting it stop me."

My mouth was dry, my heart thundering against my ribs like it was trying to escape the cage of my chest.

I shook my head, trying to reject the intimacy of the moment, the way she was looking at me like she could see straight through all my careful defenses. "Don't make this about us."

"I'm not," she said. "I'm making it about you."

She reached across the table, low and deliberate, like approaching a wounded animal that might bolt or bite, and set her hand near mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

Not touching.

Just near.

"You haven't lost them," she said. "They're just learning they don't have to lose themselves to follow you. You built this place as a refuge for free wolves. That means letting them be free to have their own thoughts, to make their own choices, to follow their own hearts rather than just blindly obeying. If blind obedience is what Mayfield has become, then you should let them go.”

The words hit like revelation and accusation all at once. The suggestion that my leadership had become the very thing I'd built this place to escape from.

Then she left, turning away with the kind of finality that left no room for argument or appeal.

And I didn't stop her.

Because if I had, if I'd reached out and asked her to stay, I might have had to admit that I needed her in ways that went far beyond tactical advice and pack politics.

When the door clicked shut, the sound echoing in the suddenly empty room, I didn't move. Not for a long time.

The map on the wall blurred, not from distance, but from the unfamiliar wetness that tracked down my cheeks without permission.

I ran a hand over my face, trying to scrub away the evidence of weakness I couldn't afford to show.

You haven't lost them.

Maybe not.

But goddess, I was starting to wonder if I'd lost myself.

* * *

Thirty minutes passed. Time measured by the slow fade of afternoon light and the gradual return of normal sounds as the compound settled back into its daily rhythms.

When I finally opened the door, the hall was dim and empty.

Or so I thought.

Maya stood just outside the comms room, her whole body radiating the kind of nervous energy that came from being caught somewhere she wasn't sure she belonged, shoulders tense, eyes wide like she'd been startled. A half-eaten protein bar dangled from one hand, forgotten in whatever internal debate had captured her attention. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, with tendrils that had escaped to stick to her temple, like she'd been running or worried enough to work up a sweat.

We both froze, caught in the kind of awkward moment that happens when private grief collided with public space.

"Sorry," she said quickly, stepping aside, like she'd done something wrong by simply existing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You're fine," I said, the words coming out rougher than I'd intended. I tried again, "You're welcome here. Safe."

I should've kept walking, should've nodded politely and continued on to wherever I'd been pretending to go. But something held me there. Some combination of curiosity and recognition and the growing certainty that this conversation was going to happen whether I wanted it or not.

Maya tilted her head, the motion carrying the kind of careful assessment that reminded me painfully of her mother. "Are you… okay?"

It was such a simple question, delivered with the kind of genuine concern that cut through defenses I didn't even know I'd raised. But it landed like a strike to the chest, driving home just how transparent my emotional state must be.

I studied her face, cataloging the features that were familiar and foreign all at once. Too much like her mother. The same bone structure, the same way of holding her head when she was thinking. But her eyes held none of Alexis's fire or storm. Maya was quieter, more careful, like she'd learned early that the world was a dangerous place and survival meant watching everything and trusting nothing.

"I'm fine."

She nodded, the motion was more polite acknowledgment than actual belief, but she didn't move, didn't accept the dismissal and walk away like most wolves would have.

"I heard about the comms," she said, her voice careful. "Jess is missing?"

The question carried weight beyond simple curiosity. Jess was pack, even if she was complicated pack, and her disappearance affected everyone.

"We don't know yet," I finally said. "Could be nothing. Could be everything."

It was the kind of honest uncertainty that most Alphas wouldn't share with someone so young, the admission that leadership sometimes meant making decisions with incomplete information and hoping for the best.

Maya nodded, her fingers unconsciously curling around the edge of her jacket sleeve. "I hope she's okay." Then, almost too quiet to hear: "Jewel sounded scared."

"She did."

The simple acknowledgment hung between us, creating a moment of shared understanding that felt both natural and dangerous.

Maya shifted, biting her bottom lip. "You don't have to talk. I just… I was going to check on Naomi, see if she needed help with anything technical."

Then she paused, her voice dropping to something softer, more hesitant. "You looked… upset. Just now."

That stopped me, not because I was surprised she'd noticed, but because of the way she'd said it.

Not the observation itself, but the way she'd delivered it, gentle rather than prying, offering comfort rather than demanding explanation.

"Some days," I said, fighting to keep my voice level despite the emotions churning in my chest, "being Alpha is heavier than others."

Maya tilted her head, it made her look far too knowing for someone her age. "Does it help? Talking about it?"

I stared at her, caught between the urge to laugh and cry at the simple directness of the question. When was the last time someone had asked me what I needed rather than telling me what they expected?

"Not usually."

She nodded, accepting the answer without judgment. And then, in a moment that almost broke something fundamental in my chest, she smiled. It was small and genuine and carrying the kind of warmth that reminded me why I'd started building this place to begin with.

"Yeah, mom says that too. If you ever want someone who doesn't expect answers… I'm not going anywhere. Mostly because I have nowhere to go.”

The offer was simple, without conditions or expectations, the kind of gift that was rare enough to be precious.

She turned and walked off, back straight, steps sure.

And I stood there, watching her disappear around the corner and trying to understand why the air suddenly felt thinner, why breathing had become something that required conscious effort.

Unsure why the hallway suddenly felt harder to breathe in, why a simple conversation with a teenager had managed to crack open places in my chest that I'd thought were safely sealed away.

In offering me comfort without conditions, she'd reminded me of what I'd lost and what I might still have, if I was brave enough to reach for it.

CHAPTER 6

The whir of Naomi's drone buzzed back through the speaker system, a faint sound layered beneath static and the click of the joysticks as she made small adjustments for wind and terrain only she understood from this elevated angle. I didn't look up from the map, but I heard her mutter something under her breath, likely a string of curses aimed at the lag in our signal repeaters.

We were crowded into my office again. I had heard a few of the younger Haven wolves calling it "The War Room" earlier, a name I would have taken pride in when I was younger, but that just felt like a weary burden now.

Naomi tapped the monitor twice, hard. "There," she said, voice clipped. "Heat signature. Not steady, but moving."

I crossed the room in three strides, the floorboards creaking under my urgency. The screen showed a jagged outline, too large for a fox, too slow for a deer. A red-gold smear on the outer edge of Sector Eleven. Moving this direction out of Sector Twelve.

Alexis came up beside me, close enough that I caught the scent of pine soap and something uniquely her that made my wolf stir restlessly. There was a moment I had to pull my eyes away from how her crossed arms emphasized the curve of her breasts, pushing them up in a way that made my mouth go dry. I blinked, chiding myself for noticing, for wanting, for the way my body still responded to her like no time had passed at all. She didn't notice, or at least didn't say anything, just leaned forward slightly, her focus locked on the shifting dot.

Jayne hovered near the table, her jaw set. "Could be a decoy."

Naomi didn't look up. "Could be. But drones don't lie. This was picked up just inside range. And it wasn't there an hour ago. Something is there.”

"That's closer than we expected," I murmured, the words tasting like copper and adrenaline.

Alexis finally spoke. "Westward, just like Jewel said. If they're moving toward us, we might have a window."

The weight in my chest shifted, not lighter, exactly. But sharper. Like hope sharpening itself into a blade, which was dangerous.

"Do we have coordinates?"

"Working on triangulation now." Naomi dragged two fingers across the tablet. The screen zoomed, flickered. "Signal's weak, but stable. It's moving slow. If it's Jess… she's hurt."

Jayne cursed under her breath, pacing two tight circles before planting her hands on the back of a chair with enough force to make the wood creak. "We don't have eyes on who it is. We don't have time to send a scout and loop back if it's wrong."

"We're not looping back," I said. "We're sending a team either way. If it's Jess, they fall back for support. If it's not, they meet with…" I glanced at Alexis, who raised her eyebrow in an almost imperceptible movement that I only caught because I knew every micro-expression that crossed her face. I took a deep breath. "Ghost pack and head towards the mountain anyway. We only had two weeks to stop this thing. We might as well consider this go.”

Naomi nodded, already typing. "I can reroute power from the secondary rig and boost signal clarity. Give me twenty minutes."

Jayne looked at me. "And who do you want to send?"

I didn't answer right away.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken calculations. Who could I afford to lose? Who was fast enough, smart enough, expendable enough?

Across the room, Alexis leaned back slightly, finally breaking her focus on the screen. "If it's a trap, they're close enough to bait us into the woods. We go, we need someone who's not going to get distracted and preferably knows the area."

I looked at her then.

Really looked.

She was calm. Grounded. Like the war had burned off every ounce of doubt she used to carry. Or maybe just hidden it deeper than the rest of us could reach.

Her stillness was predatory, contained. The kind of quiet that came before swift, decisive violence. It made something in my chest clench with recognition and old, foolish pride.

She didn't volunteer, but she didn't need to. I could read it in the lines of her face.

"I'm going," I said.

Naomi's head snapped up. "Lydia⁠—"

"No," Jayne interrupted, stepping between us. "That's not smart. You're the only one with enough pull to keep Mayfield from falling apart if this goes sideways."

She was wrong. The pack was already fracturing at the edges, loyalty lines blurring like watercolors in rain. Plus, Naomi would be here. But either way, it was bad form for an Alpha to growl at her commanders, even former ones.

"Then you're going," I said instead. "You and Sara."

Jayne blinked. "Sara?"

"She knows the territory," I said. "And she doesn't freeze when things go bad."

I'd heard from Princess how Sara was in action: efficient, ruthless when necessary, with the kind of steady nerves that came from surviving worse than this.

Jayne's mouth twisted, but she didn't argue.

Alexis stepped forward. "I'll prep the fallback route."

I nodded once, sharp. "Good."

We stood in the glow of the flickering drone display, the tension held tight between us like a drawn bowstring.

If Jess was still alive, she was out there bleeding for information we desperately needed. If she was dead, we were about to walk into whatever killed her.

"Try to get as much info as you can," I said to Naomi, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. The contact was brief but warm. I wasn't sure if the physical touch was to ease her or myself, but it didn't really matter.

She nodded. "Give me a few, I'll see what I can do." A handful of seconds later, she added, "Can you have Olivia bring me a coffee?"

"Sure," I answered, striding to the door, my boots echoing against the floorboards with more confidence than I felt and wishing that coffee was the only thing I had to worry about.

* * *

We gathered outside’s huddle mass of humans who would have been much warmer with fur. But wolves didn’t have thumbs, which meant they were terrible with drones.

The air was sharp, a typically spring day that would later turn warm. But for now, the wind cut through jackets and settling in our lungs like glass. Tali had been sitting on the porch reading, and I sent her scurrying away to find Olivia and coffee. She moved with the quick, nervous energy of youth, grateful to have a task that mattered.

When I turned back, Sara and Jayne were standing shoulder to shoulder, the wind tugging at the edges of their jackets like impatient fingers. Both women were coiled tight, ready to run. Alexis leaned against the porch railing with arms folded and jaw tight, watching the horizon like she expected it to blink first.

Her profile was sharp against the pale sky, all angles and controlled tension. I remembered tracing those lines with my fingertips, memorizing the constellation of freckles across her cheekbones that only appeared in summer.

I stepped up beside them, my voice low. "Naomi should be confirming soon, but right now, this is what we know. The drone picked up a heat trail west of Sector Twelve. Single figure. Upright. Moving slow."

Sara gave a small nod, her expression unreadable. Her silence wasn't emptiness, it was the quiet of someone who'd learned that words were often wasted on things that required action.

Jayne's hands flexed once, then stilled.

"Could be Jess," I continued. "Could be bait. Either way, we need confirmation."

I turned to Sara first. "You're the guide. Keep to terrain you know. If anything feels off, we pull back. No heroics."

Sara nodded again. Still no words.

"Jayne," I said, and her name landed heavier. There was history there, pack bonds that ran deeper than command structure. "If it's her, and she's in one piece, good. If she's hurt, you get her out. If it's not her…"

"I know," Jayne said before I could finish. "We don't engage unless it's clean." There was a lingering low sound in the air, not quite a growl, but close enough to make the hair on my arms rise.

She was pissed.

Not at me, not really.

At the situation.

At the helplessness of it all.

That made two of us.

Alexis pushed off the post, stepping in. "I've laid three fallback points on the western path. If the route breaks, you drop smoke at the last one and wait. Someone from Ghost Pack will be there."

Jayne looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Maybe even she knew better than to test Alexis when her voice went that flat.

Sara finally spoke, voice low and even. "We running wolf?"

"Yeah," I said. "Pack light. Stay fast."

Jayne reached down, unzipping the pouch at her thigh and removing a small transceiver. "Backup relay. Set to the drone's band. If it goes to static, we're pulling back."

"Good," I said. "Be safe."

The words felt inadequate, too small for what I was asking them to do. But they were all I had.

They nodded again, and I stepped back, giving them space.

Jayne stripped first, rolling her shirt and boots into the bag before slinging it over her shoulder. Her movements were efficient, practiced, the ritual of preparing for a hunt or battle. Sara followed silently, her wolf already pulling at the edge of her skin. I could smell the change beginning, that wild, electric scent that preceded the shift.

Within moments, the shift swept through both of them, fluid, practiced, a flash of bone and fur and breath. The sound was wet and organic, like snapping, burning kindling mixed with tearing silk. Two wolves: one sleek, large, and dark, the other paler, built for speed, turned their eyes to me.

In wolf form, their instinct sharpened, became something more primal and focused. Jayne's dark coat gleamed like oil in the afternoon light, while Sara's lighter fur caught the wind.

"Bring her home," I said.

They didn't need to answer. They were already gone, paws whispering across the grass as they darted past the tree line.

I watched until they disappeared completely, two shadows melting into the forest with barely a sound. My chest felt hollow, like I'd just released something vital into the dark.

Beside me, Alexis exhaled slowly. "You picked the right ones."

I didn't look at her.

Not yet.

"I hope so."

Because if I hadn't, I'd just sent two wolves into a trap, and I wasn't sure how many more I could afford to lose.

"If Jayne doesn't come back, Princess will kill me," I muttered.

"She might kill you anyway. I don't think Jayne said goodbye." There was a hint of teasing in Alexis's voice, warm and familiar in a way that made my throat tight.

I closed my eyes, not trusting myself to face her. Not when her voice carried echoes of lazy morning conversations and shared laughter.

I didn't go back inside right away.

The wind had shifted. I could smell more rain coming, maybe even snow, light, maybe, but real. The kind that would dust pine needles and make the world look clean and new, even as it made everything harder to track and more dangerous to navigate.

Alexis moved until she stood next to me. Not touching. Just close enough that I could feel the heat of her body and the steady presence she carried like armor.

Her scent wrapped around me, pine, leather, and something warm. It made my wolf pace restlessly under my skin, recognizing home in a way that had nothing to do with territory.

"I meant what I said," she said softly, eyes still on the trees. "You picked right. Jayne's one of the best. And Sara's sharp. No fear left in her."

"I know," I said.

But knowing didn't ease the feeling clawing at my chest. Knowing didn't stop the silence from creeping in around the edges.

Alexis looked at me then, not trying to hide the fact that she was watching me closely.

Her gaze was thorough, cataloging the tension in my shoulders, the way my hands clenched and unclenched at my sides. She'd always been able to read me like that, parsing my moods from the smallest details.

"You always hated waiting without a plan."

I huffed. "Still do."

She tilted her head slightly. "Then stop pretending you're content to just sit and watch everything slide sideways."

I turned away from her and started down the steps of the porch. My boots crunched through a patch of frost-brittle grass as I walked a few paces into the field. The horizon was already going orange again, daylight fighting its way past spring’s early grip.

"You're choking on inaction," Alexis said from behind me. Her footsteps followed, deliberate and sure. "You're not breaking because you're doing too much. You're breaking because you're doing nothing when everything inside you is screaming to move."

"Don't," I said quietly. "Don't pretend like you know me."

She followed me down, slow and steady, her voice lower now. "Are you trying to say I don't? It's always been about you, Lydia. About what you hold back. What you bury. That's always been the problem. With you and with us."

I turned toward her, jaw tight. "And you think charging forward, teeth bared, is the only answer?"

"No," she said. "But standing still while the world burns isn't either."

I stared at her, my breath fogging in the cold air between us.

She was close enough now that I could see the gold flecks in her eyes, the way her pupils had dilated slightly in the coming light. Close enough to count the small scars on her hands, new ones I didn't recognize mixed with old ones I'd traced with my tongue.

"And what would you have had me do?" I asked, quieter now. "Leave the pack? Abandon the wolves who trusted me to keep them safe? Run off with you to chase vengeance and ghosts? You call it Ghost Pack… really, Alexis?"

She didn't flinch.

"No. I would've had you stand with me. Just once. Just once, I wanted to look behind me and see that you chose me, Lydia. Not your duty. Not your precious discipline. Not safety. Me."

The words landed hard, too close to the ache I'd been nursing for years. I took a step back, the old grief crackling under my ribs like kindling catching fire.

"I couldn't," I said, throat tight. "You know I couldn't. They needed me. They still need me."

"And I didn't?" Her voice cracked on the end of the sentence, and she blinked, jaw tightening. "Goddess, Lydia, I was pregnant!"

The word hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. Pregnant. She'd been carrying what would have been our child when everything fell apart, when I chose the pack over her, when I let duty win over love.

I looked away.

Because the truth was, I’d thought she was stronger than me. Always had. I thought she could survive the fire on her own. Would emerge from it forged into something even more magnificent.

And she had.

But I hadn't counted on what it cost her to crawl out of it.

"I didn't know," I said finally. "Not then."

"You did know." Her voice dropped to a near whisper, a bitter softness that cut deeper than any shout. "You just didn't want to look too closely at what it meant. At what had really happened back then. Because if you did, you'd have to feel something. And you've never been good at that."

I felt something rise in my chest then, raw and furious. "I feel plenty, Alexis."

"Yeah?" she shot back. "When it's safe. When no one's looking. But when it's real? When it matters? You shut it down and bury it so deep, not even your wolf can find it."

I opened my mouth—to defend myself, to lash out, I didn't even know—but the words caught on something sharp and unspoken.

The accusation hung between us like smoke, acrid and choking. Because she wasn't wrong. I had learned to compartmentalize, to lock away everything that might make me weak, vulnerable, human.

Alexis stepped in closer, not touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, could see the pulse beating fast at her throat.

"I never needed you to be perfect, Lydia. I just needed you to need me back."

That did it.

That cracked something in me I hadn't meant to show.

Not to her.

Not ever again.

"I did," I whispered. "Goddess help me, I still do."

Shame washed over me at the admission. Not because it wasn't true, but because it made me vulnerable in a way I couldn't afford. This was my mate, but it terrified me to admit that I still needed her, still wanted her with a desperation that made my hands shake.

Silence.

Long and stretching.

Alexis's eyes searched mine like she didn't believe me. Maybe she couldn't believe me.

Her face was so close I could see my reflection in her pupils, could count the individual lashes that cast shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, breath coming fast and shallow.

Then her hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing the edge of my sleeve. She didn't take my hand. She didn't pull me close.

She just rested there.

Warm.

Real.

Here, in a place I never thought she would be again.

"I don't know if I can do this again," I said, voice barely above the wind.

"I'm not asking you to," she said.

But her fingers tightened slightly, and her eyes held mine with an intensity that made my chest ache.

We stood there like that, between breath and battle, between the past and whatever fragile thread the moon had spun to lead us here again.

And for the first time in years, I let myself just feel her.

No plan.

No strategy.

Just Alexis.

Just the woman who had loved me fiercely and completely, who had carried a child born of violence and lost everything when I chose duty over heart.

Goddess help me.

* * *

The porch creaked beneath my boots as I walked away.

I didn't say goodbye.

Didn't trust myself to.

Alexis didn't stop me. She stayed rooted to that spot, fingers still curled where they'd touched my sleeve, like she hadn't decided yet whether to hold on or let go.

I walked.

Down the steps, across the packed dirt yard that was scattered with fallen leaves and the shed fur of too many wolves in too small a space. They weren't all mine, and it made me itch. Each step felt like shedding something of my own: hope, guilt, whatever the hell that moment between us had been.

But none of it stayed gone.

It followed me like a ghost with too many names.

By the time I circled back, she was gone.

The house welcomed me with familiar scents: wood smoke, coffee, the lingering musk of pack. But underneath it all was something new, something that didn't belong. The scent of wolves who owed me nothing, who followed other Alphas, who were here by choice rather than bond.

My office was dim as I entered, lit only by the flicker of Naomi's monitors. The hum of the drone system was steady, still scanning, still searching.

Still hunting for answers in a world that seemed determined to offer only questions.

Something was still out there.

Her chair was empty.

A half-finished cup of coffee sat beside the keyboard, steam long gone cold. She must've stepped out for air or a break, but the absence still landed hard. It made the room feel too quiet, too still, and I realized just how much I had come to rely on her quiet connection to ground me.

It felt lonely in here.

I stepped inside and closed the door.

The screen showed the heat signature again, faint, flickering, stubbornly there. Moving slow. Jess, maybe. A Hunter. A trap. I didn't know, and not knowing was the part that clawed at me.

I'd built this compound on certainty, on discipline, on knowing every inch of the land and the wolves who walked it. But lately, it felt like the earth was shifting under my feet, and I was the only one still pretending it wasn't.

I stood behind Naomi's chair and let my hands rest on the back of it. The worn fabric was still warm from her body heat, real, and grounding in a way that steadied something in my chest.

I just stood there. Breathing.

Thinking.

Trying not to feel too much.

But it crept in any way.

Alexis's voice.

Her touch.

That look in her eyes when I told her the truth. Finally, too late, but still true.

I'd built Mayfield to protect wolves like her. To stop what happened to her from happening to any of the others. And somewhere along the line, I'd started believing I could live without her, so long as the rest of them were safe. But the truth was sharp and close: I hadn't just lost her.

I'd pushed her away.

And now she was back.

Still fierce.

Still unyielding.

Still mine.

The possessive thought should have shamed me, but it didn't. It settled in my chest like a missing piece clicking into place, dangerous and necessary and undeniably real.

The screen blinked again. One faint pulse. Still moving. Still alive.

Out there in the dark.

Just like the rest of us.

CHAPTER 7

The sun hadn't even cracked the tree line yet, but I was already wearing a path through the wooden floor of my bedroom. Any deeper and I'd probably start seeing the subfloor underneath, a costly renovation I couldn't afford, in more ways than one.

Rather than destroying my furniture, I took my restless energy to a different part of the house as the sounds of early morning wolves began to filter through the halls: the soft shuffle of feet, muted conversations, the domestic symphony of a pack waking up to face another day of uncertainty.

Naomi sat at her desk with one leg pulled up beneath her, eyes locked on the monitor with the kind of intensity that suggested she'd been there for hours. The drone's low whir vibrated through the speakers, a constant, quiet buzz beneath the occasional blip of static and wind drag. She adjusted the controls with a flick of her wrist, muttering something sharp under her breath. Judging by the creative profanity and the way she stabbed at the keys, I guessed she was cursing either our internet connection or our IT support, which in this case would be Casey and Rylee, who had once informed me they could either be good with technology or good with power tools, but definitely not both.

I leaned over her shoulder, careful not to interrupt her concentration or jostle the delicate equipment that was our only link to wolves who might already be dead. The screen showed trees, terrain, and a faint thermal reading that looked like nothing more than a red smudge against the grainy backdrop.

"Nothing new?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

Naomi shook her head, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Still tracking that same signature from last night, but it slowed down. Could be terrain. Could be injury. Could be anything."

Could be Jess.

Could be bait.

Could be a goddamn fox caught in a trap, throwing off enough heat to send us all spinning into a rescue mission for wildlife.

The uncertainty was eating at me from the inside out, turning my stomach into knots and my thoughts into endless loops of worst-case scenarios.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and turned away from the screen, fighting the urge to demand answers that Naomi didn't have, trying not to take my frustration out on the only person in this building I trusted completely and who was still functioning on little more than caffeine and grit.

Behind me, the door creaked open, the sound somehow both familiar and ominous in the predawn quiet.

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Alexis moved through space with a particular rhythm, a way of displacing air that I could recognize even when every nerve in my body was screaming with tension.

Two steps in, and she didn't say anything. She just walked over and held out a ceramic mug. It was one of ours, chipped near the rim from years of use, steam curling from the top like some kind of peace offering. I stared at it for a second before taking it, fingers brushing hers in the handoff.

The contact was brief but electric, sending a jolt of awareness up my arm that I tried to ignore.

"Thanks," I said. My voice came out rougher than I wanted.

She didn't answer. Just took a second mug to Naomi's desk and set it down gently near the edge, careful not to disturb the complex array of equipment and cables that had taken over the surface.

Naomi glanced up, bleary-eyed, and offered a small nod of thanks before diving back into her work. I made a mental note to order the good coffee beans next time. If we were all going to be running on caffeine and anxiety, we might as well do it with quality stimulants.

We stood there for a moment. Not talking. Not moving. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it was the kind of quiet that came from shared purpose, from understanding that sometimes presence mattered more than words.

I didn't look at Alexis directly, but I felt her near me. Solid. Present. A source of warmth against the coldness of the morning that I wasn't ready to examine too closely.

She pulled a chair over and sat, close enough to be companionable, far enough not to demand anything, respecting the invisible boundaries that had formed between us over years of separation and recent reconciliation.

And in the silence that followed, something inside me began to quiet. It wasn’t the restless energy that had driven me from my bed before dawn, but the deeper anxiety that had been clawing at my chest since Jess's signal went dark.

And I didn't trust it.

Because the truth was that even if I didn't want to need her here, part of me was desperately grateful that she was.

Naomi made a low sound, a frustrated noise that vibrated behind her teeth. Her fingers kept moving, skimming across the screen like she was trying to conjure a miracle through sheer will, coaxing cooperation from equipment that was doing its best but might not be enough.

"I'm boosting the relay with a makeshift bounce off the old cell tower west of Sector Twelve," she muttered, her voice tight with concentration. "Signal's spotty, but stabilizing. Maybe I can figure out what the hell that is."

I pulled my chair in closer, eyes scanning the flickering thermal feed. The form had shifted, not much, but enough to matter in a situation where every detail could mean the difference between rescue and recovery. The red-gold smear of heat had moved slightly left on the screen, blurring and reforming into a slightly more defined shape.

"She's still moving," I said, and the observation felt like both hope and dread.

Naomi nodded. "Or whatever it is. But now there's something else…"

She tapped the screen twice. Another shape, fainter and less defined, brushed the corner of the frame.

It was too distant and unclear to identify with certainty, but I felt Alexis tense beside me.

"Chasing?" she asked, voice quiet.

"Hard to say," Naomi replied, her fingers dancing across the controls as she tried to enhance the image. "Could just be crossing paths. But if it's Hunter patrol… or something else that's not ours…"

We didn't finish that thought. We didn't need to. All of us had seen what happened when wolves were caught in the open by organized pursuit.

Alexis rose and began to pace, circling the desk once, slowly, her movement controlled but restless. Then she turned to me. "If they reach her before we do⁠—"

"They won't." I said it too fast, too sharp. Like if I could inject enough certainty into the words, I could make them true through sheer force of will, could somehow push Jayne and Sara faster across terrain I couldn't see or control.

But the pulse in my throat betrayed me. And the fact that I hadn't gone myself, that I'd stayed here playing strategist while sending others into danger, burned in my chest like shame.

Alexis watched me for a moment. Just watched, her gaze steady and knowing in a way that made me want to look away. Then she let out a long breath and leaned against the wall.

"You're not wrong to worry," she said finally. "But she's not dead. Not yet."

Not yet.

Goddess. That was the kind of hope I hated most. The almost kind, the maybe kind, the kind that kept you hanging on by threads that might snap at any moment.

Naomi suddenly swore again with even creative vigor and slapped the side of the console. "It's gone. The signature. Just blinked out."

My stomach dropped like a stone.

"Could be a glitch," she offered quickly, her voice carrying forced optimism. "I'll re-scan the frame, boost the last known quadrant and⁠—"

"Do it," I said, stepping back, needing distance from the screen that had just shown me nothing. "Do whatever. And call Jayne. Tell her to be ready to prep fallback point two just in case. If this goes bad, I don't want her trapped."

The orders came automatically, born from years of contingency planning and the hard-learned knowledge that hope was a luxury you couldn't afford when lives were on the line. I had lost too many learning that lesson.

Naomi nodded, already typing again.

I turned toward the window. The threatening gray clouds that had developed overnight had deepened into something more ominous. No sunlight now. Just that thick, heavy overcast that made you wonder if time had stopped, if the world was holding its breath waiting for something terrible to happen.

Or maybe it was just Spring showers.

Beside me, Alexis moved again. Not closer. Not farther. Just enough to keep me aware of her, to maintain that careful balance between support and space.

"She'll fight," she said. "Jess. She won't go down easy."

"I know."

"But if it's not her…"

"Then we figure out what the hell we're really up against. Assuming I didn't just send two of our best wolves into a trap they can't escape from."

The possibility sat in my stomach like lead. That my caution, my insistence on gathering intelligence before acting, might have cost precious time that could have made the difference between rescue and tragedy.

Another silence settled, heavy with unspoken fears. It felt like the inhale before the strike, that last moment of stillness before everything exploded into action.

And underneath it all, one thought pulsed like a warning in the back of my skull.

If I lost Jess, I wasn't sure what else I'd lose with her. Trust, maybe. Authority, certainly. The fragile coalition of packs that was still building, and one life could shatter.

* * *

It took exactly fifteen minutes for the relay to chirp again.

Naomi jolted upright at the sound, almost knocking over her coffee and sending pens scattering across the desk as her fingers flew to the console. "Got it," she breathed, relief evident in every syllable. "Thermal's back. Weak but steady. Still moving west."

I exhaled, hard, the sound almost a laugh. Not relief, it was too early for that. Just release, the easing of tension that had been building in my chest like a physical weight.

"She's not alone," Naomi added, her voice tightening again. "That second signature's still there. Tracking the same path."

Alexis straightened beside me. "Following?"

"Too close now for coincidence."

The comm system crackled to life, making all three of us jump with the sudden intrusion of sound. Jayne's voice came through, clear and urgent: "We've got visual confirmation. Two figures, one limping, the other in tactical gear. Not Hunter standard, but definitely not friendly. We're about half a mile out. Can close the distance fast once we shift back. Orders?"

My mind raced through possibilities, tactical considerations, the balance between caution and action that could determine whether we saved lives or lost more.

"Hold position," I said, trusting my instincts even as they churned with uncertainty. "Eyes only until we say otherwise."

"Copy that," Jayne replied, but her tone made it clear she didn't like it.

Alexis was already moving before the transmission ended. She paced toward the door, grabbing her jacket off the back of Naomi's chair with the kind of fluid efficiency that spoke to years of emergency response. "We need to be ready to pull them out."

I followed her, adrenaline beginning to override the exhaustion that had been weighing me down. "You think they're running into a trap?”

"I think they're bleeding or about to be," she said flatly. "And bleeding wolves get hunted."

The observation was matter-of-fact, delivered without drama, but it hit like ice water in my veins.

I clenched my jaw, pulse quickening. "Jayne's not stupid. Neither is Sara."

She turned toward me, and I saw something in her expression that might have been approval. "Then we need to act like it and be ready to cover them if they need it.”

There was no challenge in her voice.

Just recognition of a shared truth.

This was a turning point, even if we didn't understand why. The moment when careful planning gave way to instinct and action.

"I'll get the med kit," I said, aiming for casual competence but hearing the underlying tension in my own voice.

Alexis nodded. "I'll prep the evac route. If Jayne breaks cover, we meet them at the eastern ridge. It's the closest access point. What is it, 12 hours from here on foot?"

"Ten if you really push it, but you won't have much left," Naomi called, still focused on her screens but clearly listening to our planning.

Alexis nodded, but as she turned to go, I caught her wrist without thinking.

She froze, the contact stopping her mid-stride.

"Alexis," I said quietly. "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked, her voice low, careful.

"For still being here."

The words came out more vulnerable than I'd intended, carrying weight I hadn't meant to reveal.

She didn't answer at first. Then she turned her hand, not pulling away but curling her fingers against mine for the briefest moment, contact that was warm and solid and reassuring in ways I'd forgotten I needed.

"You don't have to thank me," she said. "Just don't waste it."

Then she was gone, boots thudding down the hallway with purpose.

I stood there for a second longer, hand tingling where hers had just been, trying to process the complex tangle of emotions that simple touch had awakened.

No strategy.

No command.

Just the spark of something old refusing to die.

* * *

I didn't wait.

As soon as Alexis disappeared down the hall, I grabbed the med pack from the wall cabinet and checked its contents with practiced efficiency. It was mostly stocked, bandages, painkillers, a few vials of concentrated silver neutralizer, but I added extra gauze, portable thermal blankets from a nearby storage closet, and one of those bitter-tasting electrolyte syringes that Olivia swore by for treating shock and dehydration.

Just in case.

Because in my experience, "just in case" was usually when you needed things most.

Across the room, Naomi was still working the feed, her eyes flicking between screens with surgical focus. I paused long enough to squeeze her shoulder again, offering what comfort I could.

"If the signal fades again, ping fallback two. No hesitation."

Naomi didn't look away, but I saw her nod in my peripheral vision. "Already mapped."

Good. She was always three steps ahead when it counted, always thinking about contingencies I hadn't considered. The compound would be fine as long as she was here.

I slung the med pack over my shoulder and moved fast down the hall. Alexis was in the supply room, zipping up a second field bag and stuffing it into a shiftable pouch. Her jacket was already half on, and she was loading water, emergency rations, and additional communications equipment into the side pocket like she'd done it a thousand times.

She probably had.

I didn't say anything. Didn't have to.

Our movements synchronized without conscious thought, the result of years of shared experience, of knowing how the other person thought and moved under pressure. She handed me an extra comm unit without a word, the faintest ghost of a nod passing between us. I clipped it in and adjusted the pack against my hip.

Neither of us said we were going.

Not out loud.

But it was already decided.

The choice had been made the moment we realized our wolves might be walking into danger, might need backup that only we could provide.

Downstairs, two of the younger wolves were checking the perimeter relay. I gave them quick instructions, just enough to let them know I wasn't leaving Mayfield blind, that the compound would remain protected and functional in our absence.

Naomi would monitor from the office. The rest of the pack knew the fallback points. Jayne had a direct uplink.

Still, I hated the thought of stepping away.

Even for this.

Especially for this.

Because leaving meant admitting that I couldn't control everything from a safe distance, couldn't protect my wolves through careful planning and strategic positioning alone.

Alexis met me at the back door. Her fingers brushed my arm as she performed a final gear check, adjusting one of the buckles at my waist, ensuring everything was secure and accessible.

"You good?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

We both knew that was a lie, but neither of us called it out.

She could have told me I didn't need to go, that my place was here coordinating response from safety. She probably should have, given my responsibilities to the larger pack structure. But it would have been a waste of breath.

I had already let my wolves fight once under that mountain without me, had stayed safe while they bled. I couldn't keep sending them into danger while I remained behind, couldn't ask them to risk everything while I risked nothing.

Their Alpha.

My responsibility.

The forest loomed just beyond the porch. Familiar. Wild. Full of every version of the past I had tried not to remember, every choice that had led to this moment.

The cold bit at my face, sharper now, carrying the scent of distant storms. Like the air itself knew something was coming.

"They're not your wolves," I said before I could stop myself, the words coming out more defensive than I'd intended. "You don't have to do this."

Alexis didn't look at me when she answered. "You're my mate."

The words were simple, matter-of-fact, delivered without drama or demand. But they hit me like a physical blow, carrying the weight of everything we'd been and might still be.

That was all she said.

And Goddess help me, that was enough to keep me quiet.

* * *

We didn't step off the porch right away. The difference between urgency and stupidity was timing. Leaving before we had actionable intelligence could turn a rescue mission into a recovery operation.

Naomi had told us she'd need a few minutes to stabilize the feed again, and even though my body buzzed with the need to move, with the primal urge to hunt and protect and reclaim what was mine, I stayed put. Alexis didn't press. She stood beside me, jacket zipped, pack settled high on her back, radiating controlled readiness.

The wind picked up again, sharper this time. The scent of pine and wet bark clung to the air, laced with the metallic tang of lightening riding the clouds. We weren't the only ones waiting, Mayfield itself felt like it was holding its breath, the entire compound suspended at the moment before action.

"I hate this part," I muttered, watching as members of my pack began their day. Some headed out for morning runs, others gravitating toward the kitchen and the promise of coffee and normal conversation. The choice between human comfort and wolf freedom seemed to depend on which side of their nature felt stronger that morning.

"Knowing we're ready, knowing they're not safe, but still having to wait."

Alexis didn't look at me. "You're not built for patience, even though you always pretended like you were."

"No. I'm built for control."

She made a soft sound, something between agreement and gentle mockery, but didn't press.

A flicker of movement caught my eye across the clearing. Tali, racing across with a message in her hand and panic in her stride. Not danger, I realized after a moment of adrenaline, just urgency. Olivia intercepted her halfway and redirected her, calm and commanding, like she'd done this her whole life. I watched the exchange from the porch steps, unable to hear the words but reading the body language as clearly as if they'd been shouting.

"They're starting to listen to her," Alexis said beside me, voice unreadable.

"She earned that," I replied. I glanced at her, feeling a small smile tug at my lips despite the tension. "We did burn down her clinic, you know. I blame Naomi's unconventional ideas of courtship."

Alexis's smile came easier than mine, carrying warmth that softened the harsh lines worry had carved around her eyes. "Love burns all that is in its way until there is nothing but ash and renewal."

I didn't answer.

Not because I disagreed, but because I wasn't sure I still believed it. Too much had burned in my life without leading to anything resembling renewal.

The comm crackled at my hip, cutting through the moment.

"Naomi to Lydia. We're back online. Signature's stabilized. Still moving toward fallback two, and still pursued. Your call."

Alexis met my eyes, and I saw my own determination reflected back at me. "It's time."

I gave one last look back at the house. At the porch. At Mayfield. At everything I'd built and everything I was risking by leaving it behind. My response was quick and quiet, keyed into the comm with steady fingers: "We are en route. You're in command."

Then I turned toward the trees, toward whatever waited in the wilderness beyond our carefully maintained safety.

We stepped off together.

Not side by side. Not quite.

But close.

Close enough to make it count.

CHAPTER 8

The shift came hard.

Maybe it was the anxiety coursing through my veins like liquid fire, or the urgency with which we were leaving everything I'd built behind. Maybe it was the idea of abandoning my pack when they needed me most, or the prospect of running once again with my mate after so many years of distance.

Whatever it was, the wolf fought to break free with a violence that left me gasping.

Muscles wrenched. Bones slid and snapped, each joint protesting the rapid transformation. My breath caught halfway between a curse and a howl as my body folded inward, then expanded, fur bursting along my spine like fire through dry brush.

I felt my clothes pull tight against the expanding frame of my wolf, heard the sharp ripping of fabric as the change overtook me before I had a chance to strip properly. The expensive tactical gear Alexis had insisted on was supposed to be tear-resistant. Apparently, that didn't account for emergency shifts driven by desperation.

And then I was running.

The forest hit me all at once: scent, sound, cold. The world exploded into a symphony of information that my human brain could never process: the chemical signature of every animal that had passed this way in the last week, the subtle vibrations of insects moving through dead leaves, the distant sound of water over stone. The ground was damp from the storm that never fully broke, brittle leaves, left over from winter, crunching under my paws as I leapt over a tangle of roots. The wind sliced past my ears, and the only steady sound was the rhythmic thump of another set of paws just behind me.

Alexis.

She didn't try to lead, didn't push ahead with the aggressive dominance that came naturally to most Alphas. But she didn't lag either, didn't fall into the submissive position that some wolves adopted when running with their superiors. Her wolf ran with the same bone-deep awareness she always had.

Watching me

Matching me.

The space between us held something that wasn't distance, wasn't hierarchy, wasn't the careful politeness we'd maintained for everyone’s benefit at Mayfield.

It was recognition. Mate. Pack. The fundamental understanding that we belonged together in motion, even when everything else between us was complicated beyond repair.

We pushed hard.

Twelve hours, Naomi had said. Maybe ten if we really pushed, if we didn't stop for rest or food or the luxury of being careful. If we didn't breathe anything but forward momentum. If we let the forest blur around us like it used to when we were younger and thought we were immortal, when nothing could catch us because we were too fast, too smart, too desperate to ever be caught.

That was before.

Before Mayfield.

Before Maya.

Before Ghost Pack.

Before Sloane.

Before all the pieces of us had been carved off and turned into armor for everyone but ourselves.

I leapt a fallen pine and landed hard on the other side, claws digging into the earth to slow my slide. The impact sent shockwaves up my legs, but I converted the momentum into another leap, another burst of speed that ate up ground. My lungs burned, but I didn't stop.

Because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

Alexis's scent was close behind me

The last time we'd run this far, this fast, we hadn't spoken for a full day after. Not because we were angry. Anger would have been simpler, cleaner, easier to navigate.

Because we were afraid if we did, we'd say something we couldn't take back.

But it had happened anyway, hadn't it? The words that couldn't be unsaid, the choices that couldn't be unmade.

I had run back to Mayfield alone that day, my shadow empty, my chest hollow with the weight of what I'd lost. And when she returned weeks later, it was with two souls staring out of her eyes, hers, and the small spark of life she carried that would become Maya.

I had told myself I hadn't known they had captured her. Hadn't known she'd been given to the Alpha’s son as a plaything to flaunt over her birth pack. Hadn't known that she'd carried back the seed of her rapist, the child of violence that I would never be able to look at without remembering my own failure to protect her.

Or I had known, and I just hadn't wanted to admit it. Hadn't wanted to face the magnitude of what my caution had cost.

I growled, funneling the energy that wanted to spiral into howls of rage and grief, and used it to drive my paws forward, tearing at the ground with claws that left deep gouges in the earth.

Maybe I could outrun the memories. Maybe speed could burn away the guilt that sat in my chest like poison.

We passed a ridge I half-recognized, one of the old watch points Alexis had mapped years ago, when we used to talk about marking the safe routes between territories with carved stones. We never did. No one wanted to create a record of the places they might die, the paths that could lead enemies straight to the heart of everything they'd tried to protect.

That had been the other possibility she'd faced when they took her. They could have returned her pregnant, or broken, or dead. Or they could have simply kept her, added her to their breeding stock permanently, and I would never have seen her again.

The thought of it still made my wolf snarl with protective rage, years too late to matter.

Her shoulder brushed mine as she drew even, and for half a second we were running in stride. Like we used to. Two wolves built for battle, not rest. Two halves of something that had once been whole and was now breaking apart in slow motion.

The air shifted.

I caught the faint tang of metal. Burnt powder. Not close, but recent enough to matter. Could be a deer hunter with poor timing, could be something worse. There was no way to know for sure, and we couldn't afford to assume the best when the worst was always more likely.

Alexis slowed just a fraction, ears twitching, her body language shifting into the hyper-alert posture of a wolf who'd scented potential danger. I veered right, leading us around a rock outcrop that spilled down into a narrow ravine. The scent disappeared in the dip, swallowed by water and moss and time.

My limbs were starting to shake, not from weakness, but from the sustained effort of pushing beyond normal endurance. We'd been running for hours, time lost to the hypnotic rhythm of paws against earth and the desperate need to outrun the past and reach our people before it was too late.

Every heartbeat echoed with Jess's voice cut off mid-signal. With Jayne's frustration at being held back. With Sara's pointed silence that spoke of wolves who'd seen too much and trusted too little.

I didn't know what we were running toward.

But I knew what I was running from.

Regret. Fear. Cowardice.

And I couldn't carry any more of that. Not with her this close beside me again, not when every step reminded me of what we'd once been and what we might still be if I was brave enough to reach for it.

* * *

We stopped just shy of a dry creek bed, the kind that looked harmless until the rains came and turned it into a torrent that could sweep away anything foolish enough to be caught in its path. The sky above was finally bruising with afternoon light, gold, pink, and purple bleeding into the never-ending gray. I didn't want to stop. My wolf was still eager to run, still driven by the need to reach our destination, but my human body was starting to rebel against the sustained abuse.

Alexis circled wide before trotting back, her paws kicking up flakes of bark and leaves as she slowed beside me, her breathing heavy but controlled.

I turned away, not from her, but from the intensity of her attention, from the way she seemed to see straight through all my careful defenses to the fear and desperation underneath.

Shifting back wasn't graceful. It never was when your limbs ached and your heart was a mess of unfinished sentences, when the change felt like tearing yourself apart and rebuilding from fragments. The wolf gave way reluctantly, dragging the rest of me with it as skin replaced fur and air hit my lungs in a rush that left me dizzy and disoriented. My knee slammed into the cold earth. I swore softly, curling forward, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Alexis shifted a second later.

I didn't look at her.

Couldn't.

Not at first.

It was easier to focus on immediate concerns: my ragged breathing, the thunder of my pulse in my ears, the way pine needles and dirt had embedded themselves in my skin during the transformation.

Our travel bags were slung across our chests, an upgraded design courtesy of Ghost Pack's resident gear specialist. I reached for mine with hands that weren't quite steady and pulled out a long, thin shirt and underwear. That would have to be enough for now. Privacy and vanity were luxuries we couldn't afford.

A rustle told me she was doing the same.

For a while, the only sound between us was the wind through branches and our gradually slowing breathing as the wolves settled back into the deeper parts of our consciousness, content to rest while the humans handled complex thought and emotional processing.

Then…

"You were favoring your back right," she said. Not accusing, just observant, the comment of someone who'd been watching me move with the kind of attention that came from caring whether I was hurt.

"Old injury," I muttered, not wanting to make this into something bigger than it was. "Rusty fence post. Got infected."

She didn't answer right away. Then⁠—

"You didn't tell me."

I snorted. "We weren't talking for a while."

"No," she said quietly. "We weren't."

The admission hung between us, carrying the weight of all the years we'd lost to pride and fear and the stubborn inability to bridge the gap that had opened between us.

I finally looked over.

She was seated near the edge of the creek bed, knees pulled to her chest, shirt clinging to damp skin, her hair, silvery pale like mine but somehow managing to catch light even in the gray afternoon, tied back in a knot that had already half fallen loose. She looked tired. Real. Not the fierce general I remembered from our public interactions, but the woman underneath who was vulnerable and strong and heartbreakingly beautiful.

And I hated how much I missed that version of her.

"I thought I had time," I said, the words coming out rougher than I'd intended.

"To do what?"

"To fix it," I said. "To fix all of it. The pack. The fallout. Us."

Alexis didn't move. Her gaze was steady, unflinching in the way that had always made her dangerous in arguments. "You think this—" she gestured between us, "—is something you can just fix?"

"No," I said after a beat, honesty scraping my throat raw. "I think it's something I ran from. And I didn't stop running until I forgot why I started."

That landed.

I saw it in her eyes. It was recognition, maybe even relief that I was finally willing to name what we'd both been dancing around.

But she didn't soften.

"Are you still running?"

"I don't know," I said. "But my feet hurt, so that's something. And apparently I have a limp that you cared enough to point out."

A faint smile ghosted across her mouth, just for a second, but enough to remind me that humor had once been one of the things we'd shared, one of the ways we'd navigated the impossible terrain of loving someone who was also your equal in every way that mattered.

Then she leaned back on her hands, watching the sky like it might give her an answer. I tried not to let my eyes drift down her body, tried not to notice the way her shirt clung to curves I remembered mapping with hands and mouth and desperate need. Her legs were still bent in front of her, angled in a way that revealed nothing and everything, and I wasn't sure whether I was hoping for more or less revelation.

The realization that I still wanted her, physically, emotionally, completely, after all this time should have terrified me. The pull of the mating bond hadn't faded; it had just been dormant, waiting for her to cross into my territory again to come blazing back to life like sleeping embers touched by wind.

I was surprised I could breathe while looking at her, the afternoon light casting her face in gold like a fallen angel I'd helped to corrupt.

"I used to imagine what this would be like," she said, her voice carrying the weight of old dreams and newer disappointments. "If we found our way back to the same trails. I always pictured you angry. Or cold. Not…" Her voice drifted off.

"Not what?"

"Not this version of you. The one who still thinks it's her job to carry everything. The version that's so desperately trying to be hard when all you want to do is be soft."

The observation hit like a physical blow, cutting through defenses I hadn't even realized I'd raised.

I swallowed hard. "I don't know how to be anything else than what I am.”

"Maybe that's the problem. You still don’t know what you are.”

We sat there for a long time, each of us holding a piece of the silence that stretched between us.

When she spoke again, her voice was low, intimate in a way that made my chest tight with longing. "We're halfway to hell, Lydia. There's still time to decide what you want to carry with you and what you're ready to put down."

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't know yet.

But her words stayed with me, settling into the hollow places in my chest, seeds waiting for the right conditions to grow.

Even after we shared the cold burritos Rylee had pressed into our hands right before we left, even after we stood and stretched muscles that had stiffened during our brief rest, even after we shifted again and tore back into the trees with renewed determination.

* * *

We hit the ground harder this time.

The break had given us just enough recovery to burn through what little reserves we had left, our wolves lunging into the underbrush with more desperation than finesse. I could feel Alexis beside me, not just hear her paws or catch the brush of her flank against mine, but feel her, like we were connected by invisible threads. Two halves of something that insisted on moving as one, despite all the rational reasons we should maintain distance.

The forest grew denser as we climbed, leaving the flatlands of home for the hills and mountains of territory that held too many secrets. The trees here were older, thicker bark, deeper scars, the kind that spoke of fires and storms and conflicts that had played out in shadow and silence before technology came to the world.

Territory both of us remembered too well, for reasons we'd both rather forget.

We found the first sign about ten miles past the creek. A patch of ground that had been disturbed, blood still fresh, the metallic scent sharp enough to make both our wolves pause and assess. The dirt wasn't churned in the wild way prey animals thrashed when caught. This was more deliberate, more human.

Slower. Labored. Someone had slid here. Or collapsed.

Someone had been hurt here, and recently.

Alexis scented it before I did. She skidded to a halt and doubled back, her wolf lowering into a crouch as her nose worked, processing layers of information my less sensitive human brain could never have made sense of.

It would have been endearing in any other situation, the way she went completely still except for the delicate movement of her nostrils, the intense focus that made her ears swivel like radar dishes.

I followed suit, dropping my muzzle to the disturbed earth and breathing in the story written there in chemical traces.

Blood.

Faint, but unmistakable.

Almost masked by pine and rot, but it was there.

Wolf blood.

Not pooled like it would be from a fatal wound, but tracked, droplets and smears that spoke of someone moving while injured, someone who was still alive but bleeding enough to leave a trail.

We padded forward in unison, noses close to the ground, following the scent like breadcrumbs through a forest that suddenly felt more like a trap than a refuge. The scent grew sharper, fresher. Then, fabric.

Torn.

Dark and damp with something unmistakable.

Caught on the edge of a low branch, fluttering like a small flag of surrender.

The scent flared in my nostrils, the blood mixed with the personal chemical signature that every wolf carried like an invisible calling card.

Jess.

The wolf in me surged forward, a growl curling in my throat that was part rage and part desperate protectiveness. One of my pack was hurt, was bleeding, was alone in hostile territory. I had to reach her, had to protect her, had to make whatever had done this pay for touching what was mine.

Alexis growled too, though hers was softer, directed not at the blood, but at me. Her body curved slightly toward mine, pressing just enough to pull me back from the edge, to remind me that charging ahead blind was exactly the kind of mistake that got rescuers killed along with the people they were trying to save.

Not now.

Not yet.

We had to be smart. Strategic. Alpha.

We moved again. Not slower, just more careful.

Less noise, more intent, every step calculated to avoid detection while still covering ground.

It was Alexis who spotted the next piece. A scrap of tactical gear, Hunter issued, the kind of reinforced fabric that costs more than most wolves made in a month at their human jobs. It was empty and torn at the shoulder. Discarded or taken in a fight, either way it meant we were getting close to whatever had happened here.

We circled wide to avoid giving away our position, using techniques we'd learned in the early days when survival meant being smarter than the people hunting you. My wolf's lungs were burning again, not from the pace this time, but from the weight of knowing how quickly this could go from search and rescue to recovery and revenge.

Or worse.

Then we heard it.

A sound that didn't belong, that cut through the natural symphony of forest noise like a discordant note.

Not an animal.

Not prey.

Voices.

Human.

Too far to make out words, but close enough to set every predatory instinct I possessed on high alert.

Alexis dropped low behind a boulder, flicking her tail once, a signal as clear as spoken words. We would split. I'd circle left, she'd take the ridge. Sweep wide and regroup just above whatever clearing the noise was coming from.

We'd done this a hundred times in the old days, when tactical coordination was the difference between bringing everyone home and losing people to overconfidence or poor planning.

Before. When we'd been a team, when we'd trusted each other's judgment implicitly, when we'd moved like parts of the same organism. It had also mostly been drills, rarely real lives that hung in the balance.

But even after everything, our wolves still remembered, still fell into the old patterns like muscle memory that time couldn't erase.

I met her eyes once before I bolted left. Green and gold, fierce with determination and something that might have been love if I was brave enough to name it.

Still hers.

Still mine.

And if Jess was here, if there was even a chance we could bring her back whole…

We would take it.

* * *

I crested the rise on silent paws, breath controlled and body pressed to the earth, every sense hyper-tuned to the potential for danger.

Below, the trees opened into a clearing that had been carved by violence rather than nature. It was too regular, too raw, like someone had slashed through the forest with fire and explosives and the kind of casual disregard for life that made my hackles rise.

The kind of place that held the scent of wrong things, of human arrogance and wolf suffering.

Blood. Gunpowder. Oil. Silver. Too many footprints, too few answers, and underneath it all the chemical signature of fear and pain that made my wolf snarl with protective rage.

It was a Hunter trap.

Or had been. The setup was too obvious, too exposed to be currently operational. But that didn't make it any less dangerous.

I crouched behind a cluster of boulders and let my gaze sweep the clearing, cataloging threats and opportunities.

Movement.

Two figures.

One upright, pacing, radiating the kind of restless energy that came from waiting for something to happen.

The other… crumpled. Knees in the dirt. Hands bound in front of her.

My hackles rose.

Jess.

Her head hung low, dark hair falling forward to hide her face, chest moving in shallow, labored breaths that spoke of pain and exhaustion. Her clothes were torn but not shredded. She hadn't shifted recently, which meant something was preventing the change. Injury, drugs, or some kind of restraint system to keep wolves in human form.

Vulnerable. Exposed. Helpless in ways that made every protective instinct I possessed scream for blood.

But alive.

Across the clearing, the man standing above her shifted his weight, and I got a better look at his profile. No Hunter insignia on his jacket, but his posture reeked of military training and the kind of casual arrogance that came from believing you were the apex predator in any given situation.

Just a normal, government issue Hunter.

Good. He would be easier to kill than someone with actual tactical training and backup.

He leaned down, said something I couldn't hear, his voice carrying the tone of someone who enjoyed having power over others. Jess didn't respond. Didn't move.

My wolf snarled silently, every muscle in my body coiling with the need to tear his throat out.

A rustle to my right.

Alexis.

She slipped in behind a low outcrop of stone, her fur dusted with debris from her climb up the ridge. Our eyes met. She didn't blink, but I could read the message in her posture as clearly as if she'd spoken.

Wait. Assess. Plan.

We stayed still, watching, forcing ourselves to gather intelligence instead of charging in blind.

The man kicked at Jess's side. Not hard, just enough to demonstrate his control, to remind her of her helplessness. Just enough to show he could.

She flinched, a small movement that somehow conveyed more pain than screaming would have.

That was enough.

I started to rise, weight shifting forward, every predatory instinct demanding immediate action⁠—

Alexis growled, a soft, warning sound in her throat. Not yet.

She was right, and I hated that she was right. We didn't know enough about the situation, didn't know if this was the extent of the threat, or just what we could see. Rushing in could save Jess, or it could get all three of us killed.

This was obviously a trap, but for who? Did they know we were coming? Where were Jayne and Sara? Were they already captured, already dead, already being used as bait in some larger scheme?

The man pulled something from his jacket. A walkie. He said something into it, his voice too low to carry but his body language suggesting he was reporting to someone, turned, then began pacing away from Jess, closer to the edge of the clearing.

I crouched lower, mind racing through possibilities. My wolf said we could take him. One human against two Alphas in wolf form wasn't even a fair fight. But fair fights were a luxury, and this felt like the beginning of something larger and more dangerous.

We had three options: wait for Jayne and Sara to arrive and coordinate a larger assault, shift back to human form and try to negotiate or gather more intelligence, or use our wolf forms to separate the threat from the victim and deal with the consequences later.

Alexis moved first.

She crept back into the brush, slow and careful, her movement so controlled that she barely disturbed the vegetation around her. She would loop wide, draw the mercenary away from Jess, create an opening for me to reach our pack-mate.

My job would be Jess.

I waited until the man's back was fully turned, until his attention was focused on whatever conversation he was having through the comm device, then began my own careful approach.

My muscles were taut with controlled aggression, my breathing shallow and silent. Every instinct screamed for speed, for the satisfaction of sinking teeth into the throat of someone who'd dared to hurt pack.

And as I prepared to move, as I calculated angles and distances and the precise moment when stealth would give way to violence, only one thought filled my mind.

Hold on, Jess.

Your pack is here.

Your Alpha is here.

We're not losing you today.

CHAPTER 9

I waited.

The clearing below was trapped in an unnatural silence, the kind that came when every living thing sensed predators nearby and decided that breathing quietly was preferable to breathing at all. Jess hadn't moved, still on her knees. I could see she was clutching something close to her chest like it was the only thing anchoring her to consciousness. Her shoulders didn't even shake. I'd seen her take down two trained warriors in a pit fight once when she'd first arrived at Mayfield, all fury and desperation and the kind of violence that came from having nothing left to lose.

Now she knelt like prey.

Something was wrong.

Across the way, the mercenary kept pacing. His weapon slung low, casual, but with a kind of ready alertness that threatened action at any moment.

It didn't feel like he was patrolling.

It felt like he was waiting. Performing for an audience he knew was watching.

I shifted slightly, flattening my belly tighter to the stone ridge beneath me. The wind held steady, carrying scents that told a story I was only beginning to understand.

No new sounds, no movement from Alexis yet. She was circling wide, flanking the far edge of the clearing like we used to practice in training exercises that felt like games until they became life and death.

My wolf pulled at me with increasing urgency, every predatory instinct demanding immediate action, but I forced myself to stay still. Watching. Calculating. Looking for the trap within the trap.

That's when I felt it.

Not heard.

Not smelled.

Felt.

That crawling sensation that every wolf recognized as the prelude to violence. The weight of hostile attention, the electric tension that preceded an ambush. It was the prickle between your shoulders when you're not just being watched, you're being stalked.

Hunted.

I inhaled slowly, sorting through the complex layering of scents that painted a picture of recent events. There… just beneath the pine and blood and mud… there was something metallic. Something subtle that made my wolf want to whine.

Silver.

Weaponized. Recent. Close enough to be an immediate threat.

This wasn't a holding spot. It was a staging ground.

My blood turned to ice as the implications sank in. We weren't rescuing Jess, we were walking into exactly the kind of trap she'd been used as bait for.

I scanned the trees beyond the clearing, looking for the subtle signs of concealed positions: shadows that were too regular, movements that didn't match natural patterns. One of the shadows shifted against the sun, and it was all I needed.

Hunters.

At least three. Maybe more.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This wasn't a rescue operation anymore, it was a firefight waiting to happen, and we were outnumbered, outgunned, and caught in the open.

I flicked my ears twice, a signal for fallback.

Alexis didn't appear. She was probably too far into her flanking maneuver to see my warning, or had spotted the same threats and was already adapting her approach.

My heart hammered against my ribs as adrenaline flooded my system. She must've seen them too. She'd adapt, change her angle. But it meant we were past the point of careful reconnaissance and strategic withdrawal.

We were committed now.

I inched forward until I could see Jess's face, trying to assess her condition and readiness for rapid movement. Her cheek was split open, blood dried beneath her nose, but her eyes, Goddess, her eyes, were open. Unfocused, glazed with what might have been drugs or shock. But she was awake.

I needed her to stay that way. Needed her aware enough to move when everything went sideways.

I need her to look at me, to recognize pack, to remember that she wasn't alone anymore.

The man pacing turned sharply and raised his radio with the kind of urgent movement that meant something was happening. I saw his mouth move but couldn't hear the words, couldn't tell if he was reporting our presence or asking for instructions.

Across the clearing, a glint of movement. A rifle barrel. Just visible, but enough to confirm that this was about to become very, very bad.

I tensed, every muscle in my body coiling for action.

And that's when Alexis moved.

She didn't go for subtle. She didn't need to. Her wolf exploded from the tree line like vengeance given form, silver blonde fur catching what little light filtered through the canopy as she went straight for the mercenary's throat.

The trap snapped shut, but it was too late for the Hunter now fighting for his life between her fangs.

Figures burst from the trees behind him. Four—no, five. Two with combat knives that gleamed with silver coating. One with a tranquilizer gun designed specifically for large predators. One with a silver mesh net that would conduct electricity if activated. One with a rifle that probably fired silver-core ammunition.

Military-grade, anti-wolf equipment. This wasn't random violence or opportunistic hunting, this was a coordinated operation designed specifically to capture or kill our kind.

I moved.

Not thinking. Just moving.

Straight toward Jess, toward pack, toward the wolf who needed me more than strategy or caution.

The first shot rang out, and the world erupted into chaos and violence.

Alexis lunged sideways, jaws closing on the nearest Hunter's arm before he could raise his knife. His scream was sharp, human. Fragile in a way that reminded me why wolves had been the apex predators before humans developed technology, and it fed my wolf. She tore and spun, sending him into the dirt in a spray of blood and pine needles.

I didn't stop to watch, couldn't afford the distraction when Jess was still vulnerable and exposed.

Jess.

Pack.

Mine to protect.

My paws hit the clearing like thunder, claws digging deep into earth that was already starting to be soaked with blood and fear. The second Hunter turned too slowly, I barreled into him, shoulder catching his gut with enough force to lift him off his feet. We both hit the ground hard, but I was already on him, teeth finding the soft spot between collarbone and jaw. Blood filled my mouth, copper and salt and the bitter taste of adrenaline. My wolf didn't pause to savor the kill. We shoved off the moment he stilled.

Jess.

Still the priority.

Still the reason we were here.

She was huddled over something in her lap, barely aware. Still not looking at the chaos around her, lost in whatever internal world her trauma had created.

Behind me, Alexis roared, a guttural sound that wasn't quite wolf and wasn't quite woman, but something primal that spoke of Alpha rage unleashed. Another Hunter was down. Two more flanked her with blades out. Silver glinted in the dull light, promising pain and potential death if those weapons found their mark.

One slashed her across the shoulder, opening a line of red that made my own wolf snarl with sympathetic fury.

She didn't flinch. Just turned, grabbed his arm in her jaws, and ripped, the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bone audible even over the chaos of combat.

But then Sloane was there.

I saw her emerge from the trees like a nightmare given physical form in dark clothing, tactical armor, face painted with war-black stripes that turned her into something barely recognizable as the wolf I'd once called pack. She didn't charge, didn't rush into the melee like the other combatants.

She smiled.

That same cruel, calculating expression I'd seen too many times before, the one that should have warned me she was capable of betrayal long before she'd actually committed it. I should have known when she'd first arrived at Mayfield, should have trusted my instincts. No one smiled like that, with genuine pleasure at others' pain, and still had a soul.

She looked at Jess like a possession.

At Alexis like prey.

At me like the game she'd always wanted to finish.

"Nice of you to finally join us," she called, voice carrying the kind of syrupy sweetness that barely concealed venom. "We've been saving her for you."

Another bullet hit the ground inches from my hind leg, kicking up dirt and the sharp scent of gunpowder. I growled, feeling my gut clench as muscle memory surfaced: the weight of her wolf against mine during training, the way she'd always pushed just a little too hard, tested boundaries just a little too aggressively.

I shouldn't have let her go. Should have killed her in that mine, in front of Luna and everyone, made an example that would have prevented this moment. I had thought it was mercy.

I swerved hard, caught the edge of Jess's scent again, trying to assess her condition through the chaos. She wasn't bleeding out, thank the moon, but she was fading. Fast. Though, from her body language, it looked less like she was dying and more like she'd simply stopped caring whether she lived.

I reached her just as another Hunter took aim, his rifle swinging toward the cluster of vulnerable bodies in the center of the clearing.

Then Jayne arrived.

Her black wolf hit the Hunter line from the opposite ridge like a force of nature given predatory form, all controlled violence and lethal precision. She didn't growl. Didn't bark. Just slammed into the man holding the tranq gun and sent him flying, the weapon spinning away to land uselessly in the underbrush.

Sara was close behind, slicing through the tree line with the kind of lethal precision that came from someone who'd learned that survival meant ending threats quickly and efficiently.

Now it was a real fight.

Four wolves.

However many Hunters were still mobile and armed.

And Sloane.

The odds were better, but far from good. And Sloane was the real threat, she knew how we fought, knew our tactics, knew exactly how to hurt us in ways that would leave the deepest scars.

I braced against Jess's side, keeping low as my body shielded hers, trying to provide cover while still maintaining situational awareness. She whimpered, not in fear, but anger, a sound that spoke of fury restrained rather than helplessness. She knew this was a trap. She knew they'd used her. And she'd let them. For whatever she was protecting so desperately.

I growled softly in her face, needing her to show me she still wanted to fight, but the scent of what she held in her lap hit me like a physical blow. Familiar, almost the same as Jess's personal signature, but different in ways that spoke to genetic relationship and shared history.

I had never met the wolf that pelt had belonged to, but I knew it instinctively for what it was.

Her sister's.

The realization turned my stomach. Not just any wolf, family. The kind of loss that carved holes in your soul and never quite healed. It was the kind of grief that made people do stupid, desperate, suicidal things.

It was still clutched in her hands, held with the reverence reserved for sacred relics.

I barked sharply, catching Sara's attention, and repositioned my body to provide better cover, needing space and time to coordinate our next move.

Sara snarled in response, leaping over a fallen log to block the last Hunter flanking from the east, her movements deadly.

Sloane stepped back, smile still razor-sharp. She whistled once, high and piercing.

Retreat.

The sound cut through the chaos like a blade, and immediately the remaining Hunters began disengaging, falling back toward predetermined escape routes.

"Oh, and Lydia. I guess I should thank you for sparing me that night. In fact, I think I owe you something."

It happened faster than thought, faster than reaction time, faster than the kind of reflexes that had kept me alive through decades of violence.

The glint of metal, the sharp crack of an explosive charge propelling silver-cored death toward my body.

Coward.

The bullet tore through the side of my flank, hot and instant, silver-laced, the metal burning like acid as it carved through muscle and tissue.

I screamed, the sound caught between wolf and human, pain and rage and the bitter taste of betrayal.

Alexis turned mid-fight, saw me drop, and something fundamental shifted in her expression, from controlled violence to absolute fury.

She abandoned her target, vaulted over a downed Hunter, and landed beside me, teeth snapping at empty air as the final Hunters retreated with their grinning leader. She didn't shift. Didn't pause. Just pressed her body against mine, warm and solid and fiercely protective.

Jess stirred beneath my protective bulk, her fingers finding my fur with the kind of desperate grip that spoke to someone clinging to consciousness by willpower alone.

I didn't speak.

I couldn't.

But I saw Sloane, now halfway up the ridge, watching us with the satisfaction of someone who'd accomplished exactly what they'd set out to do.

But she hadn’t, not completely, at least because I was still standing.

But she'd gotten close.

Sloane paused at the top of the ridge, turning back with the kind of theatrical gesture that was meant to be remembered, meant to haunt.

"Try not to limp too hard, Lydia. You're starting to look mortal."

Then she vanished into the trees, taking her surviving followers and leaving behind a clearing that reeked of blood and silver and the bitter aftermath of violence.

Alexis snarled low beside me, the sound echoing off stone and bark, but didn't chase. She stayed pressed against my side, offering support and warmth and the comfort of pack solidarity.

The clearing was chaos in slow motion, the kind of aftermath that came when adrenaline started to fade and pain began to assert itself. Jess was half-limp, half-curled over the pelt, eyes still glazed but open, aware enough to recognize safety even if she couldn't quite process how we'd gotten here.

Jayne was standing over a fallen Hunter, blood streaking her jaw, her breathing heavy but controlled. Sara had already begun circling the perimeter, checking for stragglers, her wolf precise and cool as always.

I tried to push up on my foreleg. Pain seared through my flank like lightning forged from molten silver, the embedded metal screaming protest as damaged tissue tried to function normally. My leg buckled, strength simply unavailable when every nerve was reporting damage.

Alexis growled and leaned harder into me, her fur warm where mine had started to grow cold with shock and blood loss. She didn't move. Just stayed there, holding my weight like she'd done a thousand times before, like the years of separation had never happened.

A flash of memory surfaced unbidden: another forest, another lifetime, another crisis. A younger version of Alexis dragging me out of a collapsing den while I bled from broken ribs, no questions asked, no orders given. Just pack loyalty and the kind of love that didn't need to be spoken to be absolute.

Some things never change.

Jayne trotted over, her wolf imposing and blood-flecked, radiating the idea she was ready for round two if necessary. Her eyes met mine. No judgment, no fear. They held the steady promise that pack would endure, would protect, would survive whatever came next.

I shifted first.

The pain of transformation ripped a sound from my throat that I wasn't proud of. It was raw and animal and completely involuntary. But I kept my jaw clenched and forced the change to complete, refusing to give Sloane's parting shot the satisfaction of keeping me down. My hands hit the dirt, slick with mud and blood, as cold sweat joined the symphony of physical distress. Alexis was right behind me, human again, crouched beside me before I could even catch my breath.

"Let me see," she said, voice quiet, but firm.

I didn't argue. Couldn't, really, when staying conscious was taking most of my available energy.

Sara dropped into a crouch near Jess, who still wouldn't release the pelt. Her fingers were stiff with cold, but she wouldn't let go. It lay across her lap, soft and matted and real evidence of a life lost, a sister dead, a wound that would never fully heal.

The scent of her sister clung to the air around Jess like grief made manifest, like sorrow given physical form.

I watched them from the ground, heart hammering as Alexis pressed her hand gently to my hip, probing the wound with the kind of clinical detachment that medical training demanded, and then cursed under her breath.

"Through and through," she said, and I could hear both relief and concern in her voice. "But it's silvered for sure. We need to get you somewhere with proper medical supplies to draw out any fragments."

Jayne, now also shifted, grabbed the med kit from her bag and tossed it to Alexis. "You're lucky. Another inch and we'd be dragging her body, not patching her up. You can practically see her femoral artery through the hole."

Alexis didn't look up, her attention focused entirely on the immediate problem of keeping me alive and mobile. "She's not dying. Not today."

I winced as antiseptic hit raw tissue, as tweezers probed for silver fragments that burned like acid wherever they touched.

Jess finally spoke. Her voice was hoarse. Barely a whisper.

"She knew I'd try to run. She gave it to me just to see what I'd do."

No one had to ask who "she" was, or what "it" meant. The pelt told its own story of manipulation and psychological warfare, of enemies who understood exactly how to hurt us in the places that mattered most.

No one spoke for a long moment.

Jayne moved to cut Jess's restraints. I watched them, trying to stay detached from the fire licking its way up my hip, from the way silver poisoning made my vision blur at the edges. I could feel the metal fragments, foreign and toxic, working their way through my bloodstream like liquid malice.

Alexis's hand trembled once, then stilled, professional composure reasserting itself.

"Can you move?" she asked me.

I nodded, though the movement sent fresh waves of pain radiating outward from the wound.

"Then we go. Ghost Pack's closer than Mayfield. Maybe a few hours to the nearest outpost, at most. We'll regroup there. If we stay here, they'll just send another team and I don't know why it was so easy to break their trap this time, but I don't want to test our luck twice in one day."

"And next time, it won't be a trap," Jayne muttered, her voice carrying the grim certainty of someone who'd seen this pattern before. "It'll be an execution."

I forced myself upright, breath ragged, pain blooming deep as I fought back a stream of profanity that would have made Naomi proud. Instead, I let myself lean against my ex-mate, whispering, "Thank you for being here."

Alexis steadied me again, her hand at my back, warm and solid and absolutely reliable. Her warmth anchored me when everything else felt like it was spinning apart.

"I told you not to waste it," she murmured, her voice carrying undertones I didn't have the energy to think about.

I didn't answer.

Because I wouldn't. Wouldn't waste this chance, this trust, this fragile possibility that we might still be able to save each other.

* * *

The trees swallowed the clearing behind us, erasing the evidence of violence as efficiently as nature always did.

No one spoke as we moved, the group falling into a kind of tactical formation. The forest opened its arms and let us pass: limping, bleeding, alive.

Fighting was an unforgiving teacher. You could feel invincible one moment, engage in combat, and be dying the next. Some wolves lived and breathed violence, but almost all of them ended up regretting it at least once.

I leaned heavier into Alexis than I meant to, my injured leg dragging just enough to make each step a sharp reminder of Sloane's parting gift. She didn't complain. Didn't comment. Just matched my pace like it was nothing, like supporting my weight was as natural as breathing. Like I hadn't almost died back there, like we weren't all walking away from something that could have ended very differently.

Jayne scouted ahead, silent as a shadow, her movements low and alert. Sara took the rear, ever-watchful, ensuring that our retreat wasn't being followed. And Jess walked in the middle, slow and stiff, still wrapped in the coat Sara had handed her and holding that pelt like it was sacred.

To her, it was.

The last physical remnant of family, of a life lost to the same violence that had just tried to claim us all.

The comm on my hip crackled, the sudden sound making everyone tense for a moment before recognition set in.

I flinched, the movement sending fresh pain through my wounded flank.

Alexis reached down and tapped the side panel for me when I didn't move fast enough. The frequency popped once, then again.

A beat of silence.

Then Jewel's voice came through, quiet and tight, carrying the weight of hours spent waiting for news that might never come.

"Relay Nine to active field units. Please confirm… Please—someone confirm. Anyone? Jess?"

Jess stopped walking, her entire body going rigid at the sound of her name spoken with such desperate hope.

The others didn't notice at first, focused on movement and security, but I did. I saw the way her shoulders tensed, the way her chin dipped toward her chest, like she was trying to hide from the responsibility of being alive when others might not be.

And then, with a trembling hand, she reached across my side and pulled the comm from my belt.

She didn't press the button right away, just held the device like it weighed more than she could bear.

"… I'm here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she pressed the button, but carrying across the static like a prayer answered.

There was a long pause on the other end, filled with the kind of silence that spoke to relief so profound it couldn't immediately find words.

A shaky exhale. Something that might have been a sob quickly stifled. Something unsaid passed through the softly clicking static.

Then Jewel's voice again, low and breaking:

"You scared the shit out of me."

Jess closed her eyes, and for a moment her face was transformed by something that might have been peace.

"… Yeah," she said. "Me too."

She didn't elaborate, didn't try to explain what had happened or justify the choices that had led her into danger. She just acknowledged the fear, the relief, the simple miracle of being alive to have this conversation.

She didn't say anything else. Didn't need to. She just handed the comm back without meeting my eyes, the gesture carrying more weight than words could have managed.

Alexis took it gently and spoke, "Jewel. Tell the Western Mountain Team we will be incoming. An hour, maybe," and clipped it back into place before Jewel could respond with questions we weren't ready to answer.

We kept walking, the rhythm of our movement gradually settling into something sustainable, something that could carry us the remaining distance to safety.

And though no one said it, I knew what we all felt in our bones, the knowledge that settled like lead in our stomachs and refused to be ignored.

This wasn't the end.

It was the warning shot.

And next time, Sloane wouldn't be content with psychological warfare and parting gifts. Next time, she'd come to finish what she'd started, and none of us would be walking away clean.

If we walked away at all.

CHAPTER 10

The outpost emerged from the trees like something half-forgotten. Not a den. Not quite a bunker. Just a stone structure tucked into the roots of the mountains, cloaked in shadow and silence.

Like a Ghost.

We staggered toward it, barely holding formation, our earlier tactical precision replaced by the graceless shuffle of those who'd pushed themselves beyond reasonable limits.

Alexis stayed close, always half a step ahead, never pulling, just… there. Her presence, more steadying than any physical support could have been, more comforting than the wind biting at my wound. Jess leaned on Jayne now, barely able to walk but still gripping that pelt like it could keep her breathing. Maybe it could… grief had its own logic, its own requirements for survival.

Sara knocked once, delivering a coded sequence: two short, one long, on the heavy door.

A slot slid open.

A low voice said nothing. Just looked, assessing threat level and pack affiliation with the kind of silent efficiency that Ghost Pack was known for.

"Lydia," I rasped, stepping forward before I remembered that this was Alexis's territory, Alexis's pack, Alexis's authority to invoke. "Alpha of Mayfield."

The door opened.

No fanfare.

No questions.

Just a nod and space to enter.

I glanced back at Alexis to find her watching me with a calculating expression, one eyebrow raised in what might have been amusement or annoyance. I felt heat rise in my cheeks. I shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have claimed precedence in her territory when I was hurt and tired and not thinking clearly.

But she remained quiet, and I was too exhausted to think about it further.

Inside, the outpost was warmer than I expected. Still cold, still built from stone that held winter in its bones long after the last true snow, but the air didn't bite quite as hard as the mountain wind outside. The walls were thick, designed to retain heat and muffle sound, and the central hearth burned low and slow, banked embers that cast the whole room in copper and shadow.

The space was functional rather than comfortable, designed for efficiency and defense rather than hospitality. But after hours of bleeding through hostile territory, it felt like luxury.

The Ghost Pack sentries didn't speak. All necessary communication seemed to happen through glances and subtle gestures that spoke to years of working together in situations where silence meant survival. They pointed toward bedrolls tucked in corners, a small crate of supplies, and an iron pot hanging over the fire.

I didn't thank them, guest or not, that wasn't what an Alpha did, and I was starting to remember the protocols that governed interactions between packs, the careful dance of respect and authority that kept everyone alive.

Alexis helped me inside without a word. Her hand found my lower back with a steady pressure that offered support without demanding anything in return, practical rather than possessive. I hated how much my body wanted to lean into that touch, how natural it felt after so many years of careful distance.

Jess collapsed near the fire, the pelt still bundled in her arms like a shield, the only thing standing between her and complete dissolution. Jayne knelt beside her, speaking in low tones that didn't carry beyond the immediate circle of firelight, offering comfort that might or might not be accepted.

Sara scanned the room, her gaze cataloging exits and defensive positions with the systematic thoroughness I had come to expect, and made a soft grunting sound of approval before disappearing into a side corridor.

Alexis guided me to a patch of clean floor near the fire, pulling up a bedroll so I could sit. I didn't argue. Pride was a luxury I couldn't afford when standing was becoming a struggle. I sat with a hiss and pressed my palm against my thigh, trying to assess the damage through layers of makeshift bandaging.

The burn was back. Dull but growing now that the adrenaline had worn off, settling into the kind of persistent agony that suggested the silver poisoning was still working through my system.

She crouched beside me. "We'll need to clean it," she said, voice low enough not to carry, pitched for my ears only. "Rest for now. I'll start boiling water and get some supplies."

I nodded once, surprised by how tired I suddenly felt, as if my body had been holding itself together through sheer willpower and was now ready to collapse the moment safety was offered. I closed my eyes, meaning to rest for just a moment, but felt myself tilting sideways as consciousness began to slip away.

Hands caught me, gently guiding me onto the bedroll, arranging my head on the pillow with the kind of care that spoke of something deeper. I tried to open my eyes, to maintain some semblance of alertness, but couldn't manage it.

The world had taken on a strange, disconnected quality: sounds coming from very far away, sensations filtered through what felt like layers of cotton. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, could feel the dancing streaks of silver that moved behind my closed eyelids like some kind of toxic light show.

That probably wasn't a good sign, but who was I going to complain to? My pack was miles away, and I was surrounded by wolves who had their own problems to deal with. So I kept quiet, even though I couldn't seem to make my mouth produce sound anyway, as if my brain was functioning, but nobody was home to run the basic operations.

I was just staring through the glass from the outside.

I sensed more than felt Alexis move away and, for a moment, I just… was.

No more chasing.

No more running.

Just the dull, aching stillness of pain and survival, the simple miracle of being alive when so many things had tried to change that status.

The others started to settle around me, their presence registered as warmth and sound rather than specific individuals. I could feel them moving through evening routines even though no one spoke. The soft sounds of boots being unlaced, gear being checked and stowed, the subtle territorial adjustments that happened when various predators shared confined space. Tension still vibrated under the surface, sharp and silent, but there was a peace to it too.

Finally, I managed to crack my eyes open just enough to look across the room at Jess, who hadn't moved from her position by the fire. She wasn't shaking. Wasn't crying. Just holding that fur tight to her chest like it might keep her from coming apart, like it was the only thing anchoring her to a world that had taken everything else.

I didn't know what to say to that.

So I didn't say anything.

The fire crackled once, sending sparks up the chimney like tiny prayers, and I let my eyes drift closed again, surrendering to whatever healing sleep might offer.

Nothing immediate came, no dreams, no rest, just the strange floating sensation of consciousness held at arm's length by trauma and blood loss.

* * *

Time passed in fragments: minutes or hours, I couldn't tell. The firelight shifted, voices murmured, someone moved around the space with quiet efficiency.

Then warmth stirred at my side, subtle and steady. The ache in my leg had sharpened again, burning a path from thigh to hip like molten silver tracing the pathways of my circulatory system.

I hissed low through my teeth as fingers brushed my skin, the contact sending shockwaves of pain radiating outward from the wound.

"Shh," Alexis murmured, her voice so near it startled me, pulling me back toward full consciousness. I had smelled her return, but in my disoriented state I'd thought I was imagining it. Too many nights over the years when I'd dreamed of her scent only to wake up alone. "I'm just cleaning it. You're not bleeding much, but the silver's still making a mess of things."

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the firelight until her face came into focus.

The flames cast her in dramatic shadows, the shape of them carving sharp lines across her jaw, gold light softening the pale silk of her hair. Her hands worked with practiced care, one bracing against my thigh, the other wiping a cloth soaked in antiseptic along the wound, her touch clinical but somehow intimate.

"I thought I said for you not to get hurt," she added without looking up.

"You were a wolf. You didn't say anything."

She grunted, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she concentrated on the task. "I thought we didn't need words to know not to be stupid."

I hissed as she pressed deeper, the cloth probing areas where silver fragments might still be lodged, the sensation like having molten metal poured directly into nerve endings. "You thought wrong."

That earned me the faintest smirk.

She folded the cloth over and dipped it back into the bowl beside her. "You never did like being still."

"Stillness isn't the problem," I said, jaw tight against both pain and the memories her words triggered. "It's what catches up to you in it."

Her hands stopped, the dripping cloth hovering.

For a second, neither of us spoke, the weight of shared history settling between us like smoke.

Then she wrung out the cloth and went back to work. "You're lucky," she said quietly. "It missed the artery."

"Tell that to my femur, hip, and, oh yeah, everything above my waistline."

She gave a dry laugh. "I'd rather not talk to your femur. It seems dramatic." She paused, and I caught the hint of mischief in her eyes that I remembered from better times. "But I could talk to some things around your waistline if that were an invitation."

That almost made me smile. Almost.

But then I felt it, a subtle a tug in my chest, the dead place that had withered when she left, stirring back to painful life. The casual intimacy, the easy banter, the way she could still make me want things I'd convinced myself I'd stopped needing… it all crashed over me at once, making my chest tight and threatening tears I couldn't afford to shed.

I looked away, willing the feelings to subside, trying to concentrate on the physical agony that at least had the virtue of being straightforward.

It wasn't hard.

The silver-laced torment flared again, sharp and hot. I winced, and her hand pressed firmer at my hip, not to hurt, just to anchor. Her thumb brushed over the edge of uninjured skin, a grounding touch that had nothing to do with first aid.

"I hate seeing you like this," she said after a long pause.

"Wounded?"

"No," she said. "Quiet. Like you're waiting for me to catch you and put you out of your misery."

That pulled a sound out of me, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob, something caught between humor and grief that I couldn't quite classify. "You were right, you know. Back in the clearing."

She didn't ask what I meant, but I went on anyway.

"I am choking on inaction. Every time I pause, it feels like the world slips further away from me. Like I'm losing grip. On the pack. On myself."

Alexis didn't say anything.

She didn't need to.

She folded the cloth with careful precision, then reached for a small vial that I recognized as one of Olivia's innovations. Silver neutralizer that Jayne insisted on calling "liquid pain" because it stung like hell but worked twice as fast. One of many medical advances that had come from the collaboration between our pack's veterinarian and Princess's growing expertise.

"This is going to suck," she warned.

"Already sucks," I muttered.

She poured the liquid slowly, with the kind of controlled movement that spoke to experience with uncooperative patients. I gritted my teeth, biting back the snarl that rose in my throat. Her free hand gripped my shoulder, nails digging in just enough to provide an alternative focus for the pain.

It was supposed to be practical, a standard technique for managing patient distress during painful procedures. It didn't feel that way when her touch sent electricity through my nervous system, when the pressure of her fingers seemed to ground me in ways that had nothing to do with medical necessity.

The neutralizer did its work with ruthless efficiency, dissolving silver fragments and drawing toxins out of damaged tissue. I could feel the foreign material being purged from my system, expelled through the wound in a process that felt like being turned inside out.

The world went sideways for a moment, vision blurring as my nervous system processed more input than it was designed to handle.

When I opened my eyes again, hers were watching me, and I found myself caught in a gaze that was unflinching, unreadable, and somehow too soft and too sharp all at once. Laced with gold that seemed to catch and hold the firelight, just as beautiful as the first time I'd watched them shift from human to wolf and back again.

"I already told you not to get hurt," she said, echoing her earlier words. "So don't do it again."

"I'm trying," I said, my voice raw from pain and exhaustion and the effort of not saying everything else I was thinking.

Her gaze dropped to my thigh, to the clean bandage she was wrapping with slow, methodical care. Then she leaned in. Not rushed. Not uncertain. Just close, deliberate in a way that made my breath catch.

She pressed her lips, soft and deliberate, just above the edge of the bandage.

The contact was brief but electric, warm and gentle and completely unexpected. A benediction, a promise, a claim, I couldn't tell which, but it sent shockwaves through my system that had nothing to do with injury.

"I'm here," she whispered. "Whether you believe you deserve it or not."

I didn't answer.

Couldn't.

Because if I opened my mouth, I might say something that would change everything between us. Might ask for things I had no right to want, might voice feelings that were too big and too dangerous for the fragile peace we'd managed to build.

Because if I did, I might pull her closer, and if I pulled her closer, I wouldn't be able to let go.

Not again.

Not when I'd already lost her once and barely survived it.

I told myself it was because we were sharing space with members of both our packs because privacy was a luxury we couldn't afford. But the truth was simpler and more terrifying: if I reached for her now, I would never be able to stop.

So I just watched her instead, memorizing the curve of her mouth, the way the firelight played across her skin, the careful gentleness of her hands as she finished tending my wound, until she finally shifted away, tucked the supplies back into the kit, and settled on the bedroll beside me. Close, but not touching.

Guarding.

Waiting.

Offering presence without pressure, companionship without demands.

Like she always had.

* * *

The fire had burned low, casting long, soft shadows across the stone walls. The crackling had gentled into something almost musical, like the building itself was trying not to wake the wounded but still provide needed heat.

I shifted, careful not to move my leg too much, even more careful not to make noise that might disturb the others who were finally getting the rest they desperately needed.

The pain had settled into a manageable throb, enough to remind me I was alive and would need to be careful for a while, but not enough to prevent function. Goddess bless Olivia and Princess for their medical innovations. My fingers grazed the edge of the fresh bandage, and I couldn't help but remember the warmth of Alexis's mouth pressed there, the whispered promise that I was still trying to process.

I tried not to think about it.

Failed spectacularly.

Across the room, Jess lay curled into herself, her back to the rest of us, one hand still loosely gripping that pelt like it was a lifeline, like the last physical connection to a sister who would never come home. Jayne was nearby, positioned protectively but not intrusively, her arm draped over her travel pack, eyes closed, but not deeply asleep. I knew it for what it was, the kind of light doze that allowed for instant response to threat.

Sara sat upright with her back to the far wall. Whether she was sleeping or meditating, I couldn't tell, but her breathing was slow and controlled, radiating the kind of calm alertness that came from years of night watch duty.

The Ghost Pack sentries maintained their positions. One near the door, another covering the back exit, still as statues but somehow managing to project watchful competence even in apparent rest.

A faint rustle caught my attention.

Alexis stood at the far side of the hearth, firelight painting her profile in warm gold as she studied something spread across a makeshift table. A map whose edges and ribbons I recognized even from this angle. I knew the marks she would be skimming, sector numbers, hand-drawn trails, old routes and fallback zones. Most of them in her precise handwriting, some updated more recently in what looked like Naomi's practical script. Clean lines marked in wax pencil that could be erased and redrawn as circumstances changed.

I sat up slowly, testing my balance before attempting to stand. My muscles screamed in protest, but they obeyed, painful but functional, which was all I could ask for under the circumstances.

She didn't turn as I approached. "You should be lying down."

"You should be sleeping."

"I've had worse nights."

"So have I."

I stepped closer, close enough to smell pine soap and smiled, wondering if Ghost Pack produced the bars in endless supply just for her. It seemed like something she would do with Alpha power. She shifted to the side, just enough for me to stand beside her without having to ask, the movement casual but somehow significant. I put both hands on the table edge to steady myself, grateful for the solid support.

"Sector Eleven," she murmured, tapping a mark along the map's edge. "That's where Jess got caught. But I'm worried that Sloane's angle wasn't about Ghost Pack, even though this is our territory, or Jess. Not really."

I nodded slowly, fighting through the lingering effects of blood loss and too little sleep to focus on tactical analysis. "You think it was about…?" I left the question open, wanting to hear her reasoning because my mind was blank.

"I think it was about you." Her voice was soft, but firm. "Possibly about Mayfield." I frowned, my fingers tightening on the wooden edge as she continued. "You and me. Gone from our posts. Princess is strong, but they know she's not you. It's not her pack. Not her territory. If they wanted to draw us out, use Jess as bait to get to the pack that Sloane had spent time infiltrating, that she knows intimately… lots of new wolves to capture, and no territorial Alpha there to protect them."

The logic was sound and terrifying in its implications. We'd been played, manipulated into exactly the position our enemies wanted us in.

“And she knew," I whispered, my gaze drifting to where Jess lay still curled in grief and exhaustion. "She knew it was a trap. She just didn't care."

I felt rather than saw Alexis's slight shrug. "Maybe she thought she could outrun them," she said. "We all do. Until we can't."

Silence stretched between us, heavy with implications and unspoken fears.

"She's not going back," I said finally, the decision crystallizing as I spoke. "Not to the Hunters. Not to that version of herself who could be used as a weapon against her own people."

"No," Alexis agreed. "But she might not come back to you either. Not really. That kind of wound doesn't heal just because we say she's safe."

My fingers brushed the edge of the map, tracing routes that had been drawn in better times. "Neither do ours."

She looked over at me then, and for a moment I thought she might say something more, might address the weight of history that sat between us like a third presence.

But she didn't.

Instead, she pointed to a smaller mark farther east. "This outpost connects to Ghost Ridge. If we move by midday, we can be there by tomorrow night. Jewel will be expecting us."

"What about Mayfield?"

She met my gaze, unflinching in the way that had always made her dangerous in negotiations. "If it was a trap to get us out of the vicinity, then it's already sprung. The five of us—you, me, Jayne, Sara, and Jess—we can't stop that, can't undo what's already been set in motion. They have an Alpha in Princess to hold them together, your second-in-command is there, and you have what, I believe, might be the best shifter surgeon in the world. They will be fine, assuming that theory is even right. Maybe Sloane just wanted to mess with Jess." She ended with a shrug that didn't quite hide her own uncertainty. "It doesn't really matter at this point. We are closer to my pack than yours, and with the Hunter deadline approaching, we have to hit them soon or those wolves are lost."

My eyes traveled back to Jess, her body so still that I had to concentrate to see the rise and fall of her breathing. She was alive, but what did she have left to live for?

"I've never met Jewel," I said, finally letting some of the tension run out of my shoulders. If this was the reality we were dealing with, I might as well get on board rather than fighting circumstances I couldn't change.

"She's an excellent wolf and an even better person," Alexis said, pride for her second bleeding into her voice in a way that spoke to deep respect and affection.

"She'll want to see Jess."

"She'll want to see me," Alexis added, not with pride, but with the resignation of someone who knew they were about to face justified anger. "Mostly to yell about letting this happen, even though I warned them not to go through with this plan."

I nodded, then surprised myself by reaching out, just for a second, to rest my hand on hers. Her fingers didn't flinch, didn't pull away. They stayed warm and solid under mine, anchoring me in the present moment. "She sounds like she scares you. I like her."

Alexis made a noncommittal noise in her throat, but I caught the faint smile that tugged at her mouth. "Your leg will make it, but it won't feel great. Probably slow us down."

"Then we deal with it and make it there," I said, giving her hand a squeeze that lingered longer than strictly necessary.

"We will," she said.

And for once, I believed it.

* * *

I returned to my bedroll with more weight in my chest than in my injured leg. The conversation with Alexis had steadied me in the way that honest discussion sometimes did, not because it solved anything, but because it reminded me who I was fighting beside, what we were fighting for.

The fire had almost died while we'd been talking, so I fed it another log without getting up. Tossing it in and coaxing the embers back to life with the kind of patient attention that gave my hands something to do while my mind processed.

Ghost Pack's silence stretched around us like a comfortable blanket, not oppressive or strange, but holding a quiet comfort that spoke to wolves who understood that sometimes the best communication happened without words.

They were a quiet group, so unlike the happy, shouting mass at Mayfield.

Alexis didn't follow me immediately. She stayed at the map table, posture relaxed but eyes still scanning the marked routes as if memorizing the terrain one last time. Planning for what came next. Always planning, always thinking three moves ahead.

I watched her for longer than I should have, memorizing the line of her shoulders, the way she held her head when she was concentrating.

Then, just as I turned away, a soft crackle broke the stillness.

The comm unit on the equipment table buzzed once, then chirped, low and insistent, cutting through the peaceful quiet like a blade.

Jayne stirred beside Jess but didn't rise, her body language suggesting she was awake and listening but choosing not to move.

Sara was on her feet and crossing the room in three quick strides, her response automatic and efficient as she tapped the receiver once.

A voice came through, faint but clear, carrying across the static with the kind of careful control that spoke to someone managing their own emotional state.

"Ghost Ridge to Outpost—this is Jewel. Please respond."

Alexis turned, her attention immediately focused on the communication.

Sara glanced at me, then pressed the button again. "This is Sara of Haven Pack. Outpost team is here and stable. We have five present. Jess is with us. Lydia is injured. Nothing fatal."

There was a pause on the line.

Then: “Copy that.” A controlled breath, then quieter, more personal: "Tell her I'm here. She doesn't have to say anything. Just… tell her I'm here."

Sara looked at me again, the question clear in her expression.

Jess hadn't moved from her position by the fire. But I hadn't missed the way her fingers had tightened in the pelt at the sound of Jewel's voice, the way her shoulders had shifted, just barely. The kind of movement you only noticed if you were watching for signs of life in someone who looked like they'd given up.

"I'll tell her," I said softly. "When she's ready to hear it."

Sara nodded once, then powered the unit down, returning the space to its previous quiet.

Jayne exhaled from her position near the fire, eyes half-lidded but clearly awake, watching the interaction with the kind of careful attention that suggested she was cataloging information for later use.

I eased back down onto the bedroll, letting my head fall into the makeshift pillow, grateful for the simple luxury of horizontal rest.

Outside, the wind shifted, bringing new scents through gaps in the stone walls. A faint whistle through the trees. The scent of cold pine and old ash rolled in with it, carrying the promise of weather changes and the endless cycle of seasons that continued regardless of wolf drama.

Tomorrow, we would move, would continue the journey toward whatever resolution awaited us.

Tonight, we would rest. Or try to.

And for the first time since I'd stepped away from Mayfield, since I'd left my territory and my pack in the hands of others, I didn't feel completely alone in the responsibility. The weight was still there, but it was shared now. Distributed among these wolves who understood the cost of leadership and the price of survival.

It wasn't comfort, exactly. But it was enough.

CHAPTER 11

The fire had burned down to coals, casting long, twisted shadows across the stone floor. I stretched slowly, mindful of the bandages wrapped tight across my thigh. The pain was manageable now, or at least I could keep telling myself that until it became true. I closed my eyes, unwilling to let go of the memory of Alexis's hands just yet. Sleep hadn't dulled the heat from her touch, and if anything, my dreams had enhanced it, especially the way her lips had pressed just above the wound, a whisper of warmth that still echoed in my skin and had kept me restless all night.

Everyone else was still asleep, scattered in the corners of the small outpost. Jayne, having shifted in the night, curled in a protective position near Jess, who remained cocooned in her bedroll, that pelt still clutched against her chest. Sara hadn't moved from her post against the far wall, head tilted just slightly toward the door while also drooping toward her chest, caught between vigilance and exhaustion. The Ghost Pack sentries stood silent and unreadable, carved from stone and absolute loyalty. I had to give it to Alexis. She trained them well.

Her name made my eyes search for her, scanning the room, only to find it empty of my former mate. My heart tightened with worry as I struggled to sit up, the movement catching the attention of one of the shadows in the darkened corner.

She uncurled from the darkness, and I breathed a sigh, wondering how someone so luminous could blend into the shadows so well. I was beginning to understand why she had chosen the name Ghost Pack. She already wore a dark long-sleeve base layer and combat pants, her hair tied back with an ease I remembered too well. She had been checking rations, laying out gear with quiet purpose. The moment she saw me sit up, her brow furrowed. "You should be resting," she said quietly, those golden eyes blinking at me in the pre-dawn light.

"I've had worse."

"Not recently." Her eyes dropped to my leg as she stood. "Let me help."

I didn't argue.

This time, I was smart enough to recognize an offer I shouldn't refuse.

I sat up carefully on the edge of the bedroll tucked beside the hearth. She knelt before me, lifting a spare pair of tactical pants from the supplies she'd laid out. Her fingers brushed my thigh as she reached for the bandage.

Not rushed.

Not clinical.

Just present.

She pressed her palm against my skin, and I felt her sharp intake of breath at the contact. "You always ran hot when you were hurt," she murmured. "Still do."

I huffed, half-amused. "You remember that?"

Her hands paused at the hem of my shirt. "I remember everything."

The shirt lifted over my head, her knuckles grazing the side of my ribs with careful attention and intimate knowledge of my body.

She didn't flinch.

I did.

"Easy," she murmured, softer now.

"I'm fine."

"You keep saying that. One day, it might even be true."

I rolled my eyes, but my breath caught as she dipped her head to inspect the bandage again. Her fingers were warm and steady, pressing just firm enough to anchor but never to control. Wisps of soft, silvery gold hair slipped over my skin, creating tiny sensations that made me hyperaware of every point of contact.

She peeled back the cloth and examined the wound with the kind of reverence that made my throat close, and I kept silently reminding myself that this was purely medical, that I was fine, that I could handle being this close to her without falling apart.

Over and over, while trying not to feel her this close.

"You're healing clean," she said. "But you'll bruise. Here, lift."

I shifted slightly as she slid the waistband of the pants over my feet, up my legs, and into place, her knuckles brushing my hip. The back of her hand grazed bare skin, and we both went still for a heartbeat that stretched too long.

When she spoke again, her voice had changed. Lower. More intimate. "I used to trace that scar on your side. The one from your first fight with your pack’s old Beta. You remember?"

"It wasn't a real fight. She blindsided me."

"You still won," she said. "Barely. I remember the blood."

"And the gloating," I added.

A smile ghosted over her lips. "That too."

She stood slowly, tugging the drawstring and smoothing the waistband with both hands. Her fingers lingered longer than necessary, the touch becoming something more than functional. My breath hitched. I met her eyes.

It would have been so easy. One step forward. One kiss. One break in everything I'd held shut, and years of careful distance would come pouring out.

It would be so easy to stop pretending I was fine when what I really wanted was to be whole.

Instead, she reached for my jacket and helped slide it onto my arms. "Boots next," she said, voice just above a whisper.

"Is that an order?"

"No," she said, eyes moving deliberately over me. "Just a promise. I'll get you where you need to go. You just have to let me."

I swallowed hard and nodded. That was all I could manage.

She knelt again, lacing my boots with care I didn't deserve.

And as her fingers skimmed my calf, something inside me pulled tight. Not lust, though that was there too. Not quite love either, not yet, too much history stood between us for that simplicity.

But need.

Old.

Familiar.

Alive.

* * *

By the time the sun crested the trees, the air had shifted. It wasn't just the cold morning bite or the smoke curling low over the embers, it was the way the outpost held its breath. As if what came next would be a turning point for all of us.

Alexis finished strapping on her utility belt while I adjusted my pack. We had shared a quiet breakfast of roasted rabbit, caught fresh by one of the outpost's sentries. We hadn't spoken much, but our silence hadn't been heavy, merely present, a blanket of shared understanding that for now had to be enough.

My leg protested, but the pain had once more settled into something I could work with, although Alexis warned that once we made it to Ghost Pack, it would need cleaned again. It was becoming a familiar enemy that reminded me we were here for a larger battle, and getting Jess back hadn't been even close to a victory in the long run.

Jayne stirred first, unfolding from her place beside Jess, shifting, stretching and cracking her knuckles in a way that suggested she was ready to break bones if anyone commented on her sleep habits or mentioned that she snored. Sara was already awake, eyes sharp and steady, crouched near the door and chewing on bunny jerky.

Jess moved slower.

She didn't say a word as she sat up, her hands still wrapped tight around the pelt. Her eyes were swollen, ringed with exhaustion and something deeper than physical pain. But she rose, and she moved, and she followed along when Jayne silently handed her a canteen and a protein bar.

None of us commented on it.

Not the fact that she'd barely slept, not the way she flinched when Jayne touched her shoulder, not the pelt that remained cradled against her chest with religious devotion.

We just let her be.

For now.

Alexis finished checking the trail markers etched faintly into the wall of the outpost and gave a sharp nod toward the door. "We move east. We can be at Ghost Ridge by sundown if we push. Quicker if some people weren’t so slow.”

I glared but refrained from sticking out my tongue. That would have been very un-Alpha of me.

No one objected.

The Ghost Pack sentries opened the door without ceremony, acknowledging our departure with the same silent efficiency they'd shown our arrival. We stepped back into the trees, morning light slicing through bare branches in fractured gold.

The forest felt different now.

Wilder.

Older.

Less manicured than Mayfield's carefully maintained grounds. More primal, with the kind of untamed energy that might catch unwary ankles and snap bones without warning.

It was a heavy feeling, the kind that settled in your bones and refused to be shaken off.

Alexis and I fell into rhythm at the center of the group. Sara led, silent as wind through pine. Jayne kept rear guard, her steps slower, deliberate, keeping pace with Jess, who still hadn't spoken a word.

The path was narrow at first, carved by wolves rather than human tools, which made our footing uneven. Roots twisted through the soil in organic patterns, and occasional claw marks on bark served as both warning and welcome.

"Ghost Pack markers," Alexis murmured beside me, just loud enough for me to hear. "They haven't been updated since last moon. We're clear."

"Think she'll meet us?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder at the slowly progressing forms of Jess and Jayne.

"Jewel?" She hesitated. "Almost certainly, though I doubt it will be from any loyalty to me at this point." I didn't need to ask what she meant. I had memories of Naomi disappearing without notice only to be found at the clinic, and the subsequent arguments that followed. Alexis continued, "If not… we'll reach them before nightfall anyway." She glanced at me, a small smile curling at the edge of her lips. “Don’t worry, Lydia, I do know my way home after all.”

Home.

I felt a pang of jealousy and pushed it down. This was her home. Not Mayfield and not me. This place, these woods, this wild freedom that my carefully controlled sanctuary could never offer.

It was probably one of the reasons I had chosen to build Mayfield in the middle of cornfields, it was safe, predictable, controllable. There was nothing wild there, nothing that could surprise you or challenge the careful order I'd imposed. It had been perfect for wolves who needed to heal from trauma, but it lacked the primal freedom that called to the wolf side of our nature.

In some ways, I'd been spaying my pack without even realizing it.

A gust of wind curled through the trees. I caught the scent of woodsmoke and pine and the faintest trace of blood long dried.

Jess faltered for a second. Jayne caught her elbow without a word, steadying her.

The pelt slipped.

We stopped.

No one said a thing.

Jayne reached down and carefully tucked it back into Jess's arms, the movement so gentle it hurt to watch.

I kept my eyes forward.

Princess showing up at my door radiating Alpha power hadn't bothered me the way this did. These were two wolves who had been mine but now sought comfort in each other. I wasn't their Alpha anymore, and there was nothing I could do to take their pain away in this moment. They had each other, and that would have to be enough.

Still, it made my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin to see them both hurting and helping each other in the familiar way that pack did, knowing I didn't belong to that circle of comfort anymore.

We picked up speed as the sun lifted higher, filtering through the branches in fractured lines that painted our path in amber and shadow.

The terrain grew steeper, marked by old rockslides and half-buried roots. This part of the forest wasn't designed for easy travel. It was built for hiding, for surviving, for testing anyone who dared to pass through.

Every inch felt determined to challenge us.

Alexis moved easily through it. Her steps were measured, balanced, as if the ground knew her weight and chose to hold her up instead of fight her. I struggled more, though I hid it well. The dull burn in my thigh had transformed into thousands of tiny needles that pulsed with every uneven step.

She noticed.

Of course, she noticed.

"You need a break," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the wind.

"No," I said through gritted teeth. "I need to keep moving."

"You're limping."

"Not badly."

She gave me one of those looks. The kind that had once made my spine straighten before she even spoke, that reminded me she'd been reading my body language for decades. "We stop in ten. Long enough for water and an update if I can get anyone to answer. Don't argue."

I didn't.

There would have been no point.

Sara, who had shifted earlier to give herself better range, fell back from the front and signaled the rest of us to slow. She angled off the main trail into a small clearing barely wider than a campsite, hidden well with ferns and shaded by ancient pine.

Ghost Pack's version of a rest stop.

Jayne helped Jess ease to the ground near a low stone ledge. Jess curled inward again, back to the group, the pelt already settled in her lap before anyone could offer comment. Jayne sat beside her, silent and watchful, her posture a clear warning to anyone who might think to intrude.

Sara took point near the edge of the clearing, her eyes on the path behind us.

Alexis dropped her pack with practiced ease and crouched to check the water canisters. I lowered myself onto a fallen log, grateful for the break I'd just sworn I didn't need.

She passed me my water without a word, then opened her own.

"We're close now," she said, still watching the trees. "Another few miles, and we should hit the first ridge line of true Ghost Pack home turf.”

"Do you think anyone is following us?"

She hesitated. "Maybe? It won't really matter once we get close. I have four dozen in my pack, half drifters that move in and out, but an all-out attack on a den they don't know would be suicide. They would never even get close. We'd feel them on the wind. Ghost Pack doesn't miss when something shifts in their woods."

I looked up at the canopy, studying the way light shifted through ancient branches. It felt as if we were being watched. Not in the Hunter way, with its metallic scent of fear and silver, but something older and wilder.

"Did you ever regret leaving?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Alexis didn't answer immediately. She took a slow sip of water, then sat beside me, close enough that our knees brushed.

"No," she said. "It was the best thing for Maya and me right then. But sometimes I regretted staying gone."

Her eyes found mine. Golden and unflinching.

"Do you now?"

"Every day."

I hadn't meant to ask with such raw honesty, but once the words were out, I didn't take them back. The air between us was already too heavy with truth.

Alexis didn't smile. She didn't look away.

She just nodded, once. "Good."

I nodded, my throat tight. "Fine."

She smiled, a real smile, small but genuine, and it transformed her entire face. "You keep saying that."

We sat in comfortable quiet, side by side, the sounds of the forest weaving softly around us. Our wolves rested, drank, and whispered to themselves and the ancient trees that had seen countless stories unfold beneath their branches.

And ahead, the ridge waited.

* * *

We crested the final rise near dusk.

The air had changed again, not colder exactly, but thinner, as if the forest itself was holding its breath as we arrived. A threshold at the entrance of Ghost Pack's main territory.

We had traveled most of the afternoon as wolves as they were quicker, quieter, and most importantly, unable to engage in the conversations I wasn't sure I was ready for. The words I wanted to say kept trying to escape, but here, so far from my pack and my carefully controlled territory, I didn't know if I dared let them free. The wolf was simpler, safer.

Now, on the brink of our destination, we had shifted back to human form.

Alexis slowed first, her body tensing as her fresh dawned boots sank into the mossy earth. She crouched low, touched two fingers to a patch of exposed root, then glanced over her shoulder.

"This is it," she said. "We're on the edge."

The edge of what, she didn't need to specify.

I could feel it.

Even the trees looked different here. They were older, taller, bark darkened with age and moonlight. They weren't just woodland.

They were witnesses.

Jess stumbled again, and Jayne caught her with a steadying hand at the elbow, but Jess shrugged off the contact and kept walking. Her steps weren't fast, but they were determined, and they had gained urgency as we'd moved deeper into the mountains.

Sara was the only one who hadn't shifted back, her nose twitching slightly before she nodded toward our left flank.

"Spotted?" Jayne followed Sara's gaze, and the wolf nodded.

"By who?" I asked, though I already knew.

"Doesn't matter," Alexis said. "They won't engage unless you break a rule. And the only rule that matters this close is truth."

"Rules and truth?" I echoed.

"You step into Ghost Ridge with lies, the forest will eat you alive."

That didn't sound metaphorical, and at this point I didn't want to ask for clarification.

Jayne grunted. "Love the welcoming committee. So glad to be back in this area so soon."

We reached a break in the trees with no gates, no fence, just a path sloping down into a wide basin ringed with stone and shadow. Faint markers lined the trail, carved into old bark or left as bundles of tied herbs, barely visible unless you knew what to look for.

Alexis didn't pause.

Her posture changed as we descended, not quite taller, not quite more rigid, but different. The way someone looks when they put on an old coat and find it still fits better than anything else they own. Except the coat was authority, and here she was queen.

The pack followed, single file, silent.

I brought up the rear, letting my fingers graze the side of a worn trail marker, finding it smooth and faintly warm, as if it held memory.

The basin opened slowly as we descended, and in the fading light I could make out structures: stone buildings built low into the earth, with thick thatched roofs and smoke curling soft into the evening sky. Not many, maybe seven or eight. It wasn't built to accommodate large numbers, just the ones who chose to stay. Behind them, a mountain range that had its own opening of stone in the rocky wall. It was imposing but clearly the center of this court.

Ghost Pack didn't sprawl. It endured.

We crossed a small wooden bridge over a narrow stream, and that's when I felt it—the shift. Not from within me, but from the forest itself. A ripple, a heartbeat pressed to the earth that pounded in slow, measured beats with each step we took.

Alexis stopped.

"I know you're there," she said, not loud, not sharp. Just… certain.

A pause.

Then, with the fluid grace of a blade cutting through fabric, a figure stepped out from the tree line at the far edge of the basin.

Tall.

Built with the lean strength of someone who had never shed her predatory instincts, even in human skin. Dark braids over one shoulder. Gold rings in one ear. And those eyes cool, calculating, and already locked on Jess as if she could smell the trauma tangled in her soul.

Jewel.

I didn't need introductions to recognize the power that flowed from every deliberate movement, the authority that spoke to years of co-leadership and absolute competence.

Her gaze slid to Alexis, and whatever emotion flickered there didn't make it to her mouth.

She didn't speak.

Didn't ask questions.

She just stepped back, turning silently toward the heart of the settlement with the kind of measured movement that suggested we should follow without needing to be told.

CHAPTER 12

Ghost Ridge loomed above us like something carved from the mountain's memory of what stone should be. Raw granite and ancient pine, shadow pooling in the crevices where time had worn the rock smooth. Jagged edges stood sentry to the surrounding darkness of the trees, each outcropping positioned like a fortress wall that had grown from the earth itself rather than been built by hands. It was perfectly tucked into the mountains like it belonged there, and suddenly I felt more keenly that I didn’t.

This was Alexis's home, not mine.

The closer we drew, the more I understood why Ghost Pack had survived when so many others had fallen. This wasn't just a hideout. It was a fortress designed by someone who understood that sometimes the only way to stay alive was to become part of the landscape itself.

We approached as a unit, though unit was a generous word for what we looked like. Each of us was scraped, bruised, and bleeding energy from every angle. Jayne was carrying the worst of it, practically lifting Jess who refused to let go of the pelt she held like the only thing keeping her in this world. The fur caught what little light filtered through the canopy, silver and dark grey against the growing dusk, and I could smell the grief radiating from both women like a physical thing. Sara moved ahead without speaking, but her wolf-sharp eyes kept scanning the edges, ever on guard. Even here, even approaching safety, she couldn't let down her vigilance.

None of us could.

Alexis looked like she didn't have a care in the world, surveying the land like a queen returning to her kingdom as we came around the last bend and the hidden entrance came into view—half covered by rockfall, moss trailing down the sides. But I caught the subtle shift in her posture, the way her shoulders relaxed by degrees as familiar scents reached her.

Home.

She was coming home, and her body knew it even if her mind stayed alert. There was no gate, no wall. Just a flat slab of reinforced stone and two sentries who emerged from the trees like the forest had spat them out to greet us.

The sentries moved with the fluid grace of wolves who'd learned to hunt Hunters, each step calculated to make no sound on the forest floor. They wore dark clothing that blended with bark and shadow, and their eyes held the kind of cold assessment that came from knowing that everyone who approached could be an enemy until proven otherwise.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

One of them was already reaching for the inner panel by the time they recognized Alexis. The other simply nodded, sharp and clean, her eyes sliding briefly over the rest of us before dropping to the pack symbol stitched into Alexis's shoulder. I watched the exchange, noted how the sentry's stance shifted from wary to respectful in the space of a heartbeat. This wasn't fear-based deference. This was earned loyalty.

I watched them both carefully. Ghost Pack was different from Mayfield. These weren't rescued wolves learning how to be wild again. These were wolves who'd never forgotten. Who had fought against all odds and lived. These wolves carried their anger like armor, and in their fury they'd found the strength to keep breathing when breathing should have been impossible. They reminded me of Alexis in her younger days, all sharp edges and barely contained violence, but tempered now by experience and loss.

The sentry stepped aside, but not before I caught her studying me with the kind of thorough assessment that catalogued threats and weaknesses in equal measure. Ghost Pack might follow Alexis without question, but they weren't going to extend that trust to her guests automatically.

The second sentry stepped aside and Alexis tilted her head toward the door. "This way." She didn't say welcome. It was clear no one here would. This wasn't a place that offered comfort to strangers, it offered survival to those strong enough to earn it.

Inside, the air was warmer, dry and cut with pine smoke. The change in temperature was immediate and welcome, carrying with it the scents of home-cooked food and weapon oil, leather and stone. Someone was cooking meat somewhere deeper in the complex, and the smell made my stomach clench with sudden hunger. The walls were carved into the stone itself, lined with old mineral veins and hanging lanterns that glowed faint and low, casting long shadows.

We followed a tunnel barely wide enough for two, our footsteps muffled on worn the smooth stone. No sound echoed. The walls seemed to absorb sound, creating a hush that felt both protective and slightly unsettling. This was a place built for secrets. You either belonged or you didn't.

I found myself cataloguing defensive positions automatically, noting the narrow passages that would force attackers into single file, the way the lanterns were positioned to create blind spots that defenders could use. Every inch of this place had been designed by someone who understood warfare on an intimate level.

Alexis led without turning, her posture tall, command folded into every step. Her movements had changed since we'd entered her territory. She moved with more confidence here, more certainty. This was her domain, and every wolf in these tunnels knew it. I felt it again, that recognition that deep down she was so fundamentally different than the pregnant wolf who had left Mayfield. She was made for this. For wild places. For shadowed halls and sharp decisions. For wolves who followed because they trusted her with their lives, not their fears.

The Alexis I'd known had been fierce, yes, but she'd also been soft in places that mattered. This version had been honed by necessity into something harder, more dangerous. I wasn't sure if that made me proud or heartbroken.

Ghost Pack may not have been warm, but they were hers. And she… was still mine.

The thought landed like a stone in my chest, sending ripples across everything I thought I understood. I looked at these wolves, each lowering their eyes and inclining their heads to bare their necks to her as she passed. Total submission, and yet she wasn't requiring it. It was given freely. Respect could be a dangerous thing when given to the wrong person, but it was also an unstoppable weapon when given to the right one.

I'd built Mayfield on protection and healing, on giving wolves a place to recover from trauma and find peace. Alexis had built Ghost Pack on something else entirely. She had built it on the understanding that some wounds never healed, but could be transformed into weapons against those who'd caused them. Both approaches had merit, but watching her wolves, I wondered which of us had chosen the more sustainable path.

When we entered the main hall, Jewel was already waiting, having materialized from the shadows as we'd approached. She stood with her arms crossed, a woman carved from granite and resolve, her hair pulled back severely and her dark eyes missing nothing. Scars traced pale lines along her exposed forearms. She didn't move toward Alexis. Just studied us: her Alpha, then Jess, then all of us.

The main hall opened up around us, carved from a natural cave but reinforced with timber and stone work. More lanterns hung here, casting warm light over rough-hewn furniture and weapon racks. Maps covered one wall, marked with symbols and routes I didn't recognize. This was clearly the tactical heart of Ghost Pack operations.

Alexis gave a quiet nod. Not submission. Not an apology. Just recognition. The gesture spoke of a partnership built on mutual respect. Jewel wasn't just a second, she was a trusted friend whose opinion mattered.

Jewel's gaze flicked to me briefly, measured, cold, and then locked onto Jess. I felt the weight of that assessment, knew I was being catalogued and filed away for future reference. Jewel would remember every detail of this encounter, would know exactly how much of a threat or asset I might prove to be. She stepped forward.

Jess flinched, but didn't look away. Her knuckles had gone white where they gripped the pelt, and I could smell her fear mixing with grief and exhaustion. But there was something else there too… a desperate relief. The pelt remained clutched tight in her arms.

Jewel stopped a foot away and reached out, not to touch Jess, but the fur. Her expression softened almost imperceptibly, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the woman beneath the warrior. She knew loss. They all did. Her hand hovered for a breath. Two. I held my own breath, watching this delicate negotiation between broken hearts.

Then Jess let go.

Just a little.

Just enough.

Jewel took it, held it, cradling the pelt with the reverence due to the dead, and turned without a word. She walked away down the left corridor.

The ritual felt ancient, sacred. Jewel carried that pelt like she was carrying a fallen warrior home, and maybe that's exactly what she was doing. Maybe that's what Ghost Pack understood that the rest of us were still learning. That the dead deserved honor, not just grief.

Jess stood shaking, empty-handed, until Jayne nudged her forward. "Follow her." Her voice was gentle but firm.

Jess stumbled after Jewel, her movements jerky with exhaustion and emotion. But she went, and that was what mattered. Sometimes survival was just about putting one foot in front of the other until you found solid ground again.

Alexis turned to me, her face unreadable. "My quarters are this way. You can clean the wound properly there." It wasn't phrased as an invitation. But it felt like one.

The words hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us was ready to voice. Her quarters. Not the medical bay, not a guest room. Her private space, the sanctuary she'd carved out in this mountain fortress.

I nodded, my voice not quite ready. My throat had gone dry, and I wasn't sure if it was from pain or anticipation or the simple weight of being alone with her after all these years. She waited. And when I followed, I did so with the strange, heavy ache of someone stepping not into shelter—but into history. And something even deeper still.

The corridor narrowed as we moved deeper, stone giving way to smoother walls, reinforced supports carved into the mountain's ribs. The air grew even warmer here, heated by thermal vents that had been cleverly channeled to provide climate control.

Behind us, I could hear the soft murmur of voices as the main hall settled back into its evening routine. Someone laughed, a rough, genuine sound that spoke of wolves who'd found something worth protecting in each other. Ghost Pack might not be warm in the way Mayfield was, but they had their own bonds, forged in fire and blood and shared purpose.

Jewel turned to the left, leading Jess down a darkening passage and out of sight. I silently wished them both well, hoping Jess could find comfort here among these warriors who had all obviously lost something and were fighting to get it back.

“The main kitchen is that way, go get some food and have one of the wolves there show you the main guest bunks.” Alexis said, pointing Jayne and Sara down the opposite path.

Neither woman argued, both turning to nod their heads in farewell before heading towards the scents of food and comfort that they had earned.

Alexis walked a half step ahead, but her hand drifted back once. Just once. To brush against mine. A question. A reassurance. The contact sent electricity up my arm, and I had to bite back a sound that would have given away too much. I kept pace.

Her fingers were calloused now, rougher than I remembered. These were hands that had learned to kill, to build, to survive. But they were still gentle when they touched me, still careful in a way that made my chest tight with memory and longing.

When we stopped, it wasn't at a communal bunk or shared den. It was a door. Real wood. A handle wrapped in dark leather worn soft with years. The wood was old oak, scarred but solid, and someone had carved protective symbols along the frame. Not magical ones, but the kind of marks wolves made to claim territory and ward off threats. She pushed it open and stepped aside to let me in first.

The gesture was deliberate, I realized. By letting me enter first, it was a welcome and not a command.

The room was everything I would have expected from the warrior she had become. Sparse, but lived in. A simple bed tucked into the corner, blankets folded with military precision. The bed was larger than I'd expected. Not quite big enough for two, but not exactly single either. A compromise between practicality and the possibility of companionship. A low shelf lined with field books, a combat pack slung carelessly on a hook. The books were worn, their spines cracked from frequent use. Tactical manuals, maps, what looked like a journal bound in dark leather. A cracked ceramic cup sat by a small basin.

The scent hit me immediately, familiar and achingly intimate. Wild pine, old leather, and something clean underneath.

Alexis.

And the faintest trace of Maya. The sweet, slightly wild scent of a young wolf coming into her power.

But there was something else too, something that made my wolf prick her ears with interest. No other wolves. No other scents that spoke of intimacy or shared space despite the bed’s awkward size. For all the years we'd been apart, for all the ways she'd changed, Alexis had kept this space to herself.

She moved past me without comment, setting down her bag and reaching for the fire starter nearby. Her movements were efficient, practiced. She'd lit this fire countless times, had made this room into a refuge from the harsh realities of pack leadership. Within seconds, a flame sparked to life in the small hearth. It cast everything in a golden glow that softened the edges of stone and scar alike.

The firelight transformed the space, making it feel less like a military barracks and more like a home. Shadows danced across the walls, and the warmth began to chase away the mountain chill that had settled in my bones.

"You can sit," she said, already pulling out a fresh cloth and a flask of alcohol. "The beds sturdier than it looks, I promise.”

I sank onto it, kicking off my boots and pulling my pants off while hissing as my thigh protested the shift in weight. The mattress was firmer than I'd expected, supportive without being uncomfortable. Military issue, probably, but broken in by years of use. The bandage had dark smudges blotting it, the wound broken open from the hike.

She knelt beside me again, just as she had before, but this time, we were alone. No one watching. No one hovering in the background with grief or waiting for orders.

Just us. And the ache we both carried in different places.

The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken words. There was so much we needed to say, so much we'd left unfinished. But for now, there was just this, her hands on my leg.

Alexis slid her hands gently over my leg, unwrapping the bandage with the kind of reverence that made me forget how to breathe. Her fingers were deft but slow. Purposeful.

"Still red," she murmured. "But no streaking though. The infection's staying put."

"Lovely," I muttered. "Glad I'm rotting in place instead of on the move."

She gave a soft snort. "Rotting gracefully."

"I try."

The banter felt natural, easy. Despite everything that had changed, despite the years and the pain and the distance, we still knew how to talk to each other. Still knew how to find humor in dark places.

Her hands paused at the edge of the wound. I looked down to find her staring. Not at the gash, but at the skin around it. At a place where an old scar curved in the shape of a crescent moon.

That scar. I'd almost forgotten it was there, had grown so accustomed to its presence that it had become part of my landscape. But I remembered now the hunt that had given it to me, remembered the way Alexis had kissed it better afterward, claimed it as hers.

Her thumb brushed it. "You still have this."

I blinked. "Scars tend to stick, Alexis."

"No, I mean—" She stopped herself, then smiled faintly. "I just thought… I don't know. Maybe it would've faded by now. So much from back then as faded.”

Her voice carried a weight I didn't immediately understand. This wasn't just about the scar, it was about permanence, about the marks we left on each other that time couldn't erase.

I looked at her then, really looked. The firelight caught the planes of her face, made her look younger and older all at once. Her hair had fallen loose again around her face, streaks of silver curling at her jaw. New lines mapped the corners of her eyes, the brackets around her mouth.

But she was still beautiful.

"You think time erases everything?" I asked.

"I hoped it might," she said, pressing the cloth to the wound again. "Just enough to stop this from hurting."

"It never did."

The words hung between us, stark and honest. We weren't just talking about the scar anymore, and we both knew it.

She stayed quiet for a long moment, and I was beginning to think she wasn't going to answer when she sighed, "I know."

"So this is all yours, huh?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light as she moved to douse the wound with more antiseptic. I hissed, gritting my teeth to keep my words light, "I'm glad to see they pay you well. Such lavish furnishings.”

She glanced up at me, her eyes rolling before focusing again on her work. "I just needed the basics. Some of the others have huge, frilly beds, Jewel being one of them." She looked up at me, her meaning clear. Jewel's quarters would be more than large enough for her, Jess, and the weight of grief they both carried. "But for me, I rarely stay in here, so why bother?"

The admission hit me harder than it should have. She rarely stayed in her own room. Where did she sleep? In the common areas? On patrol? Or did she simply not sleep much at all?

I didn't ask where she stayed, but my heart clenched with the need to find out if there was another lover. Someone else Maya would look at with love instead of the careful distance I'd seen in her eyes when she looked at me. Someone whose bed her mother shared on the nights when she couldn't bear to be alone with her thoughts.

But the room smelled only of her. If there was someone else, they didn't live here, didn't leave their scent on her sheets or their belongings on her shelves. The thought brought relief I had no right to feel.

She finished cleaning the wound in silence, her fingers lingering just a second too long against my thigh before she reached for a clean wrap.

Her touch burned, even through the clinical necessity of medical care. My skin seemed hypersensitive wherever she made contact, awakening nerve endings that had been dormant for so many years. It was maddening and intoxicating and deeply unsettling all at once.

This time, I placed my hand over hers.

"You don't have to keep treating me like I'm breakable," I said. "I'm still here."

Her skin was warm under mine, and I could feel the slight tremor that ran through her fingers at the contact. Whatever composure she was projecting, she wasn't as unaffected as she pretended to be.

Her voice was quiet. "I don't do it because you're breakable. I do it because I remember how strong you are and what it costs you to stay that way. Someone has to force you to rest, or you'll just keep going until you collapse."

The words carried the weight of years spent watching me push myself past reasonable limits. She'd seen me at my worst and best, had held me through both.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

So instead, I leaned forward. Just enough to rest my forehead against hers.

Not a kiss. Not quite.

But a bridge.

The contact was electric, familiar and foreign all at once. This close, I could see the silver threaded through her lashes, could count the tiny freckles that dust had never quite covered. She smelled like pine and leather and something indefinably her that made my wolf whine to hold her now that she was this close.

And when her hand found the side of my jaw, thumb brushing gently over my cheek, I let it happen, hoping she didn't notice how my jaw trembled at the soft touch.

Not because I was fine. But because, with her, I didn't have to be.

Her thumb traced patterns on my skin, relearning the geography of my face. I wondered what changes she found there, what new lines and scars told the story of the years we'd spent apart.

Her breath warmed the space between us. Not a word passed between our lips, but something shifted in the room. The air grew thinner, charged with possibility. Her thumb swept slow against my cheek again, this time not as reassurance, but as memory.

"You used to look at me like this," she said, voice low, barely a breath. "Back when we still thought we had time. Back when we thought we could take on the world together."

The words transported me back to nights spent curled together in my old bed, whispering plans and promises in the dark. We'd been so young then, so certain that love would be enough to overcome any obstacle.

My throat closed, the words caught there like ash.

"I still do," I whispered, because I wasn't sure if it was a confession or a curse. "That's why I'm here."

The admission hung between us, raw and honest. I was here not just because of the crisis, not just because Ghost Pack needed Mayfield's help, because the truth was they didn’t. I was here because the years hadn't been enough to kill what lived between us.

She exhaled, a sound that wasn't relief. It was weight. The gravity of everything we'd never said. Everything we'd buried beneath duty and grief and pretending that survival was enough.

Her hand slipped away, and I struggled not to let tears follow.

"I should finish the bandage," she said, but her hands didn't move.

The excuse was flimsy and we both knew it. The bandage could wait. Hell, the wound could probably wait. But the conversation we were dancing around? That felt urgent in a way that made my chest tight with anxiety.

I caught her wrist gently, not tight. Just enough to make her stay.

"I didn't know how to need you," I said, forcing the words through the ache in my chest. "Not then. I was young, hurt, and angry. I thought if I could just keep everyone else safe, become the Alpha they needed… I kept thinking if I just held everything together long enough, I'd earn the right to ask you to stay. Or maybe I wouldn't have to ask, maybe you would see that fighting wasn't always the answer."

The words felt like they were being torn out of me, years of regret finally given voice. I'd replayed that last conversation a thousand times, wondered what I could have said differently, what I could have done to make her stay.

"You never had to earn that," she said, eyes flashing. "I stayed as long as I could in that stillness, Lydia. But I was growing, changing, and that place wasn't. I couldn't stay. Not with the blood, not with the silence, not with Maya on the way and no space left to breathe. There was no freedom there, held so tightly to you and safety.”

Her voice carried its own pain, its own regret. She hadn't left because she'd stopped loving me. She'd left because staying would have killed something essential in her, would have turned her into someone neither of us could have lived with.

I nodded slowly, jaw tight. "I know. I do."

And I did know, had known even then. But knowing something and accepting it were two very different things. It had taken me years to stop being angry about her choice, even longer to understand it.

A beat passed. She looked down at our hands, still touching, and then her voice softened, almost tender.

"I tried to hate you for not coming after me," she said. "Tried so hard."

The confession hit me like a physical blow. She'd wanted me to follow. Had waited, hoped, maybe even expected me to chase after her. And I'd been too proud, too hurt, too convinced that I needed to respect her choice.

I smiled, bitter and small. "I hated myself for letting you go."

The truth of it sat between us, jagged and painful. We'd both been so young, so certain that we were making the right choices. But youth and certainty were cold comfort when you woke up alone.

She looked up, and in that moment, everything that had once cracked between us started to hum again. Not healed, but alive. Awake. A connection with teeth and longing and history too deep to drown. I felt it pulling at threads I had thought were long frayed.

The air between us seemed to vibrate with possibility, with all the words we'd never said and all the touches we'd denied ourselves. This was dangerous territory, but I was tired of being safe.

"I've never brought anyone into this room since I left Mayfield," she said, pulling gently from my grip to finish the bandage. “Except for Maya. I couldn't imagine sharing my space. Not until now."

The admission sent heat racing through my veins.

"You don't have to," I said, even as my heart raced. "I can find a place. A mat, a den, whatever's customary."

The words felt like lies even as I spoke them. I didn't want to sleep somewhere else, didn't want to spend another night separated from her by walls and distance and how many years of stubborn pride.

Her fingers lingered at the edge of the cloth. She didn't meet my eyes as she whispered, "Stay."

It wasn't an order.

It wasn't a plea.

It was the thread stretched between us, thin and dangerous and unbearably real.

That single word carried the weight of everything we'd lost and everything we might still be able to salvage. It was an invitation and a risk and a leap of faith all wrapped up in four letters.

I let out a slow breath. "Okay."

And for a moment, that was all there was. Not the Hunters. Not the pack. Not even the wound beneath the bandage. Just her reaching for me again, in that quiet, stubborn way she always had.

Outside, I could hear the distant sounds of Ghost Pack settling in for the night: quiet conversations, the clink of weapons being cleaned, the soft pad of feet on stone. But here, in this small room carved from living rock, there was only us.

The flame in the hearth cracked softly behind us. Her fingers stilled on my leg. Her body leaned closer.

I didn't stop her.

Didn't want to.

My pulse hammered against my throat, loud enough that I was sure she could hear it. Every nerve ending seemed to spark with electricity, hyperaware of her proximity, her scent, the way her breathing had changed.

Her breath ghosted across my lips, and I could taste the moment before it happened. It lived in the way her hand slid up, cupping the side of my face like it was something precious, something remembered. Her thumb brushed just beneath my eye, as if to wipe away a tear I hadn't let fall.

This close, I could see the gold flecks in her green eyes, could map the geography of changes that years had written on her face. She was beautiful, had always been beautiful, but now there was something else there too. Strength. Certainty. The kind of bone-deep confidence that came from surviving the unsurvivable.

And then she kissed me.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't slow.

It was a crash. A violent collision of mouths that spoke everything we hadn't dared to say for years. Her lips parted mine with a desperate, hungry certainty that made me forget the ache in my leg, the war we still had to fight, the years that had separated us like jagged cliffs.

The kiss tasted like desperation and longing and the kind of hunger that had been building for decades. It was fierce and demanding and absolutely devastating in its intensity.

I kissed her back with teeth. With guilt. With the low, guttural sound of grief and want tangled in my throat.

My wolf growled and hers answered, deep and savage. The sound reverberated through both of us, primitive and claiming.

Her hands threaded into my hair, pulling just enough to tilt my head, to drink deeper. My fingers curled around her shirt, fisting the fabric like I could anchor myself in it. Like I could keep her from vanishing again.

She was solid and real under my hands, warm and alive and here. After all the years of dreams and memories and the phantom ache of missing her, she was actually here, kissing me like the world was ending and this was our last chance to get it right.

She tasted like ash and fire and something else I hadn't let myself crave in a long time.

Home.

Not the building I'd constructed or the territory I'd claimed, but this, her mouth on mine, her hands in my hair, the way she made soft sounds when I bit her lower lip. This was what I'd been missing, what I'd tried to replace with duty and responsibility and the endless work of keeping other wolves safe.

We broke apart only when our lungs screamed for air, foreheads pressed together, panting, raw.

My lips felt swollen, tender. I could taste her on my tongue, could smell her arousal mixing with mine to create something intoxicating and utterly familiar. My body still remembered exactly how to respond to her.

"I'm still angry," I whispered, voice cracking. "Still hurt."

"I know," she breathed. "Me too."

The honesty of it was devastating.

We were both damaged, both carrying wounds that might never fully heal. But maybe that was okay. Maybe love wasn't about being whole. Maybe it was about finding someone who could love your broken pieces.

"But I never stopped loving you."

Her eyes closed as if the words struck something inside her, old and deep.

I watched her face, saw the way my confession hit her like a physical blow. Her breathing hitched, and for a moment she looked younger, more vulnerable. This was the Alexis I remembered, the woman beneath the armor.

"I used to wake up reaching for you," she said, voice trembling. "For months. And then one night, I didn't. And it broke me worse than the leaving ever did."

The admission gutted me. All those nights I'd lain awake wondering if she missed me, if she ever thought about what we'd lost, and she'd been doing the same thing. We'd been grieving the same loss from opposite sides of an ocean of pride and stubbornness.

I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers again, this time slower. Not urgent. Not rough. This was the promise. Not of healing, I couldn't promise that, but of trying.

She pushed her forehead against mine, her breath unsteady, her fingers still curled in my hair. "Stay tonight."

"I thought I already said yes."

The words came out rougher than I'd intended, thick with want and wonder and the disbelief that this was actually happening. We were here, together, choosing each other again.

She pulled back enough to look at me, her eyes dark with something more than heat. It was need, memory, and no small amount of mourning. There was no wolf there, just the woman beneath.

And love.

There was love.

It was there in the way she looked at me, in the careful reverence of her touch, in the way she'd opened her most private space to me. Love that had survived abandonment and silence and years of trying to pretend it didn't exist.

Then she reached behind her, yanked the thin blanket from the end of the cot, and pulled me into the warmth of her chest, like she didn't care who we used to be, only that we were still here.

The blanket smelled like her, carried the warmth of her body and the scent of home. She wrapped it around both of us, creating a cocoon of heat and intimacy that shut out the rest of the world.

And if the way she held me spoke of forgiveness and ruin, of everything we still had left to survive, I let it.

Her arms were strong around me, solid and protective in a way that made me feel smaller than I had in years. For once, I didn't have to be the one holding everything together. For once, I could just be held.

I wasn’t Alpha here and that was ok.

Because this time, I wasn't going to run. And neither was she.

We had too much to lose now, too much we'd already lost, to waste this second chance. Whatever came next: the Hunters, the war, the complicated politics of merging our lives again, we'd face it together.

Outside, Ghost Ridge settled into the rhythm of night watch: quiet footsteps in distant corridors, the soft murmur of voices checking in with sentries, the comforting sounds of a pack that knew how to survive. But here, wrapped in her arms with the firelight painting gold across the stone walls, I felt something I hadn't experienced in twenty years.

Peace.

Not the careful, constructed peace of Mayfield. This was something rawer, more fundamental. The peace of coming home to yourself, of finding the missing piece you hadn't even realized you'd been searching for.

She shifted slightly, settling us both more comfortably on the narrow cot, and I felt rather than heard her laugh against my hair.

"What?" I murmured, not wanting to break the spell but curious.

"I was just thinking," she said, her voice soft and slightly wondering, "about how many times I imagined this. Different versions, different ways it might happen. But never... never quite like this."

I knew what she meant. In my fantasies, reunion had always been dramatic. Grand gestures and passionate declarations, or bitter confrontations that ended in explosive reconciliation. I'd never imagined it would be this quiet, this gentle.

"Better or worse than you pictured?" I asked, tilting my head to look at her.

Her hand came up to cup my cheek again, thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "Better. Definitely better. You're..." She paused, searching for words. "You're more yourself than I remembered. More settled. Like you finally figured out who you were supposed to be. Right here. Right now.”

The observation caught me off guard, mainly because it felt true. Somewhere in the years since she'd left, I had found my footing as an Alpha, had learned to lead with compassion instead of just strength. But I'd never thought about becoming more myself, but myself had just never felt real.

"Funny," I said, "I was thinking the same thing about you. You always had this... intensity. This fire. But now it feels focused. Purposeful."

“Years of war will do that to you." Her voice carried a note of darkness, but not bitterness. Just acknowledgment. "I learned how to channel the anger instead of just burning with it."

We fell quiet again, content to exist in this bubble of warmth and intimacy while the mountain night deepened around us. Her breathing gradually slowed, though I could tell she wasn't truly relaxed. Old habits died hard, and even here in her sanctuary, part of her was still listening for threats.

"Maya," I said eventually, the name slipping out before I could stop it.

She went very still against me, and I felt the careful walls rebuilding themselves in real time. This was dangerous territory, her daughter, the secret that had lived between us like a blade for almost two decades.

"What about her?"

Her voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the tension underneath. This was the conversation we'd been avoiding, the one that held the power to shatter this fragile peace we'd built.

"She looks like you," I said softly. "But she has my stubborn streak."

A beat of silence. Then, unexpectedly, Alexis laughed. A real laugh, surprised and delighted.

"Goddess help us all," she said. "Your stubborn streak and my temper? That poor girl never had a chance."

The joke broke something open between us, dissolved some of the tension that had been building. We could do this. We could talk about Maya, and everything else, without it destroying us. Maybe.

"She's strong," I continued, emboldened by her response. "Stronger than either of us were at her age. And smart. She sees things, understands connections that most wolves miss."

"She gets that from you." Alexis's voice was soft, full of something that might have been pride. "The strategic thinking, the ability to see the bigger picture. Doesn’t matter you aren’t genetically a part of her. A part of you was still somehow always there.” She was quiet for a moment, and when she continued, her voice was full of warmth and memory. "Her first shift was... incredible. She was so controlled, even at thirteen. Most young wolves panic, but Maya just... accepted it. Like she'd been waiting her whole life to finally be complete." She smiled against my hair. "She adapted to pack life here like she was born to it. Learned to track, to fight, to move through the forest like a ghost. But she also questions everything, challenges assumptions, looks for better ways to do things."

I felt a complex mix of emotions hearing about all the moments I'd missed, all the milestones I hadn't been there for. But underneath the loss was fierce pride. Our daughter had grown into someone remarkable.

"She's been asking more questions lately," Alexis continued, her voice growing thoughtful. "About the world outside Ghost Pack territory. About different ways wolves choose to live. She's never known anything but war, but I think she's starting to wonder what peace might look like."

The admission hit me hard. Maya had grown up knowing only conflict, raised in a world where survival meant constant vigilance. She'd never experienced the kind of sanctuary I'd tried to build at Mayfield.

"I never wanted that for her," I said, voice thick with regret. "Every child should have the chance to grow up safe."

"She is safe," Alexis said firmly. "Different kind of safe than what you've built, but safe. She's strong, capable, dangerous when she needs to be. But..." She paused, and I could feel her choosing her words carefully. "I wonder sometimes what she might have been like if she'd had the choice. If she'd grown up somewhere she could afford to be gentle."

The weight of that hypothetical sat between us. Maya had been shaped by necessity, forged into a weapon before she'd had the chance to discover what else she might want to be.

"She's still young," I offered. "Still time for her to choose her own path."

"Maybe," Alexis said. "But first we have to survive long enough to give her that choice."

The conversation turned darker, reminding us both of the immediate threats we faced. But there was something else there too, a shared understanding that whatever happened between us, Maya's future mattered more than our past.

"Do you think..." I stopped, then forced myself to continue. "When this is over, when the Hunters are dealt with... do you think she'd be interested in staying at Mayfield? Not for a long time, just to… understand that there are different ways to build a pack?"

The question felt dangerous, loaded with implications I wasn't ready to voice. But I needed to ask, needed to know if there was any possibility of our worlds connecting, no matter what that looked like.

Alexis was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe," she said finally. "She's curious about other packs, other ways of living. But it would have to be her choice. I won't push her toward anything she's not ready for."

I nodded, understanding.

"I'd like that," I said simply. "When she's ready."

We fell quiet again, but it felt different now, less fraught, more settled. Outside, I could hear the night sounds of the mountain: wind through pine boughs, the distant call of an owl, the soft rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. Safe sounds. Peaceful sounds.

The fire had burned lower while we talked, casting longer shadows and filling the room with the warm, drowsy scent of burning wood. My eyelids felt heavy, and I realized that for the first time in weeks, I felt truly safe. Not just physically safe, but emotionally protected. Like I could let my guard down without worrying that everything would fall apart in my absence.

"Sleep," Alexis murmured, as if she could read my thoughts. “We are safe here, Jewel will let us know if we are needed.”

It was such a simple thing, the offer to let someone else carry the burden of vigilance for a few hours. But it felt revolutionary. For years, I'd been the one keeping watch, the one making sure everyone else could rest safely. To have someone offer to do the same for me was overwhelming in its tenderness.

“How’s your leg?"

I'd almost forgotten about the wound, distracted by more pressing concerns. Now that she mentioned it, I could feel the dull throb of healing tissue, but it was manageable. Certainly not enough to keep me awake.

"It's fine," I said. "Better than it has been."

She made a skeptical noise but didn't argue. Instead, she shifted again, arranging us so that my injured leg was supported and comfortable, her body curled protectively around mine.

"Sleep, Lydia," she said again, and this time it sounded like a promise. "I'll keep the monsters away."

I wanted to argue, to insist that I didn't need protecting, that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, I let myself sink into the warmth of her embrace, let the sound of her steady breathing lull me toward sleep.

For the first time in so many years, I wasn't alone.

And for tonight, that was enough.

CHAPTER 13

The hearth had burned to embers in just over an hour, the few logs that had fueled it now the last remnants of the last time its owner had been home.

I stretched slow, careful of the bandages and the dull throb still buried in my thigh. The pain was manageable. The silence, less so.

The careful distance Alexis had put between us since waking felt more jarring than the wound itself.

Alexis stood with her back to me, already dressed in a fresh set of clothes that included dark cargo pants, a base layer shirt tucked neatly beneath a harness strapped tight across her chest featuring a small hunting knife. She was pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail, all business, every movement sharp with purpose.

It was hard to look away. The knife strap cut across her chest, hugging every curve as it caught the dying light with a touch of menace. It looked odd, to see a wolf carrying a weapon, but it fit her. The blade was more a queen’s scepter than a blade to be used in combat. She had other tools for that. And she did look like a queen. Here in the heart of her territory, her power practically oozed from her, giving her eyes a constant golden glow that warmed her features even as it sharpened them. She looked ethereal in the muted fire light, ageless, and I ached for what could have been.

There was no trace of last night in her posture.

No softness. No hesitation.

Just the woman I had no doubt could command a battlefield with her eyes and a single word.

Maybe that was necessary. Maybe we had needed the reprieve, needed the flame between us to burn away some of the weight. But the weight was back now. The war between the Hunters and the wolves hadn't paused for us to breathe.

I pushed upright, biting down on the flare of heat in my leg.

Alexis glanced back once, assessing. "You good to walk?"

"I'm not staying behind."

"I didn't ask if you were."

I met her eyes. There was no challenge there. Just understanding. Maybe even something softer beneath it. The same tenderness that had made her whisper my name like a prayer in the dark, that had made her trace every scar on my body like she was relearning a map she'd never forgotten. But whatever had passed between us in the quiet had been folded up and placed in a box, at least for now.

I tested my weight, fire blazing through my hips. "I don't need a wheelchair if that is what you are offering."

Her brow arched. "Good because we don't have one.”

She slung her finished ponytail over one shoulder and crossed to the door, pausing only long enough to grab the tablet Jewel had at one point slipped in to deliver with updated terrain scans.

"We'll meet in the command chamber," she said. "Time to catch up."

She didn't offer a hand. She didn't need to, and I wouldn't have taken it anyway. We both understood the rules had shifted back to business.

Though if I was being honest, I would have taken it. Would have threaded our fingers together and pretended, just for a moment, that we were still the women who'd fallen asleep wrapped around each other.

Almost mates, instead of ex.

I stood carefully, trying not to wince as my weight settled on the injured leg. Fire blazed up through my hips, but I managed what, I hoped, was merely a pained smile as I pulled my pants back up over my undies and shrugged into a sweater that had been laid out. "Lead the way."

I followed her out into the cool hall, the scent of stone and pine still clinging to the walls. It should have been pleasant, comforting even. But Ghost Ridge wasn't home to me.

The corridor curved ahead in gentle slopes, a modern marvel carved directly into the mountainside. The walls were raw and jagged in places, like the bones of some ancient beast that had been hollowed out to make space for the pack. Ghost Pack wolves passed us in twos and threes, heads tilted in quiet deference, though never to me. They were careful not to even look in my direction.

Their eyes tracked Alexis alone. Sharp nods. Soft murmurs. Respect born not of rank but earned in blood and fire. I might have once bristled at it. Now, I just felt the weight of it press tighter against my ribs.

She didn't slow for them. Didn't acknowledge the stares or the whispers. Her steps were steady, precise. A commander on patrol through her castle, unshaken even when the walls bled.

She was their Alpha.

And watching her move through this space with such absolute authority, I felt the old familiar pull in my chest, pride, desire, and something deeper, that the years hadn't managed to kill. This was the woman I'd fallen in love with, grown beyond anything I could have imagined. I followed at half a pace behind, my thigh screaming with every turn. But I didn't ask her to wait.

The hall narrowed before opening into a larger chamber, the ceiling rising into a jagged dome blackened by soot and time. I caught the scent of ash and cedar before we entered, the soft crackle of a low-burning fire already breaking the silence ahead.

Alexis stepped through the threshold without pause. I hesitated for a beat, just long enough to square my shoulders and tuck the ache away. Then I crossed in after her.

Jewel was already inside, hunched over the table in the center of the room, arms braced as if the map beneath her might slip free and escape. Her hair was pulled back into what I was starting to believe was her signature rough braid, loose strands clinging to the sweat at her temples. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Whatever she'd learned or wherever she had been with Jess, it hadn't been easy. Or restful.

Tactical maps lined the walls, hand-drawn sectors overlaid with pinned scraps of cloth and marked in scent and ink. There was a single, 5-cup coffee maker sitting stranded on the far table, forgotten. The space was utilitarian, brutal even. Built for decisions, not comfort.

Alexis strode directly to the center of the room, stopping on the other side of the table from Jewel. No greeting. No preamble.

"Report," she said.

Jewel didn't flinch. She looked up, jaw tight, then tapped a location on the map with two fingers. "Northern ridge. Three sightings in the last two days. Confirmed patrols. They're not bothering to hide anymore."

Alexis didn't respond, just followed her second's finger as she continued.

"One of ours caught one baiting a patrol line with silver powder. Young. Cocky. We brought him in alive."

That pulled my attention sharply. Even I knew alive was rare.

Jewel's fingers hovered over a pin marked with soot. "He cracked after four hours. Said they've been given new orders. 'Clear the dens.' Not observe. Not report. Not capture. Clear."

I stepped closer, bracing a hand on the edge of the table. "That's a purge order."

Jewel nodded. "And it gets worse. We intercepted chatter about a mobile tech unit. Scanners. Maybe drones. Headed toward Mayfield. They've been moving slowly, like they're waiting for confirmation before striking."

A cold weight settled in my gut. "Mayfield…”

"Unmarked vans. High-end comms gear. Thermal mapping." Her voice dropped. "The vans can trace residual scent trails if they've upgraded, or if anyone's patrolled through the tracking powder we bet they are laying down. The thermal imaging picks up body heat signatures through walls, and the newer scanners can differentiate between human and wolf heat patterns. If they get close enough to Mayfield's perimeter, they'll know exactly how many wolves you're housing and where they sleep."

Behind us, footsteps padded into the room. Jayne and Sara entered together, clearly wind-chapped but alert. Alexis lifted a hand, a silent command to stay back. They obeyed, moving to the side wall and falling still.

Jewel glanced at them, then back to the map. "We're still not a target. Not directly. They know our mountain is almost as well guarded as theirs. But they're watching us harder than usual. The phone lines have been out since you left."

I traced a finger along the ridge line, where Ghost Pack's borders met the open wilderness. "That's why you and Jess had to use comms? The phone lines?"

She nodded but didn't elaborate. It made sense. This far out, cellular coverage would be spotty at best.

"This was never about Ghost Ridge," Alexis said, one hand smoothing the wrinkles from her brow.

"Maybe not," Jewel said. "But we're not untouched either."

She reached down, pulled a second sheet from beneath the map, and spread it flat. A list. Names. My stomach turned before she even spoke.

"Three wolves missing in the last week. All lone females. Not ours. But all had ties to Mayfield."

The silence that followed hit harder than her words.

I felt them all glance toward me, and the weight of their stares was almost enough to make my knees give, before I reminded myself that I was an Alpha and needed to act like it. I straightened, gritting my teeth through the pain as my weight settled on my thigh. "Let me see."

Sara shifted at the edge of the room, mouth tight. Jayne let out a low breath.

Jewel pushed the paper toward me, and I looked at the names. One I recognized—a girl I'd helped find housing last winter. Rebecca. Twenty-three, shy smile, making progress. She'd been doing better. Holding on. Now… maybe not.

The other two were also wolves who had recovered their spirits at Mayfield before deciding to leave. Not directly my pack anymore, but I still felt a hollowness in my gut to see their names on a missing list.

No one said it, but the implication rang clear through the stone walls: the Hunters weren't done. They were changing tactics. Adapting. And Mayfield, my home, my pack, was already back in the crosshairs.

I ran a thumb along the edge of the paper, not realizing my hand had started to shake until I saw the faint tremble out of the corner of my eye. I curled my fingers into a fist and stepped back.

"We have to tell Naomi," I said. "Warn them."

Alexis didn't answer right away. Her gaze was fixed on the map, unmoving, unreadable.

Jewel looked between us. "The last relay she sent came through six hours ago. Nothing urgent. But quieter than usual."

"Relay?"

"Comms. No phone, remember?" She said it gently, but I couldn't stop a small hint of color from touching my cheeks. The reminder stung. I’d grown soft at Mayfield.

My jaw clenched. "That's how it starts."

"With memory? Didn’t know you were that old, Lydia.”

Alexis growled. The noise was low, but clearly a warning to her second to watch her tongue. Jewel had enough self‑preservation to duck her head in what might have been an apology.

The sound of boots scraping against stone echoed as Alexis finally stepped back from the table. "Jayne. Sara. Stay. The rest can go."

No one questioned it. Two scouts I hadn't even noticed in the back of the room gave small nods and slipped out without a word, the heavy door shutting behind them with an echo that seemed too loud. I wondered how many Ghost Pack wolves were positioned throughout these tunnels, silently watching.

Now it was just the five of us.

Alexis walked to the hearth, but she didn't sit. Instead, she pulled another map from the basket of documents beside the fire and returned to roll it open across the table.

"We need to assume this isn't isolated," she said. "If the Hunters are shifting to purge orders and deploying tech units, Mayfield isn't the only place at risk. But it may be the only one left still standing with any actual number of wolves now that Haven disbanded and scattered.”

Jewel didn't flinch. "We've kept them back here because we're invisible. Fortified. They can't accurately chart or attack what they can't find."

Alexis shot her a look. "We're not invisible anymore."

I stepped in, still holding the list. "We haven't had any contact from Naomi since that relay. We need someone to go."

Jewel answered first. "The mountain's too exposed. If they're using drones, anyone on foot is a target. That leaves relays or night runners."

"I'll go," Sara said, before anyone could argue. "I've done the run west before."

"No," Alexis said, almost too quickly. "If they're intercepting signals, we don't tip our hand. Not yet."

Jayne shifted beside me, arms crossed tight. "So we wait? Hope they don't hit Mayfield before we decide what to do?"

"No." Alexis snapped her fingers against the edge of the map, where a small red x marked the mountains deeper east. "We give them something to look at. Distract them."

Jewel's brow furrowed. "You want to draw them?"

"I intend to mislead them," Alexis said. "We fake a movement north‑east. A full Ghost Pack migration. Reassign scouts to be seen, publicly, on a path that has nothing to do with Mayfield. We leave obvious trail markers, abandoned campsites, scent signatures that suggest we're moving our entire operation toward the eastern mountains. Make them think we're consolidating forces for a major offensive against their northern facilities. Hopefully they will think we have allies in the form of larger packs there.”

The tactical sense of it impressed me, even as I saw the dangers. Ghost Pack was expert at misdirection, but this would require splitting their forces at the worst possible time.

I narrowed my eyes. "That's dangerous. If they think you're consolidating power, they might hit you first."

Alexis didn't blink. "Let them try."

Her voice had tightened. She wasn't calm. She was controlled fury.

A long silence followed, heavy with unspoken calculations. Jewel didn't argue further, but her jaw was tight, the muscle ticking just beneath her cheekbone. Jayne was already glancing at the far wall, no doubt mapping possible routes across the various maps hung there. Sara simply folded her arms, ready for whatever we asked of her.

I watched them all and felt the familiar ache settle behind my ribs. These were soldiers now. Not the scattered wolves who came to Mayfield seeking peace, but weapons forged by necessity. These were the wolves Alexis had needed to find the day she walked away from sanctuary.

Alexis rolled the map back up and slipped it under her arm. "I'll draft the movement orders. Jewel, prep the eastern scouts. Jayne, stay close. I want your input on potential extraction points if the bluff fails. You've been to their facility before, you should be prepared to go back. Sara, pull supply counts. Find one of my wolves to help you if you need."

They all nodded without question.

Alexis didn't look at me. Didn't need to. The meeting was over, and I hadn’t been given any orders.

The others dispersed quickly, boots scraping against stone, orders murmured under breath. I stayed still, letting the sound of their departure fade.

Alexis lingered at the map table, one hand pressed flat against the wood. She hadn't moved since the others left.

"You kept all of this to yourself," my voice came quiet, but with no softness behind it. "How long have they been quietly taking wolves from the edges of my territory?"

She didn't look at me. "I didn't know what would happen if I called you here to tell you.”

I stepped forward. Close enough that I could smell her scent, pine and anxiety, mixed with something bitter. Close enough to remember how she'd tasted when I'd kissed her throat in the firelight. "You mean if I saw the map? The lists? Or if I saw you like this?"

Her jaw flexed. "I didn't want to risk you."

"You risked Mayfield instead. The wolves I stayed behind to protect. Wolves who are now being kidnapped without warning." I could feel my anger rising, waking from where I'd buried it years ago.

That landed. She looked away, suddenly tired.

"I thought I had more time," she said finally. "I thought I could hold the line a little longer before your pack was pulled into this."

"Do you think Naomi knows?" I asked, my voice breaking around her name. My second was smart, but if the Hunters had been this close… "Do you think she knows that the Hunters are this close to our borders?”

Alexis didn't answer. She just turned her head toward the stone wall on the far side of the room. The direction of the northwest ridge. Of Mayfield.

I knew that look. I'd worn it too many times.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat.

"Then we find out," I said. "How do I call out from under this rock?"

Alexis didn't move at first. She stood there, staring past the wall like she could see through stone and trees and distance to where Naomi might be standing now. She blinked, slow and heavy, and then turned toward the hearth. She crouched beside it, reaching behind the firewood stack until her hand returned holding a small, flat metal case. It was old, dented, and sealed with a twist-lock mechanism that looked like it belonged to a different era.

"We don't use this unless we're prepared to run," she said. "It sends a signal through a buried line that feeds into an unlisted satellite uplink. Naomi and a handful of others know the frequency. It's off-grid. One-way only."

My brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Naomi knows the frequency?" The words felt like a punch to the gut.

"She doesn't know that she knows," Alexis said quickly, and I could breathe again. "I added the frequency to her unit when we were there… just in case."

"In case of what?" I wondered how far she'd been willing to let this escalate before warning us.

Her hand stilled on the latch. "I was waiting. Watching. We didn't know what their endgame was yet."

"Then what the hell have we been waiting for?" My voice cracked, more fury than I wanted to show. "A body count? A massacre? You're their Alpha, Alexis. You're supposed to protect them. You're my mate. You're supposed to protect me!"

The silence stretched for only a beat, but it felt like forever.

"I have been protecting you." The words came out in a near-snarl, low and sharp enough to make the flames flicker in the hearth. "Every step I've taken since I left Mayfield has been about protecting you. All of you, to the point my own daughter was captured out from under me. I didn't bring you here because I wanted to put you on the frontline. I brought you here because I ran out of options."

Silence stretched between us again.

I exhaled slowly, letting it drain the bite from my voice.

"This would've been easier," I said, "if you'd just told me the truth from the beginning."

She didn't deny it. She popped the latch on the case and opened it. Inside was a small transmitter, already humming with faint life. A single button glowed red at the center.

"One press. That's all it takes."

I hesitated. "And they'll know it's us?"

"They'll know it's me." She looked up at me, her eyes no longer glowing, just subtly gold-rimmed and exhausted. "And if Naomi gets it, she'll come. Or she'll send word back. She's smart enough to figure out how."

I reached for it, then paused. My fingers hovered just above the button.

"What do we even say?" I asked because suddenly the weight of it all was back. The names. The maps. The war we hadn't wanted, but couldn't avoid.

"We don't say anything," Alexis said. "We just let them know it's time. Your second is a warrior. She always has been. Paired with Princess and…" She hesitated, closing her eyes. "Maya. They will know what to do. What to prepare for."

I pressed the button.

The red light blinked once and went dark.

A quiet pulse of static buzzed through the room and then disappeared entirely, like a breath sucked into stone.

No fanfare. No confirmation. Just knowing silence.

"Naomi, if you hear this, I need you to prepare for a fight. The Hunters are taking wolves right outside of Mayfield and coming for you. Don't run unless you have to—there are too many." I looked up, meeting Alexis's eyes, and felt my resolve tighten. "Fight and wait for us to get back there."

I let my hand fall back to my side.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

Then I asked, softly, "What if they don't answer?"

She stood slowly, eyes unreadable. But when she reached for me, her hand was steady against my cheek. "Then we go anyway. One way or another, the Hunters will answer our call."

I knew this meant her early plan of distraction was scrapped, we would need those forces here to protect Ghost Pack.

All those lives changed in an instant, at the push of a button, because of duty.

Because of need.

Because of me.

CHAPTER 14

The quiet after the signal ended was somehow louder than the room had been with everyone crowded in it. The little red light blinked once, then died completely, and with it, any illusion that we were in control.

Alexis didn't speak.

She closed the case, the latch snapping shut with a sound that cut through the silence like a gunshot. Her shoulders slumped slightly, like even that much had cost her something. Everything. Then, for a second, I thought she might say something. One final word to mark what we'd just done.

But instead, she turned toward the door.

"I need to check the outer perimeter and let the scouts know about the change of plans, among other things.” she said. Her voice was flat, unreadable. "It's been a while since I've been here. Captains to see and all that."

The excuse felt flimsy, and we both knew it. She'd been here yesterday, had clearly been managing her wolves from a distance. But I didn't call her on it, couldn't, when I recognized the retreat for what it was.

I nodded, unsure what I expected. A look? A touch? An invitation back to her room, maybe. Something to make the day feel less like a cliff's edge. Anything to bridge the sudden gulf that had opened between us the moment duty reasserted itself.

But she was already walking away.

Her boots faded down the corridor without pause, her figure swallowed by the shadows between flickering lanterns that lit the rocky halls. She didn't look back.

Not once.

I stood in the war room a few moments longer, alone now, surrounded by maps, ash, and silence. The scent of burned wood and cold stone pressed against my lungs, and I realized I was holding my breath, waiting for her footsteps to return.

The transmitter sat dead on the table like a body we hadn't buried yet.

I didn't know what to do next. There was no new mission. No plan to chase. Just waiting and silence. And the growing certainty that something fundamental had shifted between us. Not broken, exactly, but strained in ways I didn't know how to fix.

Eventually, I turned toward the hall. The stone felt colder under my feet than it had earlier. Maybe it was just me. Maybe everything felt colder now that I was alone again.

I passed two scouts on the way back. They dipped their heads in something close to respect, but didn't speak. No one at Ghost Ridge said more than they had to, especially not to outsiders. I was beginning to understand why Alexis had grown so comfortable with silence.

At the fork, I hesitated.

I could go to the barracks, or the infirmary, or even back to the map room. Anywhere but the place I wanted to be most.

But my body turned toward her room before I finished deciding.

The door was closed, but not locked. My hand hovered over the latch for a second too long before I pushed it open and slipped inside.

Nothing had changed.

Of course it hadn't.

Same fire-scorched stone. Same tidy bed with military-precise folds. The same faint trace of cedar, smoke, and pine still clinging to the air.

But the warmth that had lived in this room earlier, the intimacy we'd shared, the promises whispered in the dark, was gone.

The space felt hollow now, like an echo of what we'd been to each other just hours ago.

I sat on the edge of the cot and unlaced my boots with fingers that moved slower than I wanted to admit. My thigh ached with every bend, my joints stiff from strain. But I didn't lie down right away.

Instead, I waited.

Waited for the door to open. For her to come back. For the sound of her voice calling my name. For anything that would tell me last night had been real, that this distance was temporary.

Hours passed.

The fire burned lower, casting longer shadows across the stone walls. I counted the rhythm of my own breathing, the distant sounds of Ghost Pack settling into whatever consumed their days in this underground fortress.

Eventually, I slid beneath the blanket and stared at the ceiling carved with old mountain veins, the grooves catching only a fraction of firelight. The room was still, breathless, like even the air was holding back.

The blanket still smelled like her, pine and leather and something warm that made my chest tight with longing. But it also smelled like me now, like the sweat of fear and the salt of unshed tears. Like two people who'd found each other again only to be pulled apart by forces bigger than both of us.

And I let it hold me there.

Not safe. Not warm.

Just still.

* * *

The next morning came slow, heavy with cold air and the weight of unfinished conversations. Eventually, I had gotten up, left her room to find food in an unfamiliar mess hall. I’d hardly eaten, barely slept. Not from pain, though that hadn't let up either, but from the silence.

She hadn't returned.

Ghost Ridge felt like it was always quiet, but this was different. There was a weight to it now, like the mountain was conserving its energy for the fight to come.

I slipped out, hoping the halls would be empty so no one would ask where I was going. Or how I was feeling. I didn't want to answer either question, wasn't sure I could without falling apart.

The halls were mostly empty. A few passing wolves nodded as I passed, eyes flicking down toward the bandage on my thigh, then away again. Respectful. Or distant. Or both. Ghost Pack wolves had mastered the art of seeing without staring, of acknowledging without engaging.

I wasn't one of them, and they all knew it.

I turned the corner toward the kitchen, hoping to scrounge up something warm: tea, coffee, hell, even broth. Anything to chase the chill from my chest.

The main storage area was empty, but a side door had been propped open with a wedge of wood. I stepped through and stopped short.

Jess was there.

Not seated, not pacing, but kneeling on the stone floor, organizing supplies with careful, mechanical precision. Rolls of bandages, antiseptic bottles, thread kits. Her hands moved with quiet efficiency, but her shoulders were rigid, spine taut like a bowstring that hadn't relaxed in days.

She looked different than she had at Mayfield. She was sharper somehow, all soft edges worn away by grief and purpose. The pelt was nowhere in sight, but I could smell traces of it on her clothes, as if she'd been holding it recently.

She didn't look up when I entered. Didn't acknowledge me at all.

She seemed to have found her place here, among wolves who understood that some wounds never fully healed.

Jewel sat cross-legged against the far wall, her back pressed to a storage rack. Elbows resting on her knees, fingers absently twirling a small wooden token. It looked like the protection charms the younger wolves carved back at Mayfield, simple, heartfelt attempts to ward off the darkness.

I almost backed out without a word.

Almost, but I had been alone all day and this was as close to my pack as I had come.

Instead, I cleared my throat softly. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

Jess paused for half a second, then resumed stacking gauze into a tidy pile. No reaction. No eye contact. But her hands stilled just long enough to let me know she'd heard me.

"She's just keeping busy," Jewel said quietly. Her voice carried easily across the stone, pitched low enough not to startle but clear enough to include me in the conversation. "Some hours are worse than others."

I leaned against the doorway, watching Jess thread surgical needles into a cloth pouch with methodical care. I wondered if this was how she'd survived in the Hunter facility, by keeping her hands busy, her mind focused on small, manageable tasks while the world burned around her. "I get that."

Jewel smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. “When I first met her, I used to think I had to pull her back all at once. Talk her through everything. Fix it."

"And now?"

"Now I'm just here. When she needs it." She looked down at the token in her palm. The wood was worn smooth from handling, darkened by the oils from her skin. "That's all I've got. So I give it."

I glanced between them, recognizing something in the careful space they maintained, close enough to offer comfort, far enough apart to avoid overwhelming. It was the kind of relationship that could only be built between people who understood trauma, who knew that healing couldn't be forced. There was love here, and I wondered if they could see it.

From what Jayne had told us, Jess had volunteered to infiltrate the Hunter facility alone. Whether that had been to find information about her sister, atone for her sins against Luna, or simply to strike back at the people who'd destroyed her family, none seemed to have brought her peace. The happy young wolf who'd come to Mayfield seeking sanctuary was gone, replaced by someone harder, more focused. Not broken, but irreparably transformed.

Jess finished the pouch and closed it carefully, sliding it into a bin beside her. She still didn't look at either of us, but her fingers lingered on the edge of the box, just long enough to be noticed.

"I don't think she's broken," I said, the words coming out softer than I'd intended. "Not anymore."

Jewel looked up at me, eyes sharp with something that might have been understanding, or warning, or both. "She never was."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy. Just full. Full of recognition, of shared understanding about what it meant to survive when survival shouldn't have been possible.

I nodded once, murmuring, "You're right, apologies,” and stepped back into the hall, letting the door fall quietly closed behind me.

Behind that door was a bond forged in grief and tempered by choice. Two wolves who'd found in each other exactly what they needed to keep breathing. I didn't know whether it would save them or burn everything in its path, but I knew it was real.

I didn't go back to Alexis's room. The fire had burned low before I left it, and I didn't feel like crawling back under a blanket that still smelled like her but couldn’t feel like home.

So I wandered.

Ghost Ridge didn't creak or hum like Mayfield's old wood-frame walls. It breathed in silence: thick, dense, and unmoving. Like a cave full of ghosts too proud to acknowledge their own haunting.

The tunnels seemed to go on forever, branching and reconnecting in patterns that spoke of decades of careful excavation. Some led to living quarters, others to storage areas or defensive positions. A few simply dead-ended at solid rock, as if the mountain had decided it had given up enough of itself.

I didn't plan to end up at the war room. But my feet took me there anyway. Maybe because it was one of the few places in this underground maze that felt familiar, or maybe because I was hoping to find some sign that the night's transmission had been received.

The door was open just a crack. I pushed it gently with one hand and stepped inside.

Alexis was there.

Standing at the central table, a sharpened charcoal pencil in her hand, hovering over one of the maps. Her other hand was braced against the edge of the table like it was the only thing anchoring her upright.

She looked tired. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her hair fell loose around her face. She'd let it down and, from the way it hung limply, I could tell she'd been running her fingers through it. A nervous habit I remembered from our worst fights years ago.

I wondered if she'd slept at all. If she'd eaten. If she'd spent the night in someone else's bed or simply paced these halls until exhaustion forced her to stop.

She didn't turn when I entered, but I knew she felt me.

I walked in slowly, limping more in the chilled air than I wanted to admit, but she didn't acknowledge it. I stood beside her and looked at what she was drawing: new paths, alternate exit routes, second-phase contingency markers. Every one of them told a story. Every line said: I don't think we'll all make it out.

"You're planning for failure," I said softly.

She didn't deny it.

"I'm planning for everyone else's survival," she murmured. "If something goes wrong, I want them to have at least two ways out."

Her voice was steady, but I could hear the exhaustion underneath, the weight of being responsible for so many lives, of making decisions that could mean the difference between life and death for people who trusted her absolutely.

"And if something doesn't go wrong?"

She shrugged. "Then we get lucky. And I still sleep better knowing I had a plan."

The pencil trembled slightly in her grip, so faint I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching her so carefully. Even Alexis, strong, unshakeable Alexis, was feeling the pressure.

I reached across the table and picked up one of the pins, resetting it two sectors to the north. "That trail's washed out. I checked it myself last season. Spring melt caved part of it in."

I didn't admit that my yearly checks had become a ritual, getting just close enough to Ghost Pack territory to hear her wolves howling at night, but staying far enough away to avoid detection. A pathetic pilgrimage to make sure she was alive and well, even if I never saw her.

Her lips curved at the edge. The first real expression I'd seen from her since last night. "Of course you checked it."

She added a faint 'x' over the ruined trail. "Thanks."

The simple word carried more weight than it should have. Gratitude not just for the tactical information, but for the fact that I'd been watching over her territory, keeping track of the routes that might save her people. For caring, even when we'd been apart.

We stood there a while longer, no sound but the crackle of dying embers and the soft drag of pencil on paper. For a moment, it was almost like the old days of working together, thinking through problems as a team rather than separate leaders with separate concerns.

Quiet. Focused. Present.

"I had a dream last night," she said finally, voice low. "You were standing alone in a field. The sky was red, and I couldn't reach you."

I looked down at the map, not trusting myself to meet her eyes. The admission felt too raw, too honest for the careful distance we'd been maintaining. "You slept in someone else's bed?"

It wasn't really a question, more of an accusation wrapped in casual observation. I had no right to be jealous, no claim on her beyond what we'd shared in a single night. But the thought of her seeking comfort elsewhere while I'd lain awake waiting for her made my chest tight with an emotion I didn't want to name.

Her breath caught. Just once. Not enough to break her composure, but enough to let me know I'd hit the mark.

She didn't respond.

And that was answer enough. She didn't smell like sex, just like comfort. The subtle scent of another wolf's den, another wolf's presence. Someone who'd offered her what I couldn't: uncomplicated support without the weight of twenty years of history.

I didn't blame her. Couldn’t. Not when I understood the impulse to run from feelings too big to handle. We were both still learning how to be in the same space without combusting.

We stayed like that a little longer, quietly drawing lines neither of us wanted to cross, preparing for a war neither of us could stop. The map between us filled with contingencies and escape routes, each mark a small admission that we might not survive what was coming.

We didn't say goodbye.

When the map was done, Alexis returned to her notes and didn't speak again. I took the silence for what it was: permission to leave, or maybe a quiet plea to stay. I couldn't tell the difference anymore.

I left.

The war room door clicked shut behind me, echoing in a way that felt louder than anything we'd said inside.

The sound followed me down the corridor, a reminder of all the words we hadn't spoken, all the promises we'd made and broken and might never have the chance to make again.

I didn't go back to her quarters. Didn't go to the barracks, either. Instead, I walked.

The tunnels twisted in that endless, winding way that made Ghost Ridge feel like it had no center. And no end. Eventually, one opened to a narrow lookout carved straight into the mountainside. The opening was barely wide enough for two people, clearly designed for surveillance rather than comfort.

The wind was brutal out here, cold enough to bite through the seams of my coat. But it was honest. The only thing I trusted at the moment.

I stepped to the edge and looked out.

Far below, the forest stretched in every direction, dark and vast under the moonlight. No firelight. No distant smoke trails. Just trees and shadow and silence.

And somewhere beyond it, Mayfield.

My home.

My pack, who were depending on me to keep them safe. Who had no idea that their sanctuary had become a target, that everything we'd built together might not be enough to protect them from what was coming.

I braced my palms against the rough stone ledge and stared hard toward the horizon. The rock was cold enough to sting, but I welcomed the sharp sensation, it kept me grounded, kept me from drifting into the kind of despair that wouldn't help anyone.

No blinking light. No confirmation. No reply.

But I had to believe she'd heard it. That Naomi had picked up the signal. That they were watching the tree line. Counting heads. Loading weapons. Preparing.

I had to believe that Princess was still standing guard at the northern fence. That Maya was still inside, still safe. That my wolves, traumatized, healing, but stronger than they knew, would be ready for whatever came next.

I closed my eyes and whispered, "Just a little longer."

Not a prayer to any god I believed in. Not quite a promise I could keep. Just a breath in the dark, carrying hope across the distance to the people I'd sworn to protect.

Just the desperate wish that love—for pack, for home, for the woman sleeping in another wolf's den—would be enough to see us through what was coming.

CHAPTER 15

The transmitter hadn't made a sound in forty-eight hours.

I sat across from it in the dim light of the war room, arms folded over my chest, my body too tired to pace and too wired to rest. The device sat on the table like an accusation, its dark surface reflecting the dying embers in the hearth. Every few minutes, I found myself holding my breath, waiting for some sign of life that never came.

Alexis had pulled it back out the morning after we'd sent the message, and I wondered if she had only put it away initially to give me the illusion that nothing else would happen. That the message was it. That we were all alone. And so was Mayfield.

But then I had walked back in to find her sitting with a map spread out in front of her and the little transmitter back out in the open. The red light on its surface remained stubbornly dark. Silent. Waiting.

Like the rest of us.

I was fighting the urge to throw something at it for the hundredth time when it clicked. A soft, mechanical twitch, barely more than a breath but impossibly loud in the quiet room.

Then the light blinked on.

My heart stopped, then hammered against my ribs hard enough to bruise.

"Alexis," I called, already reaching for it across the table. "Jewel!"

My voice echoed off the stone and shot down the corridor like a flare. The sound seemed to wake the entire mountain as I could hear the sudden rustle of movement, boots hitting stone, voices calling out in response. The hallway outside stirred. Alexis was the first to appear, boots half-laced, coat dangling from one arm. Her hair was mussed like she'd been sleeping, but her eyes were sharp, instantly alert. She didn't speak, just moved with that assured grace I could always count on when things got bad.

Jewel followed seconds later, hair damp with sweat, shirt rumpled like she'd been trying to sleep and failed. She skidded to a stop at the threshold, her eyes locking on the faint red glow. The line of her jaw clenched. I could smell the spike of adrenaline coming off her, sharp and metallic.

Jayne and Sara arrived behind her, silent and alert.

The message hissed to life.

"Tracks near the orchard," Naomi's voice cut through the static, and I had to grip the table edge to keep from reaching for the device. "They're not ours. No scent match. The soil's been disturbed in concentric loops…" There was a pause, the sound of paper rustling, then her voice returned stronger. "…like they're circling. Testing."

I felt Alexis shift beside me, could sense the sudden tension in her shoulders without looking.

"Found a shredded pelt this morning. Had silver residue. No one injured…" More static crackled through, making me wince. "…meant to be found."

The implication hit me like a physical blow. They were leaving calling cards, psychological warfare designed to terrify before they struck. The same way they did with Jess.

The static cracked again. Faint shouting in the background echoed through the transmission: orders being called, feet running, the sounds of a pack mobilizing for defense. Then Naomi's voice returned, lower this time.

"Princess is keeping the line. She's calm, but tense. Maya's safe. The younger ones…Tali, Emma…aren't sleeping, but they're staying near the others. Something's coming."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with fear for wolves who trusted me to keep them safe. Even through the static, I could hear the strain in Naomi's voice, the careful control of someone trying not to panic while delivering terrible news.

Even with the frequent breaks in the transmission, the message was crystal clear. The Hunters were closing in on my territory.

My pack.

The message went on.

"Maya's organizing supply packs. Medical supplies, food, evacuation kits. I didn't ask her to, but she knows."

That hit harder than it should have. Our daughter, barely grown, already thinking like a soldier because that's what her world had taught her. Maya, who should have been worrying about normal young adult things like relationships, career choices, whether to travel, was instead preparing for war.

"Doesn't feel random. This isn't reconnaissance. Feels like a fuse waiting for a spark. Whatever they're planning, they're almost ready."

Then there was nothing but silence. Not even static. Just the awful emptiness of a severed connection.

The red light blinked once more and went out.

No one spoke. The silence felt heavier than before, weighted with the knowledge that somewhere across the mountains, my pack was preparing for siege while we stood helpless to reach them.

Until Jewel did, her wolf's anger riding high as she growled.

"This is exactly why we don't use the signal," she snapped, voice low but sharp enough to cut steel. Her eyes blazed with fury, and I could see her hands trembling, whether from rage or fear, I couldn't tell. "You think it only reached Naomi? You think this one only reached us? If they didn't know where we were before, they do now. They'll know everything."

Alexis's expression didn't shift, but her eyes locked on her second. "We were never hidden. Just quiet."

"Quiet was survival," Jewel bit back. She took a step forward, and I could smell the challenge rolling off her in waves. "You sent up a beacon, and for what? So she," she nodded sharply toward me, "could sleep easier? So she could contact a pack that, if she cared so much about, she would be with."

The words hit like a slap. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Jewel wasn't finished.

She didn't wait. "You didn't ask for it, I know. But you didn't have to. She lit the damn fire because you were staring at that table and map like a fucking lost puppy. Like you could will a miracle out of dead metal."

My stomach twisted. Not because she was wrong. Because she was too right. I had been the one who had asked about the phones, who was restless, silently begging for news from home instead of just returning to it. Alexis had seen my desperation and acted on it, consequences be damned.

"I did it," Alexis said simply. Her voice carried the weight of absolute authority, the tone that brooked no argument. "As your Alpha, it is my choice how to use my resources. I don't regret it."

"No, of course not," Jewel muttered. The words dripped with sarcasm and barely suppressed fury. "Because consequences don't matter when it's for her."

That silenced the room completely. Even Jayne took a step back from the table, silently pulling Sara with her. The tension was thick enough to choke on, crackling between the two Ghost Pack wolves like electricity.

Alexis took a step forward, advancing around the table, voice still cool. But I could see the gold creeping into her eyes, the wolf rising to meet the challenge. "If you're not ready for the consequences of your Alpha's choices, you know where the door is."

Jewel flinched. Just slightly. But she held her ground, chin raised in defiance that took real courage in the face of Alexis's displeasure. Her fists curled tight at her sides.

"Next time," she said, teeth clenched, eyes directly on me, "maybe we talk about it before lighting up the mountain like a signal flare for your ex.”

She turned and stalked toward the door, shoulders tight with suppressed emotion. At the threshold, she paused without looking back.

"I'll get more sentries and scouts ready." She was gone before the last syllable faded, leaving behind the scent of anger and hurt.

The tension hung heavy in the air, settling into every corner of the room. I didn't know what to say, didn't know how to address the fact that Jewel was right. I had put them all at risk because I couldn't stand not knowing if my pack was safe.

But I did know what came next.

Jayne cleared her throat behind me. Her voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the underlying concern. "What now?"

I stepped closer to the map table, drawing in a slow breath through my nose. The air tasted of stone dust and old smoke, the scents of a place that had seen too many war councils.

"Now we stop pretending we're safe."

I looked at Alexis, meeting her eyes directly for the first time since the confrontation. Saying the words she had wanted me to say all those years ago.

"We move."

Alexis's eyes, almost entirely washed in gold now, moved to mine and for a moment I felt it, the pull of the mating bond between us tugging at my chest. Sharp and undeniable, a connection that transcended the anger and hurt and years of separation. There for a heartbeat and then muted again, reduced to a lingering, threaded pulse.

She didn't say anything, made no indication if she felt it too. Just rolled out the mountain map, pressed the edges flat with the heel of her hand, and waited.

Jayne and Sara returned to the table. They lingered by the side, quiet, watching me more than looking at the map or Alexis. Waiting to see what kind of leader I would be under pressure. Whether I'd choose duty or emotion, strategy or sentiment.

The transmitter lay dormant once again, like it had never spoken.

But it had. And there was no taking it back.

"We leave tonight," I said. The words felt like stepping off a cliff. "We head for Mayfield."

Alexis didn't look surprised. Just tired. The weight of command sat heavily on her shoulders, aging her in the dim firelight.

"You leave," she said, slowly choosing her words, and I felt the tug between us quicken as she continued. "And we lose our shot at the mountain."

The thread between us snapped as I thought about my pack facing the Hunters alone. The image of Casey’s goofy smile, of Tali and Emma huddled together in fear, of Princess standing alone against an army… it was too much.

Before I knew it, I had rounded the table, half‑shifted claws braced on its edges. My wolf was rising, protective instincts overriding logic. "This isn't a debate. You heard her. They're circling. They're waiting."

"They've been waiting." Alexis's tone didn't rise, but the steel behind it hardened. Her own wolf answered mine, gold eyes flashing with authority. "If we don't hit them first, at the source, we'll be running from this same fire for the next decade. You think Mayfield will survive if that lab keeps running? You think any pack will? They're too close and have already taken too many of us."

"I think my pack won't survive long enough to matter if we don't go back now."

The words came out harsher than I'd intended, but I couldn't take them back. Couldn't pretend that the thought of my wolves facing trained killers without me wasn't tearing me apart.

Jayne stepped forward, voice cautious. She was trying to play peacemaker, to find a solution that didn't require choosing between bad options. "Then we split. Let me take Jewel and a few scouts. We go back to Princess and the others. Get eyes on Mayfield. You finish what we started here."

"No." That came from me, too fast, too sharp. "We don't divide. Not now." I left unsaid the fact that I knew she just wanted to go back to her mate, that her objectivity was as compromised as mine.

"You're not thinking clearly," Alexis said. Her voice carried a note of frustration, of someone trying to make me see reason. "You're reacting. You're scared."

I laughed. It was sharp and hollow, echoing off the stone walls. "Of course I'm scared. I should be. This isn't just about finding Jess anymore, this is my pack."

"You're not the only one with something to lose," she snapped. The careful control cracked, revealing the fear underneath, fear for her own wolves, for Maya, for me.

Sara cleared her throat gently. When we all turned to her, she looked suddenly uncomfortable with the attention, but pressed on anyway. "There might be a way to do both."

We all turned to her, desperate for any solution that didn't require impossible choices.

She moved slowly, setting down a folded chart with her usual quiet efficiency. Her hands were steady despite the tension in the room. "Let's scout around the mountain. One team. Small. If it's quiet or empty, we fall back. Fast. Reinforce Mayfield and hold the line."

"And if it's not quiet?" I asked. Though I already suspected I knew the answer.

She looked up at me, eyes calm. But I could see the steel underneath, the resolve of someone who'd lost everything once and refused to lose anything else. "Then we go in. And we get them out. The ones who are left.”

The way their eyes shifted back and forth between each other let me know they already suspected the mountain wouldn't be quiet. The fact that Jayne and Princess had brought a fighting force to my door was testament enough to the scope of what we were facing.

Jayne nodded. Her expression was grim but determined. "We'll need to confirm who's inside."

"If Ryan's still alive…" Sara started, then her voice trailed off. We all understood the rest. Ryan had been one of Haven’s, a teen boy from the reports I had been given, and he, as well as more of the Haven pack, were still missing. It didn't matter that Princess was the officially recognized Alpha of that pack, those wolves were still Sara's responsibility.

Jewel wasn't here to support the logic, but I could feel her words echoing anyway. They already knew where we were. They knew about the mountain. The question was what we were going to do about it.

I turned to Alexis. She wasn't looking at the map anymore. She was looking at me.

No orders. No pressure. Just waiting.

The choice was mine, and we both knew it. Whatever I decided would shape not just the next few days, but possibly the future of every pack represented in this room.

I thought of the orchard fence. Princess standing guard with fire in her blood. Naomi's voice, steady even through static. And Maya, organizing supply packs, maybe not even knowing why. A child born of war, preparing for one out of instinct.

I closed my eyes. Took a breath that tasted of stone and smoke and the weight of impossible decisions.

"Then we do both," I said, knowing that my next words carried the weight of lives I might not be able to save. "We scout the mountain first. If there's something left to save, we bring it home."

"And if not?" Sara asked.

"Then we don't wait for the storm to hit Mayfield," I answered. The words felt like a promise and a threat rolled into one. "We bring it to them. And burn it out."

Alexis finally nodded, and I saw something like approval in her eyes. Not for the decision itself, but for the fact that I was making it. That I was choosing to lead instead of simply react.

Jayne rolled up the chart. Sara reached for a gear list. The quiet was no longer hesitation. It was motion. Preparation.

War was coming. We were just deciding where to meet it.

* * *

There was no ceremony to the planning. No rally cry. No rousing speech.

Just boots moving through tunnels and packs being filled with everything we might not live to use.

Ghost Ridge wasn't built for fanfare. It was built for survival. And tonight, survival meant leaving the mountain's protective embrace and walking straight toward whatever trap waited for us in the darkness.

I helped where I could, wrapping supplies, organizing med kits. The work was methodical, almost meditative: roll bandages, count antiseptic packets, check expiration dates. Simple tasks that kept my hands busy while my mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

Sara had packed our essentials before I could even ask. Her movements were clockwork, efficient but reverent, like she was building an altar out of gauze and water purification tablets. It was clear that meticulous preparation was how Haven had survived when other packs had fallen. By being ready for anything, always.

Jayne barked orders with an edge in her voice I hadn't heard in a while. The soft, teasing warmth she used with Princess had been replaced with something sharper, coiled tight. Focused. This was the warrior I had known before Sage's death, before grief had gentled her edges.

She didn't look at me once. And I didn't ask why, though I suspected it had to do with my refusal to let her return to Princess immediately.

I passed Jewel in the hallway, her arms loaded with spare radios and high-frequency whistles. She moved with military precision, every step purposeful. She didn't slow when she saw me. Just gave a tight nod and kept moving.

Maybe it was more than I deserved after putting her pack at risk. Maybe it was a sign that despite her anger, she was still willing to follow orders when it mattered.

Alexis hadn't said a word since the war room, and hadn't returned to her quarters. She moved like a ghost between teams: checking routes, confirming exits, studying the weapons cache with a soldier's eye and a wolf's instinct. She spoke in low tones with her wolves, issuing orders that were acknowledged with sharp nods and immediate compliance.

She carried herself like a leader, the Alpha this pack needed. But she hadn't looked at me.

Not once.

And it hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Maybe she was right to stay distant. Maybe she needed the space to make the hard calls. Or maybe I just wasn't the safe harbor she remembered me being, and that's why the fragile connection we'd rebuilt was fracturing again under pressure.

I finished tying off the last of the packs and slipped down a side hallway, needing air that didn't taste like metal, dust, and unspoken accusations.

The corridor curved gently, leading me back to a narrow slit carved into the outer edge of the mountain. The opening was barely wide enough for my shoulders, clearly designed for observation rather than comfort.

I stood there, huddled on the small lookout point, in the hush, watching the treetops shift in the moonlight below. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, dark and beautiful and hiding unknown dangers.

Somewhere out there, the Hunters were waiting. Somewhere out there, Princess was holding the line with wolves too young to understand why they were afraid.

Somewhere out there, Maya was planning like a soldier because that's what her world had taught her to be.

And tomorrow… we would find out how many of them we got to keep.

I leaned forward just enough to feel the cold breeze against my face. The wind carried the scents of pine and rain and something else. Something darker and manmade. Might have been smoke, might have been fear.

The mountain didn't whisper. It didn't reassure. It just watched. Ancient and impassive, it had seen countless conflicts, countless losses. We were just the latest in a long line of desperate creatures seeking shelter from the storm.

Even the moon was hidden behind clouds, unwilling to offer comfort or guidance.

Behind me, the quiet shuffle of feet approached. I knew those footsteps, knew the careful way she moved when she was trying not to startle me.

Alexis.

I didn't turn. Couldn't, when I wasn't sure what I'd see in her eyes, anger, disappointment, or worse, indifference.

She didn't speak. Just came to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel her warmth but far enough that we weren't touching.

We stood in the stillness a little while longer, facing the dark together. Two women who'd found each other again only to be pulled apart by forces bigger than both of us, trying to figure out how to save everyone we loved without losing each other in the process.

CHAPTER 16

The breeze off the ridge had gone still.

I didn't know how long we'd been standing there in silence, minutes, maybe more, but the weight between us hadn't shifted. The air felt heavy, charged with all the words we weren't saying, all the tension that had been building since the moment we'd been forced back into Alpha mode.

Alexis didn't speak.

Neither did I.

I could feel her beside me, rigid as the stone under our feet, shoulders drawn tight beneath the harness she still hadn't removed. The moon remained hidden behind clouds, casting everything in a flat, gray hush. Even the trees below looked like they were holding their breath, branches motionless in the thick air.

The silence stretched between us like a wound that wouldn't close, filled with twenty years of hurt and want and words we'd never learned how to say.

Then Alexis turned.

No words, just a sharp pivot of her boots against the rock. She moved toward the tunnel without looking back.

And I followed.

I would have followed her anywhere, off this mountain, into battle, into hell itself. But tonight, I felt the pull between us like a physical thing as her heels echoed against the stone floors. The mating bond tugged at my chest, insistent and undeniable, my wolf recognizing her as my Alpha even after all these years.

The hallway was narrow and rough-hewn, the kind of passage you didn't find unless you'd lived here long enough to memorize its twists. I hadn't been down this route before, but I didn't pay attention to the unfamiliar corridors, the way the walls seemed to close in around us.

I didn't look at where we were going. I didn't need to.

I just kept my eyes on her. On the fluid pull of muscle beneath her shirt, the confident way she moved through her territory, the long silver strands of her hair swinging like a metronome keeping time to a song I was afraid I'd forgotten how to dance to.

But I wanted to learn again. Wanted to remember the rhythm of her heartbeat against mine, the way she used to whisper about her day in the dark, sharing triumphs and fears and sometimes nothing at all. I even missed the way her stomach would rumble late at night. She'd always been a fan of midnight snacks, dragging me out to hunt rabbits at 1 AM just because she was restless and hungry.

The memory brought a smile to my face, the first real one I could remember in days. Those hunting trips had been some of our happiest times, just the two of us under the stars, working as a team, coming home exhausted and laughing and alive.

My feet moved of their own accord, each step pulling the invisible thread between us tighter until I thought it might snap. I didn't care who we passed in the tunnels, couldn't hear anything over the sound of my own heartbeat. Couldn't feel anything except her drawing me forward like gravity.

When she turned into a hallway I recognized, I knew where we were going.

Her door was already open. She didn't wait for me to catch up, didn't speak as she crossed the threshold and shed her coat in a practiced sweep. The garment hit the floor with a soft whisper, and I could smell her scent more clearly now, pine and leather and something uniquely her that made my wolf scream with need, made my skin itch to be this close and not touching her.

She moved through the room like she was preparing for battle, or trying desperately not to feel anything at all.

I paused in the doorway. The space looked the same as when I'd left it that morning, but something had shifted. What had once seemed cold and impersonal now felt like armor, protection against a world that had hurt her too many times.

Functional. Sharp. Impenetrable.

Just like her.

I understood now why she'd kept it this way. Not because she didn't want comfort, but because comfort was a luxury she couldn't afford. Because letting down her guard, even in her own space, felt too dangerous.

She undid the last strap across her chest without looking at me, her fingers sure and silent. The harness hit the table with a soft, final thud. The sound seemed too loud in the quiet room, like a period at the end of a sentence neither of us had wanted to finish.

I crossed the room without meaning to, every step a question I didn't know how to ask. The air between us crackled with tension, thick enough to taste. I could smell her arousal mixing with my own, could hear the slight hitch in her breathing that told me she was as affected as I was.

"You didn't look at me," I said, voice low but steady. The words came out rougher than I'd intended, carrying more hurt than I wanted to reveal. "You just stared at the trees."

I watched her in the firelight, noting the way her shoulders tensed, the careful way she avoided my gaze. The silence stretched until the words burned too hot behind my teeth.

"Alexis, look at me."

The command in my voice surprised us both. She stilled, every muscle going taut.

It was too much for my wolf, seeing her mate distressed and unable to comfort her. I stepped forward, just one step. "Not once since the war room."

She dropped her belt and set the knife aside. Her movements were deliberately calm, but I could see the tremor in her hands. Her voice was quiet. "Because it hurts."

My throat tightened. The admission hit me like a physical blow. "Hurts how?"

Alexis turned then, slowly, like the weight of the answer took effort to carry. Her eyes were all gold: no storm, no hesitation, just truth and the wolf.

And pain. So much pain that I had to fight the urge to reach for her.

"Because I don't know how to want you and still lead. Still be a mother. Be an Alpha. Be everything I have become."

The words hit harder than I expected, knocking the air from my lungs. I could see the conflict in her eyes, duty warring with desire, responsibility fighting against need.

The thread between us pulled taut, threatening to snap under the pressure. I swallowed, hard, trying to steady myself. "You think I want to make this harder for you?"

"No," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I think you already do. Without meaning to."

Her voice cracked just slightly, and the sound broke something open in my chest. I stepped closer.

"Then stop pretending it doesn't matter."

Alexis didn't move. Didn't blink. But her breath changed. Sharp, shallow, the kind you took before biting down on something that hurt.

The kind you took before cleaning a wound.

"You think I haven't tried?" she said, voice low but shaking with rage. Her hands clenched at her sides, and I could see the war happening behind her eyes. "You think I don't lie awake every night wanting to crawl back to you, into your arms, and forget all of it?"

Her hand gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles went white. The wood creaked under the pressure, and I wondered if it might snap. "I buried myself in this mountain, Lydia. In war and missions and death because I didn't know how to live in a world where I had to watch you play house while I rotted in rage and want."

I flinched as if she'd slapped me. "That's not fair. I would have gone with you if you'd asked."

"No," she snapped. Her eyes blazed with fury and hurt. "It's not. It's not fair that I had to become this. That I had to be the monster so you could be the sanctuary Alpha. That you got a pack. A home."

The last word landed like a slap, and I froze. Not because I disagreed with her assessment, but because for the first time, I could see it from her perspective. While I'd been building something beautiful from the ashes, she'd been drowning in blood and silence, convincing herself it was necessary.

I'd been creating life while she'd been dealing death. I'd found purpose in healing, while she'd lost herself in vengeance.

"I didn't ask for any of it," I said, voice rising. The unfairness of her accusation lit a fire in my chest. "You left. You didn't give me a choice. You disappeared, and I—I had nothing but a handful of broken wolves and a mating scar that wouldn't heal."

"You had freedom," she spat. The word came out like a curse.

I laughed bitterly. The sound echoed off the stone walls, harsh and broken. "Freedom? I had nightmares. I had silence. I had to keep breathing every day, knowing I wasn't enough for you to stay. Wondering where you were, if you were safe, if they'd captured you or killed you. I didn't even know if you carried Maya to term or if that had been taken from me too. I had to live with that question like a broken rib—a constant pain that hurt when I breathed. Always."

That stopped her cold. I could see the moment my words hit home, the way her anger crumbled into something rawer, more vulnerable.

I stepped closer, fury and pain flooding my chest so fast I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. My wolf was rising, twenty years of suppressed hurt and rage finally breaking free. "You say I played house like it was some easy choice. I built Mayfield from the ashes of my life. I raised pups whose mothers were lost to grief or, worse, whose names you don't even know. I kept hope alive when you were too far gone to care about anything but vengeance."

"I cared," she said, voice breaking now. Tears she'd been holding back for twenty years finally spilled over. "I cared so much I couldn't breathe."

"Then why didn't you come back?" I yelled. The words tore from my throat like they were ripping me apart. "Why didn't you come home?!"

"Because I couldn't look you in the eye and explain why I chose revenge over us." Her fists were trembling, her whole body shaking with the force of her confession. "Because I knew you'd never forgive me for what I became."

Silence cracked between us like a fault line, jagged and deep. The air in the room felt thin, charged with electricity that made my skin prickle.

My voice dropped, aching and raw. "I would've followed you. You never asked. I would have killed him for you, would have torn him apart with my bare hands instead of building sanctuaries if you had only asked."

Her gold eyes found mine. Haunted. Hollow. But something else too… hope, maybe, or the ghost of it.

"I never asked because I wanted you to stop me."

The confession hit me like a physical blow. All these years, I'd thought she'd chosen violence over love, revenge over us. But maybe she'd been hoping I'd give her a reason to choose differently.

I stepped in, so close the heat between our bodies felt like a brand. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes, to smell the salt of her tears mixing with her natural scent. "You think I wouldn't have burned the whole world down for you?"

"I didn't want you to burn," she whispered. Her voice broke on the words. "I wanted you to be safe. I just needed you to stop me from burning…"

I hadn't known. All this time, I'd thought she'd wanted the fire, had chosen it over everything else. But maybe she'd only wanted a reason not to fall into it. Maybe she'd been waiting for me to pull her back from the edge.

"Well," I said, my voice catching, "look how well that worked."

Neither of us moved. The pain between us was a living thing, pulsing and snarling, wrapping around every inch of air like it wanted to devour us both. But underneath that, beneath the wounds and the ash, was something else.

The truth.

The mating bond had never really broken. It had frayed, stretched thin, bled from neglect, but it was still there. Still connecting us across twenty years of silence and hurt.

Alexis's voice was barely audible. "I don't know how to be what you need."

"You don't have to," I said. I reached up slowly, giving her time to pull away, and when she didn't, I cupped her face in my hands. "Just be here. With me. Right now. What I need is you. Not the perfect Alpha, not the fearless warrior. Just you. That's all you ever needed to be."

She stared at me. At the tears I hadn't realized were falling. At the ache I hadn't meant to show. At twenty years of love that had never stopped burning, even when we'd tried to smother it.

Then, finally, finally… she stepped forward. And she looked at me. Really looked. And didn't look away.

Her eyes didn't leave mine. Not when I stepped closer. Not when I reached up, cupped her jaw, and ran my thumb across the place her cheek hollowed with restraint. Not even when I traced the scar that ran from her temple to her jaw, a subtle, almost unseen mark I didn't recognize, earned in battles I hadn't been there to witness.

Not even when I said, barely more than breath, “Stop burning.”

Alexis didn't answer.

She kissed me.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't tender. It was the kiss of a wolf who had starved herself out of punishment and shame, who was now tasting something she wasn't sure she deserved. Her mouth crashed into mine, teeth dragging across my bottom lip, hands already buried in my shirt like she needed to feel skin, or she'd vanish.

I didn't hesitate. I kissed her back like I'd been waiting since the day she left. Because I had.

The taste of her was exactly as I remembered from the first night at Ghost Pack and completely different from those nights years ago: familiar comfort mixed with new edges, sweetness tempered by years of bitterness. She kissed like she was trying to make up for decades of silence in a single moment.

My back hit the wall before I even realized we'd moved. Her hands were on my hips, then under my shirt, and I moaned as her fingers skimmed the scar on my ribs. The one she hadn't been there to see stitched, earned defending pups she'd never met. Her touch was reverent, tracing the raised skin like she was reading the story of my survival.

She growled against my mouth, the sound low and possessive. Her body was trembling, but her hands were sure: pulling, stripping, claiming what had always been hers. "I hated the thought of someone else touching you," she said, voice breaking apart as her mouth found my neck. Her teeth scraped against my pulse point, and I could feel her breathing me in like she was trying to memorize my scent. "Even when I tried to stop caring… I couldn't."

I yanked her shirt over her head, desperate to feel her bare against me. Her skin was marked with new scars. A map of battles fought without me, of years spent in violence while I'd been building peace. "You don't get to talk like this and then disappear again, you know."

Her breath hitched, but her hands didn't stop moving over my ribs, my spine, like she was piecing me together from memory. Every touch was careful, reverent, like she was afraid I might disappear if she wasn't gentle enough. "I'm not leaving," she whispered. "Not tonight."

I tangled my fingers in her hair and pulled her face back to mine, just close enough for her to see it, really see it. Close enough for her to see the truth in my eyes, the love that had never wavered despite everything. "Not ever."

She growled, and I pulled her hair harder until she tilted her head just a fraction. Not submission, but trust.

The difference was everything.

"There was never anyone else," I said, voice steady despite the heat between us. Despite the way her proximity was making it hard to think, hard to breathe. "Not once. Not even when I wanted to forget you. You, your body, your touch… they were in my dreams every night. I touched myself to the memory of you and only you, all this time."

Alexis stilled completely. Her pupils flared wide, wolf rising to the surface, and I knew she could smell the truth in my arousal, could hear the honesty in my voice.

"I needed you too much to pretend someone else could ever take your place."

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She looked stunned, like she'd never considered that I might have been as faithful as she'd been, as lonely as she'd been. So I kissed her instead, slow, certain, the kind of kiss you only give to someone you never stopped loving. Someone who never really left you, no matter how far they ran.

"I'm still yours," I breathed against her mouth. The words were a promise, a claim, a surrender all at once. "If you want me."

Her answer wasn't words. It was her hands on my hips. Her teeth at my throat. Her body pressed into mine like it was the only language we'd ever truly spoken.

Clothes fell to the floor piece by piece, each barrier removed with desperate efficiency. Twenty years of separation condensed into frantic touches, urgent kisses, the need to feel skin against skin overwhelming everything else.

She pushed me down to the too small bed and followed, settling between my thighs, her body heavy and real and home. The weight of her was perfect, familiar and new all at once. I reached for her, dug my fingers into her hips, pulled her down until our mouths met again.

This kiss was different. Slower. More certain. Still full of hunger, but with reverence curled inside it. Like she was remembering every inch of me, like I'd haunted her dreams the way she'd haunted mine.

Her lips trailed down my chest. Her mouth was hot and urgent, half-shifted fangs scraping against my collarbone before her tongue soothed the sting. Every kiss felt like a brand, marking me as hers after too many empty years of belonging to no one. Her fingers tangled with mine, holding me steady as she mapped my body with her mouth, relearning every curve and hollow like she was afraid she'd forgotten something vital.

She paused at my breast, looking up at me with those gold eyes that held so much suppressed hunger. "I used to dream about this," she whispered, her breath hot against my skin. "About having you under me again. About making you come apart the way only I could."

Before I could respond, her mouth closed over my nipple and I arched off the blankets with a sharp cry. Her tongue was wicked, circling and flicking until I was gasping her name, my hands fisted in her hair. She gave the same attention to my other breast, sucking and biting until I was writhing beneath her, already so close to the edge I could barely think.

"Alexis, please⁠—"

"Not yet," she growled against my skin. “So many fucking nights I've been starving for you. I'm not rushing this."

Her mouth continued its journey south, kissing and licking down my ribs, my stomach, pausing to bite gently at my hip bone. The sensation shot straight to my core, and I could smell my own arousal mixing with hers, thick and intoxicating in the small room.

She settled between my thighs, and the first touch of her tongue against my center made me sob with relief. She was gentle at first, almost reverent, licking broad strokes that had me trembling. But as my hips started to move against her mouth, she grew bolder, more demanding.

"God, you taste exactly the same," she moaned against me, the vibration making me cry out. "I've been craving. Nothing else compares.”

Her tongue found my clit and I shattered, coming so hard I saw stars. But she didn't stop, didn't give me time to recover. She slid two fingers inside me while her mouth continued its assault, and I was climbing again before the first orgasm had fully faded.

"That's it," she whispered, her voice rough with desire. "I want to watch you fall apart. Want to see you come on my fingers like you used to."

The words combined with the perfect curl of her fingers inside me sent me over the edge again, and this time I screamed her name loud enough that anyone in the tunnels would know exactly what we were doing. I didn't care. Let them hear.

Let them know she was mine, and I was hers.

When the tremors finally stopped, she crawled back up my body, her face slick with my arousal. I pulled her down for a kiss, tasting myself on her tongue, and the intimacy of it made my heart clench.

"My turn," I growled, rolling us over so she was beneath me. Her eyes went wide with surprise and hunger, and I could see her pulse racing at her throat.

I kissed my way down her body, pausing to worship her breasts the way she'd worshipped mine. She was more sensitive than I remembered, or maybe it had just been too long since anyone had touched her like this. Either way, she was already gasping and arching beneath me before I'd even reached her stomach.

When I settled between her legs, the scent of her arousal hit me like a drug. I'd dreamed of this taste, this smell, for twenty years. Had touched myself to the memory of it countless times. But nothing compared to having her spread out beneath me again, desperate and wanting.

I took my time, licking and sucking until she was incoherent with need, her hands fisted in my hair, her hips grinding against my face. She was close, so close, but I wanted to drag it out, wanted to make her fall apart the way she'd made me fall apart.

"Please," she gasped, her voice broken. "Lydia, please, I need⁠—"

I slid three fingers inside her and sucked hard on her clit, and she came with a roar that echoed off the stone walls. Her body clenched around my fingers, her back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

But I wasn't done. So many years of separation demanded more than quick release. I wanted to worship her, to reclaim every inch of her body, to make up for all the nights we'd spent apart.

I moved back up her body, kissing and biting as I went, and when I reached her mouth she kissed me desperately, hungrily, like she was trying to devour me whole.

"Again," I whispered against her lips. "I want you to come again."

This time when I touched her, it was with my thigh pressed between her legs, giving her something to grind against while my fingers worked inside her. The position let me feel every tremor, every gasp, every desperate movement of her hips as she chased her release.

"I love watching you like this," I murmured in her ear, my voice rough with desire. "Love seeing you lose control. You're so beautiful.”

The words pushed her over the edge, and she came with my name on her lips, her nails digging into my back hard enough to leave marks. I didn't care. I wanted her marks on me, wanted proof that this was real, that we were really here together.

The world narrowed to breathe, sweat, the slide of sweat-slick skin against skin as we moved together in a rhythm as old as time. The mating bond between us was no longer quiet. It roared to life, connecting us in ways that went deeper than physical touch, making every sensation twice as intense.

We sucked, licked, and kissed like we were making up for lost time, desperate and hungry and infinitely tender. Sometimes fast and rough, sometimes slow and sweet, but always with the knowledge that we'd found each other again, that we weren't going to waste another moment apart.

There was no gentleness in this reunion. Only want. Only need. Only the desperate hunger of two people who'd been starving for each other for longer than felt possible.

Only want.

Only need.

Only the thrum of our bond finally breaking open.

She gasped my name into the hollow of my throat as I arched beneath her, our wolves singing between our skin like a song we'd never forgotten how to play. And when she came apart in my arms, I held her like I'd never let her fall again.

Because I wouldn't.

We lay tangled together afterward, sweat cooling on our skin, heartbeats gradually slowing to match each other's rhythm. The room smelled like sex and home and the promise of tomorrow.

We didn't speak as the shaking slowed. Didn't move as the mountain settled back into silence. But I could feel the bond between us humming with life, stronger than it had ever been. Not healed, that would take time, but alive again.

But when I looked at her, her eyes were still on me. Gold and warm and full of something that looked like hope.

And this time… she didn't look away.

This time, she reached for me, pulling me closer until there was no space between us at all. Until we were breathing the same air, sharing the same warmth, existing in the same moment for the first time in twenty years.

And for the first time in twenty years, the fire inside her wasn't burning her alive… it was warming us both.

CHAPTER 17

The cafeteria at Ghost Ridge wasn't much more than a collection of long wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and a half-broken coffee urn that groaned and growled louder than any wolf dared to, but it was warm, and right now, that counted for something.

I stood at the counter with my fingers curled tight around a dented tin mug, watching the slow trickle of brown liquid that aspired to be coffee spiral into the cup. The scent wasn't anything remarkable, mostly dirt and steam with a faint hint of chicory, but it grounded me in the present moment.

After last night, I needed grounding.

My body still hummed with the memory of Alexis's touch, muscles loose and sated in a way they hadn't been for years. Every movement reminded me of what we'd rediscovered in each other's arms, of promises whispered against heated skin.

Alexis was already sitting at one of the side tables, a plate in front of her that she hadn't touched. Her posture was casual, but I could see the tension in her hands where they rested against her mug. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, but I could see the marks I'd left on her neck just above her collar, small dark bruises that made my wolf hum with satisfaction. She hadn't looked at me since I walked in, but I felt her just the same. That tug, muted but familiar, curled low in my chest. Our bond had settled overnight, stretching back into place like a muscle long out of use. Not fully healed, not fully open, but no longer raw or bleeding.

No longer burning.

Jayne and Sara were seated across from her, hunched over a topographic map that had been scribbled over with notes. Red ink marked danger zones, blue showed water sources, and black X's indicated confirmed Hunter positions. Jewel leaned in from the side, fork in one hand, gesturing toward a possible path in the cliffs, while Jess sat beside her, looking at nothing with the thousand-yard stare of someone who'd seen too much. They sat together like we weren't all half-sick with anticipation, like this was just another morning instead of potentially the last quiet moment we'd have together.

Or maybe that was only me who felt like that.

I could fight when I had to. Every Alpha could, or our wolves wouldn't have been able to rise to power. I regretted daily not killing Sloane during our fight in the mines, but I had shown mercy, a trait I had always admired in others. Now I knew it had been the wrong choice, but that didn't make the fight to come any easier. It just gave me a clear end goal.

What was bothering me most, though, was what no one said aloud, but we all knew: Mayfield should've checked in again by now.

"Long night?" Jayne asked without looking up as I approached. There was a teasing note in her voice that told me she'd picked up on the subtle changes in my scent, the lingering traces of intimacy that clung to my skin despite the shower I'd taken. Or maybe she’d just heard the screaming.

I nodded and slid onto the bench beside her. "Could say that."

She didn't ask for details. None of them did. But I caught the flicker of her gaze toward Alexis, quick and assessing, before returning to the map. The kind of look that catalogued changes in pack dynamics, filed away information for future reference.

Sara smirked without lifting her head. Her voice carried the particular brand of dry humor that came from years of survival. "You two go for a midnight hunt? Smells like exertion."

My brow arched, but I refused to rise to the bait, even if I could see Alexis fighting a smile from the corner of my eye. "Something like that."

Jewel made a show of stretching. Her grin was sharp and knowing. "Crazy how the bond comes back so quickly, huh?"

I leveled a look at her that could have melted steel, but she just grinned wider and stabbed her eggs, offering the fork to Jess, who took it while studying me with new interest. The mood wasn't exactly light, but it was less brittle than yesterday.

"There's movement near the ridge line," she said, her voice clipped but steady. All business now, the Alpha who commanded absolute loyalty from wolves who'd seen hell and chosen to follow her anyway. "Scouting parties, possibly prepping new sensors. Sentries say they spotted what looked like silver scatter traps near the northern bluff."

Jayne's face tightened, the easy humor draining away. "So they're expanding."

"Or bracing," Alexis said. Her eyes met mine for half a second, gold flickering in the depths, a reminder of how they'd blazed in the firelight last night. "Either way, we don't wait."

I nodded. The coffee in my mug had already going cold, but I didn't care. "We scout this afternoon. If it looks viable, we move. But if nothing is happening…"

"We go back to help Mayfield." Alexis confirmed, her voice carrying the weight of a promise. "But I have a bad feeling we're going to need to move on the mountain."

"Fast," Sara added. She looked up from the map, her expression grim. "Because if they're laying silver now, that means they're expecting company."

I didn't say it, but I saw the same thought flash across Jewel's face, reflected in the sudden tension that gripped everyone at the table. We still hadn't heard from Mayfield. No report. No coded messages. Hell, no emergency flares that could be seen for hundreds of miles. Just silence, stretching longer with each passing hour.

The kind of silence that usually meant the worst had already happened.

Jayne exhaled slowly and reached for the map. Her fingers traced the route we'd planned, checking elevations and escape routes one more time. "Then let's assume we're on a clock."

Beside her, Alexis rose from her chair with fluid grace. She didn't speak, just picked up her cup and crossed to the urn with quiet precision. As she passed, her fingers brushed against my wrist, barely there, just a flick of contact that sent electricity up my arm.

But it was enough. Enough to remind me of how those same fingers had mapped my body in the dark, how they'd tangled with mine as we'd fallen apart together. How they had woven with mine as we made promises of survival in the dark.

The others didn't comment, but I felt the subtle shift in the room's energy. They noticed. They all noticed the way she touched me, the way I didn't pull away, the scents that lingered between us. And still, no one said a word.

Smart wolves.

* * *

The path down the ridge was steep, cut sharp through brush and stone, and quiet. Ancient pines towered overhead, their branches filtering the afternoon light into dappled patterns that shifted with every breeze. The air smelled of evergreen sap and damp earth.

We moved in formation, deliberate, silent, a hunt without teeth just yet. But the tension sat heavy over us like fog, making every sound seem amplified, every shadow potentially dangerous.

Jess and Jewel were already in wolf form, their paws silent on the dirt, dark fur blending with the forest shadows. Fur brushing in a way that would've seemed incidental to anyone else, but I noticed the deliberate intimacy of it. The way Jewel leaned into Jess's side when they paused, the way Jess would twitch her tail just enough for their flanks to graze. It wasn't overt, but it was a language they were still learning how to speak, speaking only to each other.

It reminded me of the early days with Alexis, when every touch had been a revelation, every shared glance a secret communication that no one else could decode.

Sara ran ahead, her wolf form barely visible in the shadows. Silver-gray fur that caught and released light like water, making her nearly impossible to track even when you knew where to look. She knew the area around the mountain as well as any member of Ghost Pack, which made her one of the fastest among us, aside from Alexis and Jewel. Jayne stayed human, her eyes constantly scanning, the map folded neatly in her hand like she could will the terrain to make sense. She was good at this, commanding without needing to raise her voice, her presence keeping the others sharp and focused. I made a mental note to tell Princess how invaluable she was when we got back, assuming the other Alpha didn't blame me for taking her mate without so much as a goodbye.

Not that anyone could actually kidnap Jayne without a fight.

Which left me and Alexis slightly apart from the group, our steps slower, more observational. I wasn't sure if it was intentional or just inevitable, but the air between us had changed. The bond wasn't fully open, but it pulsed soft and low between us. Something steady I could lean on without falling. For the first time in years, it felt like we were walking in the same direction, maybe even toward the same future.

"Jess and Jewel are close," I murmured, nodding toward the pair just ahead. Their wolf forms moved in perfect synchronization, like they'd been pack-bonded for years instead of days or maybe weeks.

Alexis hummed low. A sound that vibrated through our connection, warm and familiar. "I've seen it."

"And?"

"And I think they could be good for each other," she said, gaze fixed on the slope ahead. Her voice carried the particular wisdom of someone who'd learned to read the subtle dynamics that kept packs together or tore them apart. "She needs someone who won't let her vanish into guilt."

I tilted my head toward her. "Like I didn’t for you?"

She didn't look at me, but I caught the slight tightening around her eyes, the way her jaw set with old pain. "No. You fought for me in your own ways. I just wasn't ready to be fought for in any way that wasn't violent. I needed violence the same way I need peace now. I thought I wanted you to pull me out, but now… I don’t know if I would have gone even if you had followed. Not at first, anyway.”

That settled between us like morning mist, gentle, but carrying the chill of truth that couldn't be ignored.

Up ahead, Sara materialized from the trees in a blur of silver and gray, shifting mid-step as she jogged back toward us. The fluid transformation was beautiful and unsettling, a reminder of how much these wolves had to embrace their dual nature to survive.

Jayne caught the signal before anyone else and called a halt with a sharp whistle between her teeth.

"They've set silver traps," Sara said, breathe short but even. Sweat darkened her hairline despite the cool mountain air. "At least three across the north bluff. I didn't risk getting too close, but I marked them. Looks like fresh installation, maybe in the last twelve hours."

The implications hit me like a physical blow. Fresh traps meant they were expecting us, had been preparing for our arrival. Either they'd traced our communication to Naomi, or this was part of a larger operation.

"Any patrols?" Alexis asked. Her voice stayed level, but I could feel the tension radiating from her through our bond.

"One. South slope. Two humans, armed." Sara's expression was grim. "Standard Hunter gear. Silver weapons, comm units, probably wired for backup."

Jess growled low in her chest, the sound carrying unfiltered rage, and moved forward with renewed purpose. Jewel flanked her immediately, their bodies creating a protective barrier around the group as they scanned the perimeter with predatory focus.

Jayne met my gaze and nodded. Her tactical mind was already working through alternatives. "We should cut left, down through the ravine. Less exposure. We'll need to climb a bit on the return, but it's safer than skirting the traps so closely."

I agreed with the strategy, but my mind wasn't fully on terrain analysis. The silence from Mayfield had stretched too long, and these fresh preparations suggested we were already behind the curve, already reacting instead of acting.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked Alexis as we began moving again. Our steps fell into the old rhythm, the synchronization that had once made us formidable hunting partners.

Her jaw tensed. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of years spent preparing for the worst. "That something's wrong? Yeah. I've been thinking it for a while."

I rolled my eyes at the deflection and glanced behind us at the shadows between the trees, at Jess and Jewel maintaining their protective formation like sentinels guarding against threats that might materialize from any direction. "If we're going to strike the mountain, it has to be soon. Every hour we wait, Mayfield gets further out of reach."

"I know," she said with a slight edge that told me this conversation was heading somewhere I wouldn't like.

The two words carried more weight than they should have, loaded with implications about priorities and choices that couldn't be delayed much longer.

"They're still my pack."

"I know." It was all she would give me, but I could feel the conflict through our bond, her understanding warring with tactical necessity, personal loyalty fighting against strategic thinking.

We didn't speak for a while after that, just walked in step through the forest shadows. Not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel her presence, could sense the slow rebuilding of something I'd thought was lost forever. Even if we couldn't agree on which path to follow, even if duty and desire were pulling us in different directions.

Although I was here instead of racing back to Mayfield, so what did that say about my priorities?

Jayne called another halt at the next ridge line. The one that, according to the map, would give us our first clear view of the mountain facility. She signaled for the team to gather and regroup, her movements economical and precise. The wolves stayed at the edge of our formation, alert and protective, while the rest of us formed a loose circle around the topographic chart.

Alexis moved to stand close beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, in a way that made me solid all the way to my bones. I didn't pull away. Couldn’t. Not when the contact grounded me in ways I was still learning to need again.

"We're almost out of time," I said under my breath. The words tasted like copper and urgency.

Her reply was barely more than a whisper. But it carried the certainty of someone who'd made peace with impossible odds. "Then we make it count."

Jayne didn't waste time on ceremony. She knelt beside the map and pointed to a narrow outcropping just above the ravine's end, her finger tracing the elevation lines. "This spot should give us a partial view of the mountain's east side. Unless they've made major renovations recently, this will be the loading platforms." Her finger jabbed at the map, leaving a small indentation in the paper. "We might even be able to see the outer hangar if the trees are sparse enough in that section."

"Good," Alexis said. Her Alpha voice was back, cutting through doubt with surgical precision. "That's where we'll go next. If we catch sight of activity near the loading docks, we move. No more waiting."

I stiffened, my protective instincts flaring. "That close to the facility, we'll be exposed."

Jayne shrugged with the casual confidence of someone who'd infiltrated enemy territory before. "So we stay low. And fast. Your average Hunter isn’t great at spotting details. But if they're mobilizing, we need to know now."

Alexis looked at me, and I saw the moment of decision crystallizing in her eyes, the point where strategic necessity overrode personal preference. "This is the line, Lydia. If we see movement… we go in."

The trees rustled ahead as Sara let out a short, sharp bark of agreement that carried clearly through the forest air. Jess and Jewel were already in motion, cutting toward the slope with their noses to the wind, reading scents and signs that human senses couldn't detect.

I felt the weight of inevitability settle behind my ribs, pressing against my lungs like a physical presence. This was it. The moment where we committed to a course of action that would determine not just our survival, but the survival of everyone we'd left behind.

Jayne motioned after the others. Her voice carried a note of dark humor that didn't quite mask the underlying tension. "Let's go see what ghosts are waiting at the gates."

Sara shifted back to human form with fluid grace and moved quickly after Jess and Jewel, her bare feet making no sound on the forest floor. Jayne followed, slipping into the trees with practiced ease, the map already folded back into her coat pocket.

But Alexis didn't move.

Neither did I.

We stood in the filtered sunlight, surrounded by the ancient quiet of the forest, while our pack moved ahead toward whatever waited at the mountain facility. The moment felt suspended, fragile as spun glass.

"We'll wait here," she said, her voice low. Not because she was afraid of being overheard, but because some things were too important to speak loudly. "If they spot something worth dying for… they'll signal."

I didn't argue, though every instinct screamed at me to either advance or retreat. My fingers flexed around the hilt of the knife at my hip, muscle memory from countless training sessions reminding me of its weight and balance.

"We're really doing this. Together."

Alexis didn't answer right away. Her eyes were on the dark tree line where our pack had disappeared, but her presence was fully with me, I could feel her attention like warmth against my skin.

"We always were," she finally said. The words carried the years of separation and the promise of whatever time we had left.

The wind shifted, carrying new scents from deeper in the forest, pine sap and moss, but underneath that, something sharper. Something that didn't belong.

Somewhere ahead, a bird cried out and went silent with unnatural abruptness.

I stepped closer. Close enough to feel her body heat, to smell the familiar scent that was uniquely hers beneath the practical odors of weapons and gear. "Then let's make this moment count."

She turned, slowly. And stayed, her attention focused on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

In that stillness, something inside me settled. We weren't rushing this time. There was no crash of limbs or frantic kisses like we might not have another breath. Just the quiet, deliberate awareness of being seen. Of being chosen, by fate and each other.

Alexis's eyes searched mine, her brow furrowed not in confusion but in reverence, like she was trying to memorize this moment, to hold on to the way I looked when I wasn't flinching from the world around us.

"I don't want this moment to end," she said, voice rough with truth. Her vulnerability was a gift, offered freely despite the risk. "I don't want to go into battle knowing I might lose you again."

"It doesn't have to," I whispered, stepping in until there was barely a breath between us. Until I could count the gold flecks in her eyes, could feel the rapid pulse at her throat. "Not if we survive." I captured her gaze, both of our wolves so close to the surface I could almost hear them breathing beside us. "And we will survive."

Her hand rose, hesitated for a heartbeat, then pressed lightly against my cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, like she was checking to see if I was really smiling.

I wasn't. But I could have been.

The weight between us wasn't gone, but it had transformed from grief into something deeper, more solid. The kind of gravity that held planets in orbit, that created the conditions for life to flourish.

She leaned in until her forehead touched mine. Her breath was warm against my skin, carrying the faint scent of coffee and something uniquely her. "I still don't know if I deserve this."

"You don't have to," I breathed. The words came from a place deeper than thought, from the part of me that had never stopped believing in us. "Because if you don't deserve this, I don't to think about what that means for me." I paused, gathering courage for the next words. "Just don't run from it."

Her lips ghosted across mine, a question, not a demand. Soft as butterfly wings, tentative as first snow.

I answered by closing the distance, slow and certain, my hands curling into the back of her shirt like I could anchor myself there, anchor us both to this moment before the world tried to tear us apart again.

We kissed like it was the first time all over again: soft, slow, shattering.

Not a promise, those were too fragile for what we faced.

Not forgiveness, that was still a work in progress.

A tether. Something strong enough to hold us together when everything else tried to pull us apart.

When we parted, I didn't let go. Neither did she.

The forest around us seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the signal that would shatter this moment of peace and send us racing toward whatever fate waited in the mountain facility.

"I missed you every damn day," I said against her jaw. The admission tasted like salt and regret and years of empty beds.

"I never stopped needing you," she replied. Her voice cracked slightly, revealing the depth of loneliness she'd carried, the way she'd ached for something she'd convinced herself she couldn't have.

The moment stretched between us, warm and fragile and absolutely real. A heartbeat of peace before the war returned, before duty called us back to the business of survival.

Then, cutting through the forest quiet like a blade, came the sound we'd been waiting for: A howl rose in the distance. Long and urgent, carrying the particular pitch that meant "target acquired" in the tactical language Ghost Pack had developed over years of guerrilla warfare.

The signal.

Alexis pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, gold flickering in her gaze like dawn breaking through storm clouds. "Then we move. Together." She looked out over the valley toward where our pack waited, her shoulders straightening with renewed purpose. "I've never been this close to something I wanted and terrified I might lose it again.”

"Me too."

My knife was already in my hand, the familiar weight grounding me in the present moment. So was hers, the blade catching afternoon light as she checked its edge from long habit. Where we were going, the wolves would have to wait, kept in check by silver and enemies that knew how to hurt us.

How to tear us apart.

We turned toward the ridge where our pack waited, the moment of tenderness folding seamlessly into motion, into the deadly purpose that had brought us here.

CHAPTER 18

The rock shelf we crouched on was narrow and sharp, high enough above the loading area that we had to stay low or risk being seen. The stone bit into my knees even through thick fabric, and I could taste the tang of adrenaline on my tongue. I didn't recognize the terrain, but some things seemed familiar from the layout Jayne had described in mission reports and Princess had marked on the maps back in Mayfield.

Below us, the mountain base stretched in cold silence. The facility looked like a wound carved into the mountainside, all sharp angles and unnatural materials that had no business existing in this ancient landscape. The loading platforms looked operational but empty, too clean, too exposed. Even from here, I could feel the unnatural stillness of it. Only a few Hunters moved between the structures, their footsteps echoing up the mountain walls in the thin air, making my skin crawl.

Jess and Jewel returned just as the sun dipped low enough to cast the valley in shadow. They shifted just past the ridge, flashes of dark fur dissolving into bare skin and quick breath. Jewel dropped into a crouch beside Jayne, her fingers already reaching for the map. Her movements were economical, precise, every gesture calculated for maximum efficiency.

Jess didn't bother sitting, but stood, bouncing from foot to foot. Energy radiated from her in waves, the restless movement of a predator preparing to hunt.

"They haven't changed the codes," she said, voice flat. But I could hear the underlying tension, the way her words carried the weight of memory and recognition. "Outer security doors still take my ID."

Jayne's head snapped up. Her expression shifted from tactical assessment to alarm in the space of a heartbeat. "You tested it?"

Jess nodded. The movement was sharp, definitive. "Slipped around the perimeter. Scanned in at the south patrol gate, then bailed. No alarms. No response."

The implications hit me like a physical blow. They were expecting us, had left the door open in welcome.

"That's a trap," Jayne muttered, eyes narrowing. Her voice carried the particular frustration of a tactician who could see the snare but had no choice but to step into it. "They want us to use it."

Sara's mouth twisted. Her expression was grim but unsurprised. "Which means we probably have to."

Alexis stood near the edge, scanning the tree line. Her posture was alert but controlled, every sense focused on reading the terrain for threats. "What about the maintenance tunnel from your last escape?"

"Collapsed," Jewel answered grimly. She pointed to a section of the mountainside where fresh scars marked the rock face. "Intentionally. We couldn't get within fifty feet of the entrance. The landslide was reinforced. There's no way in through that path anymore."

I could see the situation closing around us like a noose. Every alternative route eliminated, every option narrowed down to the one path they wanted us to take.

Jess crossed her arms. Her eyes held the fierce determination of someone who'd already made peace with necessary risks. "But the patrol gate's still open. It leads directly into the outer corridor. Security looked light, but they've definitely moved the cameras."

"And let me guess," I said, voice low. The pattern was becoming clear, and I didn't like where it was leading. "Those cameras avoid the gate completely?"

"Wide angle, no coverage," Jewel confirmed. Her tone was flat, professional, but I could hear the underlying anger at being manipulated. "Which is exactly what I would do if I wanted someone to feel comfortable enough to come through."

Alexis's jaw set. The muscle at her temple twitched with barely controlled tension. "They're trying to herd us."

"They're succeeding," Jayne muttered. Her hands clenched into fists before she forced them to relax. "We're running out of options."

My stomach tightened with the familiar sensation of being backed into a corner. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that we were walking into a carefully constructed trap. That we should just turn around and head for Mayfield instead… But the alternative was leaving whatever prisoners remained to their fate when we were already at the front door.

"If we go in that way, what's our cover? Are we shifting?"

Jewel glanced at Jess. The look that passed between them was weighted with shared understanding, with memories of silver poisoning and forced transformations. "Not yet. If we shift inside, we'll be exposed to the silver they have lining the walls. The entire facility is laced with it, ceilings, vents, door frames. All of it.”

Jayne's expression darkened. "It burns like acid. Makes your bones feel like they're dissolving from the inside out."

The casual way she described the torture made my wolf recoil deeper into my chest, seeking protection that didn't exist.

"We'll hold our wolves," Jewel continued, ignoring Jayne's addition. "Until we hit resistance. Then we shift, strike, and shift back fast."

"Minutes," Jayne reminded us. Her voice carried the weight of experience, of having tested those limits and barely survived. "You'll have minutes before the silver eats through your lungs, your bones. It will force you to shift back, and it won't be pretty."

I looked at each of them: Jess with her jaw set in grim determination, Jewel radiating controlled fury, Sara preparing for yet another impossible mission, Jayne carrying the scars of her last encounter with Hunter technology, Alexis standing ready to lead us all into hell if necessary.

I looked at each of them, every face set with the same grim understanding. "Then we make those minutes count."

Alexis nodded, stepping to my side. Her presence was solid, grounding, a reminder that whatever happened next, we'd face it together. "We move at sundown."

"And we finish it," Jess said, voice low but steady. The words carried the weight of fresh rage, of a sister who would never come home, of justice too long delayed. "One way or another."

With that, the others drifted back toward the tree line, spreading out in pairs, checking weapons and gear with the methodical precision of soldiers preparing for battle. No more jokes. No more casual banter. Just the sound of boots on gravel and controlled breathing as the sun slipped closer to the ridge line.

The transformation was complete. We were no longer a group of wolves seeking answers. We were a strike team preparing for war.

Alexis didn't move from my side.

We stood together in the growing dusk, both watching the facility below like it might suddenly reveal its secrets or spring some hidden trap. The metal roofs jutting out from the mountainside caught the last of the light, turning sharp and gold against the looming shadow of the stone. But even now, there was no movement near the platforms.

No alarms. No visible guards.

Just the echo of a base pretending not to notice the predators gathering on its doorstep.

"They want us to come," I said softly.

"They're expecting us to."

I glanced sideways. Her profile was sharp against the darkening sky, carved from determination and twenty years of hard choices. "And we're walking in anyway."

She nodded, but her expression didn't shift. Her voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. "Because we have to. Not because they want us to. We have to stop this. It’s our choice, and we made it when we left my pack.”

She glanced at me from the corner of her eyes, and I knew she was right. Had known it since we left. We were never going to go back to Mayfield. My pack had an Alpha with them, the wolves trapped under this mountain had no one. It wasn't enough justification for what we were about to attempt, and yet it was everything that mattered. Sometimes the only choice was between impossible options.

The silence settled thicker now that the others were out of earshot, creating a bubble of intimacy in the midst of preparation for violence. The kind of silence that demanded honesty.

"Earlier," I said, my voice low. The words felt important, like they needed to be spoken before we crossed the point of no return. "You said you were terrified of losing this again.”

Her gaze didn't move from the valley. When she spoke, her voice carried a vulnerability that she rarely allowed herself to show. "Yeah, I'm not afraid of the fight. I'm afraid of surviving it and still losing.”

That caught me off guard. "What?"

"I've made peace with dying in a fight like this. For the right reasons." She paused, and I could see her gathering courage for the admission. "What scares me is what comes next. If we live." She turned her head to meet my eyes. Gold flickered in the depths, reflecting the last light of day. "I don't know what to do with a future anymore, Lydia. Especially one with you in it."

The confession hit me like a physical blow. All this time, I'd been afraid she'd choose war over peace, violence over healing. But she was afraid of the opposite, afraid of surviving long enough to have to learn how to live again.

I didn't flinch, but my heart hammered in my chest. "Then we figure it out."

Her breath hitched, barely. But she didn't look away, didn't retreat behind the mask of Alpha authority.

I slipped closer, slow, like I was afraid she might vanish. Close enough to smell her scent beneath the practical odors of weapons and gear, to see the pulse racing at her throat. "This doesn't have to be clean. It doesn't have to be perfect. But it has to be real."

"It is," she said. The words came out rough, honest. "It always has been."

She reached for my hand. Not with certainty, but with care, like I was something precious she wasn't sure she had the right to hold. Our fingers laced together anyway, the contact sending warmth up my arm and straight to my heart.

"I didn't come back to you because I wanted to fight," she murmured. Her voice was barely above a whisper, meant only for me. "I came because I couldn't stay away."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion. "You think I didn't feel that every mile we walked?"

The last rays of sunlight broke across the platform below, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow. Beautiful and ominous, like the moment before a storm breaks.

She turned to face me fully now, her free hand rising to brush a piece of hair back from my cheek. Her thumb lingered against my skin, tracing the line of my cheekbone with reverent attention. "Whatever happens in that compound… whatever we lose or win… I need you to know I'm not running anymore."

I leaned into her touch, not for a kiss this time, but for closeness. For stillness. For that one clear breath before the world burned again.

"I believe you," I whispered. And I did, could feel the truth of it in the way she touched me, in the steady warmth of our bond. "And I'm not either."

We didn't need more words than that. Some promises were too important for elaborate declarations, too precious to risk breaking with grand gestures.

* * *

The sun had fully vanished behind the ridge, leaving only bruised streaks of color across the sky. Purple and deep blue painted the horizon, while the first stars appeared like pinpricks in the gathering darkness. Below us, the facility remained lit in cold fluorescence, a sharp, sterile glow that spilled over the empty platforms and painted every shadow with suspicion.

The contrast was jarring. Natural beauty above, artificial menace below. Like someone had carved a piece of hell out of paradise and dared anyone to do something about it.

The others regrouped quietly, returning one by one to the shelf above the loading area. No one needed to ask if it was time, the shift in energy was undeniable, the casual preparation giving way to focused intensity.

The hush around us had sharpened to a point, every sound seeming amplified in the thin mountain air.

Jayne crouched over the map, her voice just above a whisper. Even at low volume, her words carried absolute authority. "We'll drop down along the drainage line to the south. It's shallow but narrow enough to keep us low if we go one by one, single file."

"Jess takes point," Alexis said without hesitation. Her Alpha command brooked no argument. "She knows the patrol gate, and if anything goes wrong, she's the only one who might be able to talk her way through it."

Jess didn't argue, but I saw the way her jaw tightened, the slight tremor in her hands as she processed the weight of leading us back into the place that had nearly destroyed her. She was already tightening the straps on her vest, eyes bright but distant.

Jewel looked ready to protest. I could see the objection forming in her expression, the protective instinct warring with tactical necessity. But a quick touch from Jess settled her back on her heels. Her jaw worked silently, but she remained quiet.

"I want Jewel, Jayne, and Sara behind her," I said, noting the look of relief that flashed across the Ghost Pack second's face as she shifted closer to Jess. "I'll bring up the rear," I finished, glancing at Alexis as I spoke. "We need a flanking position in case we get funneled."

Alexis nodded. Her agreement was immediate, absolute. "I'll stay with you. If anything happens, we keep the others moving forward."

There were no affirmations, no rally cries, no last-minute speeches about honor or duty. This wasn't that kind of fight.

Just motion.

Jess crouched at the edge of the rock shelf, peering down the slope with the focused attention of someone cataloguing every possible threat, every potential advantage. Her posture had shifted completely. No longer the traumatized survivor we'd rescued, but a weapon preparing to strike. Given purpose.

"We'll move in two minutes," Jayne said. Her voice carried the calm certainty of someone who'd done this before. "No lights. No sound. Weapons only if needed."

Jewel moved to her position in the line, but not before touching Jess's hand, a brief contact that was barely more than a brush of fingers, but said everything that mattered. Jess didn't smile, but she lingered in that moment of connection for one heartbeat longer than necessity required.

The gesture reminded me of what Alexis and I had been when we were that young. Fighting for our freedom and what, we felt, was right. It reminded me now that we weren't just soldiers on a mission, we were people with something to lose, something worth coming back for.

Alexis leaned in beside me, her voice low. Her breath was warm against my ear, carrying the familiar scent that had become home. "Are you ready?"

No.

I would never be ready for this. For walking into a trap, for risking everything on a desperate gamble, for potentially watching the people I loved die because of choices I'd made.

"Yes."

The tension between us hadn't dissolved, but it had transformed into something shared, a weight we both carried willingly. Her hand brushed mine, not to hold, but to steady, to remind me that whatever happened next, we'd face it together.

Jayne gave a single nod, and the team slipped into motion.

One by one, we disappeared over the ridge, leaving behind the safety of distance and committing ourselves to whatever waited in the facility below.

The descent was brutal.

Loose shale shifted beneath our boots with every step, threatening to send us tumbling down the mountainside in an avalanche of noise and broken bones. Each small stone that went skittering down the slope felt too loud, too bright in the dark, like the mountain itself might wake and give us away.

The drainage line was exactly as narrow as Jayne had described, barely wide enough for single file, with crumbling edges that made every step a calculated risk.

No one spoke. We moved like ghosts, slipping down the mountainside with the kind of practiced silence that came from years of survival instincts.

Jess led without hesitation, her movements sharp and practiced. This had become someone who'd found her purpose in the promise of vengeance, who'd transformed trauma into weapon-grade determination. I knew we had the woman keeping pace with her to thank for that transformation, the steady presence of someone who understood her particular kind of damage.

Jewel stayed so close behind her that her hand brushed Jess's back whenever they ducked or turned. The contact was constant, reassuring, a reminder that neither of them was alone in this.

Jayne moved with the fluid precision, reading the terrain and adjusting her path with minimal wasted motion. Sara followed with the quiet competence that had kept Haven alive through impossible odds.

Then Alexis and me, bringing up the rear, watching for threats that might come from behind while keeping our pack in sight.

I kept my eyes on the figures ahead, but I could feel the weight of what we were approaching pressing against my consciousness like a physical thing. The last time Jess had walked through that patrol gate, she'd been broken, desperate, not sure who she was anymore.

Now she knew exactly who she was, and she was choosing to walk back into hell.

That kind of courage mattered. That kind of strength could change the world.

The rocks gave way to a narrow service path, just wide enough for one person at a time, carved into the mountainside with a manmade precision that felt wrong against the organic curves of natural stone.

We flattened ourselves against the cliff wall when headlights cut through the trees to the north, a patrol vehicle's engine rumbling somewhere on the upper ridge. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the mountain quiet, and I held my breath until it faded.

No one moved until the lights disappeared down the far slope, leaving us in darkness again.

Jess held up a hand. The gesture was sharp, immediate.

We froze.

She approached the gate panel with the careful movements of someone defusing a bomb, every step deliberate and controlled. Her fingers flew across the screen, entering codes she'd hoped never to use again. The green light blinked once. Then again, like the system was thinking, processing, deciding whether to accept or reject her credentials.

Then it stayed solid.

The door slid open with a soft hiss that seemed to echo in the mountain air.

In that moment, we all understood: they would know we were here. The moment we crossed that threshold, any pretense of stealth would be abandoned. We would be walking into the mouth of a trap with our eyes wide open.

We stepped in through the teeth, waiting for the jaws to snap shut.

Inside, the air was immediately different. Colder, too still, with an artificial quality that made my skin crawl. The hallway stretched in both directions, lined with pale steel and weak lighting that buzzed faintly overhead like dying insects.

Every surface gleamed with the kind of sterile perfection that spoke of obsessive maintenance. Every corner smelled wrong, bleach and silver and something more foul, something organic that had been buried but not forgotten.

I caught a glimpse of a reflective strip running along the ceiling and recognized the fine mesh woven through it.

Silver.

Already I could feel it prickling along my skin, making my wolf try to draw back deeper inside me, seeking shelter that didn't exist. The sensation was like being slowly poisoned, like breathing acid that burned from the inside out.

Jayne raised a hand and gestured left. Her movements were professional, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself like she was fighting not to flinch.

Jess led again, slower this time, more careful. Her body language had shifted completely. No longer just focused, but wary, reading every shadow for potential threats. Her hand hovered near her weapon as we passed the first junction.

The facility felt empty, but not abandoned. More like it was waiting for whatever came next.

No alarms.

No movement.

Only silence.

Until a sharp metal groan echoed from somewhere ahead, quick, short, like a pressure door engaging or disengaging.

We all dropped low. The sound of our bodies hitting the floor seemed impossibly loud, but there was no choice except to trust that speed was more important than stealth now.

Alexis shifted beside me, positioning her body between mine and the source of the sound. Her shoulder pressed against mine, solid and warm and reassuring.

"I've got you," she whispered. The words were barely audible, but they carried the weight of absolute commitment.

I nodded, jaw tight. My knife was already in my hand, though I didn't remember drawing it.

Jayne pointed toward a side corridor, her gesture sharp and decisive. A small door marked with maintenance symbols, barely visible in the dim lighting.

Manual access.

Jess reached it in three quick strides. She tried the handle with careful pressure.

Locked.

Jewel stepped forward immediately, producing a small strip of metal from her boot with the kind of casual competence that spoke of extensive experience with breaking and entering. She worked at the panel with steady hands while sparks snapped and dimmed.

The door clicked. The sound was soft but seemed to echo in the sterile hallway.

We slipped inside.

It was a storage room. Small, cramped, full of stacked supply crates and maintenance equipment that smelled of oil and metal. But most importantly, it had no visible cameras, no silver mesh in the walls.

For the moment, it was safe. Or as safe as anywhere could be in a facility designed to contain and experiment on our kind.

"We'll hold here for sixty seconds," Jayne said, her voice barely audible even in the confined space. "Then we move to the inner hallway. Jess, you're still point. If anything moves that isn't us, we drop it."

Jess nodded once, her expression set in lines of grim determination.

The tension wrapped tighter around all of us now, like a string pulled to the breaking point. We were committed now, past the point of retreat.

We were in.

There was no going back.

And somewhere in this facility, beyond the silver-lined corridors and sterile laboratories, Sloane was waiting for me to finish what we had started in those mine tunnels so long ago.

This time, I wouldn't show mercy.

This time, I would end it.

CHAPTER 19

The hallway felt too small for six adult shifters to be moving through, even in single file, silent except for the low hum of vents overhead and the almost imperceptible buzz of silver wiring braided through every surface. I could feel it in my veins like poison, taunting me and pushing my wolf to itch beneath my skin. The sensation was constant, maddening, like being slowly burned from the inside out.

Even without shifting, I could feel the way it curled beneath my fingernails, keeping my claws retracted. Not enough to stop us, not yet, but enough to remind us we weren't welcome here. Enough to make my wolf whine and pace restlessly in the cage of my ribs.

Jess led us out of the supply room in a tight column, motioning left without a word. The corridor stretched into darkness like a throat waiting to swallow us, broken only by the occasional glow strip overhead that cast sickly pools of light.

She moved like a shadow, low and silent, checking corners, watching for movement. Every step was calculated, precise. The movements of someone who'd learned that a single misstep could mean death. Jewel followed just as close, their steps almost synchronized. The bond between them was alive even here, a connection that transcended the horror around us.

Behind them, Jayne and Sara stayed alert, one scanning high, the other low. Their movements were professional and coordinated, the kind of tactical awareness that came from years of dangerous living. Alexis and I brought up the rear, our backs nearly brushing the wall. She kept her shoulder close to mine without touching, every sense on edge, her presence a steady anchor in the nightmare we were navigating.

We didn't speak. There wasn't anything left to say that wouldn't echo off these sterile walls and give us away.

We passed two doors, both locked, both marked with faded red stripes that looked like dried blood in the dim lighting. Jess didn't stop to try them, whatever lay behind those barriers wasn't our target. The real entrance was deeper in, past more layers of security and silver-lined defenses.

Jayne tilted her head suddenly. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle coiled for action.

We all halted.

A flicker of motion at the far end of the corridor. Too fast to track properly, too quiet to be anything human.

Too quiet to be anything good.

Alexis moved slightly ahead of me, lips drawn tight, every line of her body screaming predator. I felt her pulse through our bond, not in sound, but in the way her breathing changed, the way tension radiated from her skin. Steady, measured, ready for violence.

She didn't know the specific history tucked into these halls, but she could read the air well enough. Could smell the fear and pain that had soaked into the core of the stone.

There was pain here.

And death.

And something worse. The kind of systematic cruelty that turned healing into harm, that perverted the natural order until nothing remained but suffering.

Jess crept forward, knife raised. The blade caught what little light there was, gleaming like a promise of retribution.

She signaled back with quick, economical gestures: One figure. Moving fast. Not a Hunter.

Jewel narrowed her eyes. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it seemed to thunder in the oppressive silence. "One of ours?"

Jess shook her head. Her expression was grim, carrying the weight of terrible understanding. "Doesn't smell right. Could be one of theirs in a collar."

That stopped us cold. The implications hit like a physical blow, making my stomach clench with horror and rage.

No one had to explain what that meant. A collared wolf wasn't just a threat. It was a tragedy walking on two legs. Conditioned, controlled, stripped of everything that made them who they were. If the Hunters had captured enough of our people, they wouldn't hesitate to use them as weapons outside of the frontline, as bait, as living reminders of what happened to those who opposed them.

And we wouldn't be able to reason with them. Could only try to survive their attack while knowing that underneath the conditioning, they were still our people.

If we were lucky.

Jayne looked to me. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the tactical assessment happening behind her eyes. "You want to fall back? We're close to the split between the lockdown pens and the labs. We can take the eastern hall and circle."

I shook my head. The thought of retreat made my wolf snarl with frustrated rage. "No time. We need to reach the survivors before the next shift rotates."

Sara's voice was low but firm. She spoke with the quiet conviction of someone who'd made peace with necessary risks. "Then we move fast and quiet. If it is one of theirs, they already know we're inside anyway."

I stepped forward to retake my position behind Alexis, drawing comfort from her presence. Her shoulder met mine for the briefest second, a moment of connection that steadied my nerves.

Jess moved again, this time faster. Her voice was barely audible, meant only for us. "Three turns, then we're there."

No one replied. We didn't need to. The time for words had passed. Now there was only action, only the desperate hope that we weren't too late.

The next three corridors passed in a blur of controlled motion and carefully controlled breathing. Each step took us deeper into the facility's heart, past more silver-lined walls and sterile surfaces that reflected our passage like accusatory mirrors.

Jess didn't slow again until we reached a junction where the architecture changed completely. Newer steel layered over older stone, the seams uneven and obviously rushed. This was a retrofit, a hasty modification to serve some purpose the original designers had never intended.

Whatever they were hiding here, it hadn't been part of the original plan.

Jewel pressed a palm to the wall, her eyes narrowing. Her fingers traced the junction between old and new materials. "They reinforced it. Recently."

Jayne scowled. Her expression was dark with understanding. "To hold something… or someone."

We moved tighter together, backs nearly brushing, as the reality of what we might find ahead settled over us like a shroud. The hallway narrowed into a choke point designed to funnel movement, to limit options. To herd us towards whatever experiments had been happening in the darkness of the Virginia mountains.

Two doors waited ahead like sentinels. One marked LAB 3 in crisp, clinical lettering. The other unmarked, sealed with both a keypad and a double bolt system that spoke of maximum security.

There were faint smudges on the unmarked door's frame. Dark stains that could have been anything but looked suspiciously like blood. Scratches scored the metal, deep gouges like someone had tried to claw their way out with desperate, half-shifted fingers.

Jess pointed to the unmarked one. Her voice carried the weight of terrible familiarity. "They had a pen system there when I was here. Lockdown cages and isolation units. This is where they stashed anyone they didn't want seen."

"Or anyone they broke," Jewel added grimly.

That wasn't metaphor. We all knew what "broken" meant in Hunter terminology. Wolves who'd been so thoroughly traumatized, so systematically destroyed, that nothing remained of who they'd once been. Neither fit for life as a wolf nor a weapon.

Alexis's fingers curled into a fist. Her voice carried the absolute authority of an Alpha who would not be denied. "Open it."

Jess nodded, her expression tight with concentration and old pain. "They locked me out of this sector before I escaped, but I memorized the maintenance schematics for the doors. Jewel’s good with locks, the Hunters are bad with tech, she might be able to.”

Jewel nodded and crouched low, pulling a thin strip of metal from her pack. It was a prying tool designed for exactly this kind of work. "The locks are reinforced, but the access panels weren't rewired. It’s like they never expected anyone to come in through this side."

"They never do," Jayne muttered, her eyes fixed on the door with predatory intensity.

Jewel’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, prying off the small maintenance plate below the keypad. Beneath it lay a tangled mess of wires and conduits that blinked with faint electronic life.

She reached in carefully, working by touch in the cramped space. "This part wasn’t upgraded. If I can short the manual override⁠—"

Jayne growled low, her patience finally snapping. She pushed around Jess and shoved Jewel aside with barely controlled violence. "Move." She reached into the panel, grabbed a handful of wires, and yanked them free with brutal efficiency.

Sparks popped and crackled, filling the air with the high voltage smell of burning electronics. The green light blinked uncertainly, paused as if thinking, then flickered solid in an attempt to avoid more abuse.

The bolt clicked open with a slow, reluctant groan that seemed to echo forever in the narrow hallway.

Jess exhaled shakily, sweat beading at her temples despite the cool air. "Was that necessary?"

"We don't have time to play with wires. Besides, they have to know we're here already." Jayne shrugged. Her casual dismissal of stealth spoke to just how desperate our situation had become.

"That doesn't mean we needed to announce our exact location by ripping through their circuitry," Jewel snapped. Her voice carried the particular frustration of someone watching a careful plan dissolve into chaos. “I had it covered.”

"Enough." Alexis practically barked, the sound making us all flinch as it echoed off the sterile walls. "We've probably got about a minute before that triggers a system ping. We move now, or not at all."

We waited, holding our breath, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps or alarms. But the facility remained eerily quiet, as if it were holding its breath right along with us.

Behind the door came a sound that made my blood run cold.

Faint. But unmistakably organic.

A low whine, not mechanical. Animal. Followed by a dull thump that could only be a body hitting a wall.

Then silence.

But not empty silence. The kind of quiet that comes when something is trying very hard not to be heard.

A second passed, stretching like an eternity.

Then a slow scrape, like claws on steel, deliberate and desperate.

Sara's voice was barely a whisper. But I could hear the recognition in it, the terrible understanding. "Someone's in there. I think… I think I recognize that scent."

"Not just someone," Jewel said quietly. "Several."

We all froze, straining to listen beyond the door. The noises were inconsistent, chaotic. A snarl from deeper within the space, then the sound of another body hitting a wall. A higher-pitched whine that cut off abruptly, as if someone had been silenced.

No voices. No words. Just the sounds of caged instinct and unending pain.

"They're still fighting it," Jess murmured. Her voice carried a mixture of hope and heartbreak. "Whatever they've done to them… they haven't been fully broken."

Jayne glanced down the corridor nervously, as if she expected something to burst through the walls. "And that's why this whole section's been rebuilt. Not to cage them. To contain the fallout if they lose control.”

The implications were staggering. How many of our people were behind that door? How long had they been trapped there? And what had been done to them in the name of Hunter "science"?

Alexis took a slow step back, her jaw clenched. "Can we get them out?"

Jewel examined the panel more carefully, her expression growing increasingly grim. "Not without triggering the entire lockdown system. It's wired for breach detection."

My chest ached with the weight of impossible choices. "We can't just leave them."

Jayne turned to me. Her expression was compassionate but brutally honest. "If we open it, and they're not in their right minds… we won't be able to stop them without putting them down."

I knew that.

We all did.

The Hunters were experts at breaking minds, at turning our greatest strengths against us. But the knowledge didn't make the choice any easier.

And still, the desperate scraping continued from behind the door. A reminder that even in cages, even broken and tortured, our people hadn't given up.

Not yet.

Jewel’s hand hovered over the panel, uncertain. The weight of decision hung heavy in the air between us.

"We'll come back," I said finally, forcing the words through a throat tight with emotion. "If we survive the rest, we come back. We open it then. They can either help us fight our way out or…"

"Or they become a distraction for us to escape," Alexis finished softly. She didn't look at me, but her fingers brushed my arm in silent understanding and agreement.

The brutal reality of survival. Sometimes love meant making choices that felt like betrayal. Even if you didn’t know who you were betraying.

Jewel nodded once, her expression grim and quiet, then stepped back from the panel. Jess reached for her, their fingers meeting for a brief moment of shared support. Each of us carried the weight of that decision as we turned away from the sealed corridor.

Every step felt heavier than the last, loaded with the knowledge of what we were leaving behind.

The hallway angled east, narrowing again before opening into another junction. This stretch felt older, more decrepit. Rust crept along the corners like cancer, and the floor was worn smooth from decades of use as a mine before it ever thought of being a research facility.

The further we moved from the reinforced pens, the more the facility felt like something abandoned and repurposed. Like a house that had been gutted and rebuilt too many times, each renovation layering new horrors over old foundations.

A soft hum kicked on above us. Not the familiar sound of ventilation, but something deeper, more ominous.

Emergency power.

The lights flickered once, then steadied in a dull red glow that painted everything in shades of blood and shadow.

We were no longer undetected. The facade of stealth had finally crumbled completely.

"Guess ripping the wires didn't go unnoticed," Jess muttered. Her tone was carefully neutral, but I caught the underlying tension.

"No one's come yet," Jewel said, her eyes scanning the ceiling for signs of surveillance equipment. "That's worse. Where are they?"

Sara held her knife a little tighter. The blade seemed to absorb the red light, becoming a shadow in her grip. "They're watching."

The corridor turned once more, and that's when the smell hit me like a physical blow.

Blood. Fresh, metallic, unmistakable.

Shifter blood. Our people's blood.

Jayne raised a hand, slowing us. She gestured toward the left-hand wall, where a door hung slightly ajar. Not enough to look inviting, just enough to suggest someone hadn't finished closing it.

Or had left it open deliberately.

Jess moved first, stepping low and fast with the fluid grace of a predator approaching potential prey. She pressed her hand against the frame, testing for vibrations, for any sign of movement within.

Then she nodded grimly. "No movement."

Alexis edged beside her and pushed the door open with her toe, keeping her body clear of the potential line of fire.

The stench hit us with renewed force: iron and sweat and something decayed beneath it that made my nose burn.

A mixture of pain and silver poisoning and desperation that spoke of systematic horrors.

Inside the room, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering intermittently before stabilizing in a harsh, clinical glare. The space wasn't large, maybe twelve by twelve feet, and half of it was consumed by a holding cell, the bars coated with a dark substance that could have been dirt, oil, blood, or a combination.

A young man was suspended inside, his body slumped against the back wall, arms chained high above his head at an angle that would have been agony even for someone in perfect health.

He wasn't unconscious, but his head hung low, and his skin had the sickly pallor that came from prolonged silver exposure. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow bursts, too fast to be restful, too irregular to be natural.

"Ryan." Sara's voice broke on his name, carrying guilt and desperate hope.

"Shit," Jayne hissed, already moving toward the cell with single-minded determination.

Alexis caught her arm. Her grip was iron, immovable. "Wait."

I followed her gaze and immediately understood the problem.

The floor just inside the cell shimmered with an almost imperceptible distortion, like heat haze rising from summer asphalt, but wrong, artificial. The faint hum of silver wiring had changed pitch, becoming something more aggressive, more dangerous.

A trap.

A threshold laced with concentrated silver, measured to deliver just enough charge to sting if crossed quickly, but enough to incapacitate completely if someone tried to shift while standing on it.

Jess's brow furrowed. Understanding tore through her expression. "That's why he's not shifted. It's keeping him human."

"And weak," Jayne said. Her voice carried the particular hatred reserved for those who perverted the natural order.

Alexis stepped closer, studying the cell's construction with tactical precision. "Locks on the chains aren’t mechanical. No digital controls."

Which meant they could be broken, given enough time and the right tools.

"Then we're getting him out," I said. The words came out with more force than I'd intended, carrying the weight of absolute determination. "We'll rip them out of the walls if we have to."

Jayne didn't wait for further discussion. She ducked beneath the low door frame, teeth gritted as the silver began its assault on her nervous system. Every step across that threshold was an act of will, her body fighting against the poison designed to keep our kind helpless.

She reached the cage door and shoved through it with a growl of pain and determination, dropping beside Ryan's suspended form. Her fingers shook as she wrestled with the locks, the silver making even simple tasks exponentially more difficult.

Ryan stirred at her touch, his head lifting slightly.

"Jayne?" His voice was cracked and broken, barely recognizable, but it was definitely him.

Jayne leaned in close, her own voice rough with emotion and silver poisoning. "Yeah, it's me. You're going to be alright. We've got you."

He coughed once, a wet sound that spoke of possible internal damage, then groaned as he tried to raise his head properly. "Don't⁠—"

"Shhh," she murmured, but he pulled against the chains with what little strength remained.

"No. Listen. They… they left me here."

His words carried a desperate urgency that cut through the relief of finding him alive.

"We know. We've got you now."

"No." His eyes snapped open, bright with fever and fear and terrible understanding. "They want you here."

A chill slid down my spine like ice water, and I felt Alexis tense beside me.

She stepped forward, seemingly ignoring the silver at the threshold, her voice carrying the authority of someone who demanded truth. "What do you mean?"

Ryan's chest heaved with the effort of speaking, each word clearly costing him. "They moved the rest. Took them deeper. To the lower levels, to places I've never seen. Said you'd come for me first. Said it would hurt more if you found me and didn't get out."

Sara swore under her breath, a string of profanity that would have been impressive under other circumstances. Alexis looked ready to tear the walls down with her bare hands. Jess and Jewel just looked sick, the implications hitting them like physical blows.

Jayne finally got one of the cuffs lose, and Ryan slumped against her, his legs unable to support his weight after so long in suspension.

"They're waiting," he whispered. His voice was barely audible, but it carried clearly in the sterile room. "She's waiting."

He didn't have to say who.

We all knew.

Sloane.

Outside the cell, an alarm clicked softly in the distance. A new tone, different from what we'd heard before. Not high-pitched or urgent, but somehow more ominous.

Patient. Calculated.

Waiting.

We barely had time to process the sound before the hallway lights shifted again, cycling through their spectrum like a malevolent rainbow.

Red to white. White to nothing.

A full blackout that left us in absolute darkness.

Someone had killed the power. Deliberately.

Jess swore under her breath. Her voice was tight with understanding and growing dread. "They're resetting the system?”

Alexis didn't move, didn't even blink in the darkness. Her voice was steady, certain. "No. They're corralling us."

A backup light flickered on behind us, dim and yellow and just bright enough to reveal what we'd all feared:

The hallway we'd entered through had been sealed.

A silver-lined barred barrier had descended from the ceiling without a sound, cutting off our retreat as effectively as a prison door.

No alarm. No warning click. Just the finality of a trap closing around its prey.

Jewel spun toward the sealed passage. Her voice carried barely controlled panic. "We're boxed in from behind."

"Which means they want us to go forward," I said. The pattern was becoming clear, and I hated how predictable we'd been. "They're funneling us again.”

Jayne struggled to get the second cuff loose while supporting Ryan's dead weight. "He can't run."

"He doesn't have to," Alexis said. Her voice carried the cold certainty of someone who'd made peace with death. "We're not running."

Sara reached for the door that led deeper into the facility, her expression set in lines of grim determination. "Then we finish what we came for. Find a way back to those people in the pens. And take out the control room."

Alexis and I both nodded. The choice had been made for us. Forward was the only direction left.

She gestured toward the far side of the room, where another door waited, this one leading deeper into the facility's heart. "Let's go."

* * *

The next hallway was different from what we'd seen before. Narrower, older, built with the kind of organic curves that spoke of natural cave systems rather than human engineering.

It was the kind of passage built before whoever had redesigned this place had developed their taste for polished floors and biometric locks. The corridor curved gently, almost serpentine, and every instinct I possessed screamed to get out. To go back and claw through that barrier and leave.

Jayne tightened her grip on Ryan. "He's burning up."

"He's been in silver too long," Sara said. Her clinical assessment couldn't quite hide the underlying emotion. "We need to get him out⁠—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her whole body going rigid.

We all did.

The sound started as something felt rather than heard. A vibration in our bones, a frequency that made our teeth ache and our wolves whine in distress.

Then the lights flickered back on, brighter than before. Blinding white that seared our retinas and left spots dancing in our vision.

And there, silhouetted against the harsh illumination, stood the architect of our suffering.

Sloane.

Hair slicked back in a severe style that emphasized the sharp angles of her face. Uniform immaculate, every crease precise, every button polished to a mirror shine. No weapons visible in her hands, but her stance was pure predatory confidence: shoulders square, boots planted, expression unreadable in its cold perfection.

And behind her, flanking her like bookends of broken dreams, stood two figures that made my heart shatter.

Two wolves. Both collared. Both trembling with the effort of fighting conditioning that had been burned into their minds with scientific precision.

"You made it," she said, her voice carrying easily down the corridor in the kind of cheery greeting that would have been more suited for Sunday brunch. “Pierce didn't think you would be foolish enough to take the bait, but I told her you would.”

No one spoke. What was there to say to the monster who had orchestrated so much suffering?

Jayne's breath caught on a sound that was half growl, half sob. I could feel the heat of her rage from here, could smell the way it mixed with grief and guilt to create something toxic and dangerous.

Sloane's smile was a thing of surgical precision, calculated to inflict maximum psychological damage. "I even left you a breadcrumb. Poor Ryan… he never broke. Not for lack of effort."

Sara stepped forward, a snarl building in her throat like thunder before a storm.

Alexis's hand shot out, catching her wrist in an iron grip. "No."

"We're not playing her game," I said. But even as the words left my mouth, I knew how hollow they sounded.

"But you already are, Lydia," Sloane replied, tilting her head with the curiosity of a scientist observing an interesting specimen. "You walked onto the board, and every piece is exactly where I want it. You see, I don't need to beat you. I just need to watch you lose."

With a sharp motion, she stepped back, and the two collared wolves moved as if controlled by invisible strings.

Their eyes were wrong, glazed with the particular emptiness that came from systematic conditioning, from having their minds broken and rebuilt according to someone else's design.

Not fully feral, but not free either. Like their consciousness had been stretched between two states until nothing remained but instinct and enforced obedience.

One launched toward Sara with mechanical precision. The other veered for Jayne and the helpless Ryan.

The hallway exploded into chaos.

Alexis moved like lightning, shoving forward to intercept the second wolf mid-charge. She took the full impact of the attack, used the momentum to roll, and came up swinging, not with weapons, but with her entire body, redirecting the creature's assault into the wall with bone-jarring force.

Jewel darted toward the first attacker, catching it mid-lunge in a tackle that sent them both crashing into the opposite wall with a sound like breaking bones.

Jess ducked beside Ryan, yanking his semiconscious form out of the path of destruction as Jayne drew her blade and drove it upward beneath the attacking wolf's jaw with a sickening snap.

"Don't kill them!" I shouted over the sounds of violence. My voice cracked with desperation. "They're still ours!"

Sloane's laughter echoed down the corridor, cold and clinical as surgical steel. "Are they?"

The hallway lights flared again, then everything shut off in an instant. No gradual dimming. No warning. Just the absolute darkness of a power grid cut.

No more light. No more mechanical hum. Just the heavy breathing of wolves caught between programming and pain, between loyalty and conditioning.

And somewhere ahead in the darkness, the sound of Sloane's retreating footsteps, calm, measured, already moving toward whatever final trap she had prepared for us.

Already gone, but leaving behind the echo of her voice and the promise of worse things to come.

CHAPTER 20

The hallway stank of blood and burnt silver. The acrid smell clung to everything, our clothes, our skin, the very air we breathed, a constant reminder of the violence that had just erupted around us.

I crouched beside Jewel, who had one knee pressed into the back of one of the collared wolves, her blade hovering just above the base of the wolf's skull. The weapon trembled slightly in her grip, and I could see the war happening behind her eyes, the need for caution warring with the instinct to end a threat.

The wolf beneath her was female, young, maybe no older than Maya, with matted brown hair and skin that had the grayish pallor of prolonged silver exposure. She was panting hard, eyes rolled back showing only whites, foam gathering at the corner of her mouth like she was having a seizure.

"She's still breathing," Jewel muttered. Her voice was tight with the kind of control that came from holding back too much emotion.

"Barely."

Jayne paced a few feet away like a caged predator, cradling Ryan's semiconscious form against her chest. Every few steps, she'd glance down at his face with an expression that mixed relief and fury in equal measure.

Ryan was conscious again, but his awareness flickered in and out like a candle that was almost out of wick. His pale face was slick with sweat that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the systematic poisoning his body had endured.

"She…she didn't break," he murmured, his voice thin as paper. "She fought. They all did."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Even in his condition, even after everything they'd done to him, his first concern was for the other prisoners. For the wolves who might not have been as fortunate as he was. If you could call it that.

Jess had pried open a wall panel and was half inside it, her upper body disappeared into the mechanical guts of the facility. Only her legs were visible, and I could hear her working by touch alone, following wires and conduits in the darkness.

"We can't stay here," her muffled voice called from inside the wall. "If the power cycles back, we're screwed. They'll be able to lock every door in this place."

Sara stood over the injured wolf with her fists clenched, every line of her body radiating protective fury. "She's one of ours. We're not just leaving her on the floor like trash."

"She tried to kill us," Jayne growled. Her voice carried the particular edge that came from seeing someone you cared about hurt.

"No," I said quietly. The distinction mattered, even here, even now. "Sloane tried to kill us. This one just didn't know how not to obey."

I looked down at the girl because that's what she was, really, just a young wolf who'd been broken and rebuilt according to someone else's specifications. Her breathing was growing more labored, and I could smell infection beneath the silver poisoning.

I turned to Jess. "Can we carry her?"

Jess extracted herself from the wall panel, wiping grease and dust from her hands on her pants. "We're already dragging Ryan. Another body means slowing down. A lot. We can't carry everyone."

The brutal mathematics of survival. Every choice came with a cost, and someone always paid the price.

"Then we find a room. Hide her and Ryan. Come back after."

Alexis, who had been standing silent watch at the corridor entrance, finally nodded with the authority of someone making a command decision. "Fifteen seconds. Closest room, something secure."

We found a small equipment closet two doors down, cramped and smelling of industrial cleaners, but it had a solid door and no windows. Jayne propped it open while Jewel lifted the girl with surprising gentleness, her earlier aggression replaced by careful concern.

She placed the unconscious wolf on a pile of old maintenance tarps, not comfortable, but better than cold steel. The girl's breathing was shallow but steady, and her color was already starting to improve now that she was away from the silver-lined corridors.

Jayne settled Ryan beside her, his head lolling to one side as he struggled to maintain consciousness. But he managed to mouth "thank you" before his eyes drifted closed again.

Sara hesitated in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame like she was reluctant to leave. "We're not abandoning them."

"We're not," I promised. The words felt like a vow, binding and absolute.

The second wolf hadn't survived Jayne's desperate defense. Jess had checked for a pulse while we'd been moving the others. Nothing. The sight of the small, still form made my chest tight with grief and rage.

Jayne didn't look sorry about the death. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, or about the necessity that had led to it.

We moved again, this time faster. The urgency was practically vibrating now, every second we spent in these corridors was another chance for the facility's security to regroup, to cut off our escape routes or spring whatever final trap Sloane had prepared.

Jess led us down a stairwell that descended into older sections of the facility, areas that felt more like military bunkers than medical research centers. The walls here were rougher concrete, paint peeling at the edges, no cameras or sensors that we could see.

The silence was more ominous than any alarm would have been.

Alexis fell into step beside me. Her presence was solid, reassuring, but I could feel the tension radiating from her skin. "You alright?"

"No." At least I was still capable of honesty, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

She didn't press for details, didn't offer empty reassurances. Just walked a little closer, her shoulder occasionally brushing mine in a reminder that I wasn't facing this alone.

Jewel stopped short at the end of the hallway, Jess nearly colliding with her back. They stood before a thick metal door that hung half-open, revealing a series of long observation rooms beyond.

Glass-lined walls reflected our movements like funhouse mirrors. Broken equipment littered the floor, computers with shattered screens, medical devices that looked more like torture implements, filing cabinets overturned and emptied.

And blood. Dark stains splattered across every surface, some old and brown, others still wet enough to catch the overhead lighting.

Jess was trembling, her whole body vibrating with barely contained emotion. "This is where they tested forced shifts. The kids… my sister… they wouldn't shift, so she…"

She didn't finish the sentence, couldn't force the words through her throat. But we all understood what had happened here, what cruelty had been inflicted in the name of science.

Jewel caught her hand immediately, thumb rubbing over her knuckles in small, comforting circles. The gesture was automatic, unconscious, and I hoped it would be enough to pull Jess through. We couldn’t afford her to break. Not now.

Sara scanned the ruined room, then pointed to a console that still glowed faintly in the corner. "Terminal's live. If anything's been logged since they moved the prisoners, it'll be there."

Jess pulled away from Jewel's comforting touch with obvious effort, steeling herself as she dropped her pack and moved toward the computer. Her movements were sharp, brittle, the body language of someone forcing themselves to function despite the emotional assault.

Alexis took up position by the door, every sense focused on potential threats. Sara covered the left wall with her weapon drawn. Jayne leaned against the far corner, trying to look casual while keeping her eyes on every potential entry point.

Jewel hovered near me, her earlier composure cracking slightly.

"Why does it feel like this is going too easy?"

"Because it is," I whispered. The pattern was becoming clear: too many open doors, too many unguarded areas, too many convenient discoveries. We were being led somewhere, and I had a sick feeling about what we'd find at the end of this trail.

Jess worked at the keyboard with growing urgency, her fingers flying across the keys as she navigated through security protocols and encrypted files. "Got it. There's a new file, encrypted, but it's tagged."

I moved beside her. The screen showed a directory structure that looked like a medical database, complete with patient numbers and status codes that made my stomach turn.

She pointed. "Test group. Subjects 37 to 42. Last log-in two hours ago. Location marked as Vault C."

I stared at the list, my heart hammering as I processed what I was seeing. Five names, all marked with status indicators that ranged from "processing" to "critical."

Five people whose identities had been reduced to numbers, whose lives had become data points in someone else's experiment.

My stomach dropped. "They're alive."

"Not for long if we keep standing here," Alexis said, her voice carrying the urgent authority of someone who could read military situations like weather patterns.

Jess stabbed at the keyboard, killing the screen and erasing any trace of our presence. "Let's move."

We turned as one, heading for the far exit. But I felt the change in the air before I heard it, and cursed. Another shift in the electrical hum that permeated the facility, a gathering of power that made my skin prickle with anticipation.

The hum. Deep and ominous, like the purr of some massive predator preparing to strike.

The lights flashed on again. Bright, white, blinding. Harsh enough to sear our retinas and leave us stumbling in the sudden glare.

And behind us, the door we'd entered through slammed shut with a sound like a coffin lid closing.

Jewel spun around, snarling. Her composure finally cracked completely, revealing the raw fury underneath. "Not again."

Alexis looked at me. Her expression was grim but unsurprised. "We're being boxed in."

"It's already getting old," Jayne drawled, but I could hear the underlying tension in her voice.

I nodded. The feeling of helplessness was infuriating, but rage wouldn't change our tactical situation. "We can't go back."

"Then forward it is," Alexis said, brushing my shoulder with hers as she took point toward the only remaining exit.

The hallway ahead was wrong in ways that went beyond architecture or design. Too clean, too straight, too deliberately constructed for purposes that had nothing to do with human comfort.

Every surface crackled with barely contained energy, not the kind of power you could hear, but the kind that made your teeth ache and your wolf pace restlessly beneath your skin. The walls weren't made of stone or even standard steel. This was something else entirely. Composite alloy designed to resist claws, to contain shifting, to maintain absolute control.

Alexis noticed it too, her fingers brushing mine in a gesture of silent support that grounded me without drawing attention to our connection.

Jess paused at the next junction, head tilted like she was listening for something only she could hear. "If this is anything like the rest of the facility, Vault C should be three levels down. The emergency access shaft on the left should still be active."

"Should?" Jayne echoed with skeptical emphasis.

Jess didn't look back, her attention focused on reading the facility's layout from memory and intuition. "Welcome to the bleeding edge of a black site. Nothing is guaranteed."

The shaft access was embedded in the wall with no visible controls, just a small biometric scanner and a reinforced seam that looked like it could withstand a direct hit from explosives.

Jess crouched low, her fingers already reaching for the nearly invisible edge where the panel met the wall.

Jewel stepped forward. Her voice carried the quiet confidence of someone who specialized in breaking things that were meant to be unbreakable. "Let me."

We gave her room to work, forming a loose perimeter while she pressed her palm against the seam. She closed her eyes, concentrating, and let her shift come partially, just her fingertips, allowing claws to pierce both skin and metal with surgical precision.

Sparks flew from the damaged electronics as the lock mechanism failed, the panel hissing open with a reluctant groan that echoed in the narrow space.

The air that escaped from the shaft was worse than anything we'd encountered so far. Stale and cold, laced with something sharp and chemical that made our noses burn.

But I could see the satisfaction in Jewel's expression as she flexed her fingers, working out the strain of controlled shifting. The small act of destruction had helped settle something restless in her spirit.

She turned to us with the first genuine smile I'd seen from her all day. "Shall we?"

We dropped into the shaft one by one, following a narrow maintenance ledge that spiraled downward into darkness. No ladder, no safety rails, just echoing space and the sense of descending into something that was never meant to be found by anyone without proper authorization.

Three levels down. Twenty-seven turns of the spiral ledge, each step taking us deeper into the facility's heart.

When we reached the bottom, the access door opened into a silence that felt different from what we'd experienced above. This was heavier, more oppressive, like the weight of all the secrets buried in this place.

There were no alarms here, no guards, no obvious security measures. Just a single hallway wrapped in black tile that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Overhead fixtures flickered with the steady rhythm of a mechanical heartbeat.

We moved in tight formation, close enough to provide mutual support but spread enough to avoid presenting a single target.

I tested the air carefully, sorting through the various scents until I found what I was looking for. "Sloane's been here. Recent. Maybe ten minutes."

"Trap?" Alexis asked. Though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

"Obviously," Jewel muttered, and I could hear the eye roll even if I couldn’t see it. But she kept moving forward anyway.

We kept going because stopping wasn't an option. Not when we were this close to whatever remained of the prisoners, not when we'd already sacrificed so much to get here.

Vault C sat at the end of the corridor like a monument to paranoia, marked only with a single etched letter and no other identifying information. The door was massive: truly vault-thick, the kind of barrier you'd expect to find protecting national secrets or weapons of mass destruction.

It vibrated with an almost subsonic hum that I could feel in my bones, a frequency that made my wolf whine and try to retreat deeper into my consciousness.

Jess studied the control panel with the focused attention of someone trying to defuse a bomb. "Can't brute force this one. Too many failsafes."

"There's always a way to murder something into submission," Jayne said casually. Her voice carried the particular confidence of someone who'd made a career out of breaking things that weren't supposed to be breakable.

Alexis turned to me, and I could see the weight of command in her eyes, the terrible mathematics of leadership that reduced everything to acceptable losses and necessary sacrifices. "We're not going to be able to sneak this one open. We make noise, or we walk away."

My throat tightened as I processed what that meant. Five names on a computer screen. Five people whose lives hung in the balance of a decision I had to make right now.

I didn't know them personally. They weren't technically my responsibility. But they were wolves, and they were waiting behind that door for someone to remember that their lives mattered.

Sara stepped forward without waiting for orders, her movement decisive and final. "Then we make noise."

I nodded. The choice was made.

Now we just had to live with the consequences.

"But we do it smart."

Alexis raised her knife. The blade caught the overhead lighting, gleaming like a promise of violence. "And fast."

Sara unslung a pack from her back, revealing equipment that looked military-grade and definitely not standard issue for rescue missions. A compact shaped charge, complete with timer and remote detonator.

Jewel stared at the device with obvious alarm. "You've been carrying that around this whole time?"

Sara shrugged. "Never know when you might need it."

"I always did like you," Jayne grinned.

Alexis approached Sara and placed a steadying hand on her arm. "Then we get in, get them out, and end this."

I moved to her side. The charge looked sophisticated enough to level a city block, but Sara handled it with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. "How long on the charge?"

"Thirty seconds."

We all stepped back to what Sara considered a safe distance, which turned out to be significantly shorter than any of us had expected. We also ran out of room behind.

Jess took one last look at the control panel, then turned to meet my eyes. "Still time to walk away."

I gestured back the way we'd come, toward the sealed access shaft and the locked doors that had cut off our retreat. "Really? Back up that shaft and through how many locked doors?" But I smiled at her, remembering the frightened young wolf who'd first come to Mayfield seeking sanctuary. She might still be afraid, but she'd never be alone again. I’d make sure of that, and I was certain Jewel would be more than happy to help.

Jess nodded with understanding. "Just making sure."

Sara armed the charge with practiced efficiency and stepped clear of the blast radius. The device began its countdown immediately, a soft beeping that seemed impossibly loud in the confined space.

We counted every second with held breath, each pulse of the timer marking another moment closer to the point of no return.

When it reached zero, the explosion wasn't the deafening roar I'd expected. It was precise, controlled, a muffled concussive pop followed by the mechanical whine of security bolts being sheared away from their housings.

The massive door slid open with a grinding sound that spoke of mechanisms pushed beyond their design limits.

And inside… everything was wrong in ways that went beyond my worst expectations.

Cages. Six of them, arranged in two rows like some perverted zoo exhibit.

Five occupied by figures that barely looked human anymore.

One… torn open. The metal bars were bent outward, twisted like someone had grabbed them and simply pulled until they snapped.

Blood streaked the floor in patterns that told a story of violence and desperation. Deep scratches scored the walls. Not random damage, but deliberate marks left by claws or makeshift weapons.

Three of the imprisoned wolves were collapsed in their cages, barely breathing, their bodies so still they might have been corpses. One stood upright but trembling, eyes wild with barely contained madness, teeth bared but not attacking, like they were fighting against programming that demanded violence.

The last cage… was empty. The door hung open, its locking mechanism destroyed from the inside.

Alexis moved first, stepping into the chamber with her blade raised, scanning for threats with tactical precision.

I followed, my heart hammering. The smell hit me immediately, fear and pain and something else, something that spoke of scientific detachment. "Are they alive?"

Jess dropped beside one of the cages, pressing her hand against the bars as she tried to assess the condition of the wolf inside. "Just barely."

Jayne moved to examine the destroyed cell, her expression growing increasingly dark as she read the signs of violence. "Something got out."

"No," Jewel whispered. Her voice carried the weight of terrible understanding. "Someone."

Because there were no guards in this room. No researchers monitoring their subjects. No security personnel maintaining order.

Just the silence of a space that had been abandoned too quickly, left to wait for whatever came next. And someone had taken advantage of that abandonment.

Sara crouched beside one of the barely conscious wolves, her hands gentle as she checked for signs of life. "She's from Graywater Pack. I remember her. She vanished last fall. They came to Haven looking for help."

The implications hit me like a physical blow. If this woman had been taken months ago, how long had this facility been operating? How many other packs had lost members to these experiments?

Alexis exhaled hard. Her voice was tight with controlled rage. "Then this place has been running longer than we thought."

"Right under our noses," Jewel spat the words like a curse.

I looked toward the corridor, certain that any moment the lights would cut out again, and we'd find ourselves trapped in another of Sloane's carefully constructed scenarios.

"We take them with us. All of them. Whatever happens next… we don't leave anyone else behind."

Jess met my eyes and nodded once, fiercely. The gesture carried the weight of shared understanding, we'd all lost too much to abandon anyone else to this place.

And behind us, somewhere deeper in the compound, an alarm began to rise. Not the sharp, urgent wailing of immediate danger, but something slower, more deliberate.

Not a warning.

A countdown.

"Here we go again."

The alarm pulsed with mechanical regularity, each tone marking another step in whatever final phase Sloane had planned for us.

"Can they walk?" I asked, already moving toward the nearest cage, despite knowing what the answer would be.

"Doubt it," Jess said. Her assessment was clinical but gentle. "At least two are completely unconscious."

Jewel didn't wait for further discussion. She attacked the nearest lock with her claws, the metal screaming as she tore it apart through brute force and determination.

Alexis was already lifting one of the unconscious wolves, positioning the limp form over her shoulder with practiced efficiency. "We take three." She looked at the one wolf who was still standing, still showing signs of awareness. "Can you walk?"

The wolf didn't respond immediately, her eyes unfocused and glassy. But there was something there, a spark of consciousness fighting against whatever they'd done to her mind.

Alexis moved closer, gently taking the woman's chin and lifting her face until their eyes met. I felt the pulse of Alpha authority through our bond, the specific frequency that called to the wolf in every shifter.

The woman blinked, her words slurred but understandable. "Yes, Alpha."

"Good. Follow us."

I gave the rescued woman a final concerned glance, noting the way she swayed on her feet but remained upright through sheer determination, before turning my attention to the shifter at my feet.

She didn't flinch when I touched her, but her whole body trembled, like she was caught between instinct and complete physical collapse. When I helped her sit up, she moaned softly, her eyes fluttering open to reveal pupils that were dilated and unfocused.

I met her hazy gaze with as much reassurance as I could project. "You with me?"

For a second, nothing. Then the tiniest nod, barely perceptible, but enough to tell me that someone was still home behind those damaged eyes.

I hauled her up slowly, carefully positioning her arm over my shoulders. Her skin was burning with fever, and I could smell deep-seated rot beneath the other medical odors. But she was moving, putting one foot in front of the other, and that was enough for now.

Jess lifted the final woman, still unconscious, and positioned her across her back with a grunt of effort. The rescued woman was maybe a day older than twenty, her face gaunt with malnutrition and marked with scars that spoke of abuse.

Jayne took the last prisoner, a middle-aged woman whose breathing was so shallow I could barely detect the rise and fall of her chest.

"We'll need to find a way to circle back for the others," I said again, mostly trying to convince myself that we weren't abandoning Ryan and the collared girl to whatever fate awaited them.

Sara glanced toward the door, her expression tight with the awareness that our window of opportunity was closing rapidly. "We need an exit from here first. Fast."

Jess's eyes darted to the side wall, her memory of the facility's layout providing what might be our salvation. "There's another shaft. I remember seeing it. Smaller. Might've been for waste removal or equipment."

"You're telling me there's a garbage chute?" Jewel said flatly. Her tone suggested she was past the point of surprise at the indignities this mission was requiring.

"Pretty much."

"Perfect," she muttered with resignation.

We made our way toward the far side of the chamber, our boots echoing on the blood-stained tile. The wolves we carried barely stirred, their bodies too damaged by whatever treatments they'd endured to maintain full consciousness.

The woman at my side started to sag, her strength failing, and I adjusted my grip to support more of her weight. "Almost there."

Jess found the maintenance hatch half-hidden behind a false wall panel, the kind of access point that would be invisible unless you knew exactly where to look. She worked her knife into the edge and popped the covering free, revealing a narrow vertical tunnel lined with corroded metal rungs.

"You've got to be kidding," Jewel muttered. Her voice carried the particular exhaustion that came from being asked to attempt the impossible one too many times.

“One hundred or more feet, straight up," Jess said, leaning into the shaft and craning her neck to peer upward. "It comes out near the rear vehicle bay. If it hasn't collapsed."

"Is that anywhere near where we left Ryan and the girl?" I asked. The thought of being separated from the other survivors made my chest tight with anxiety.

Jess could only shrug. The facility's layout was complex enough that even someone with her knowledge couldn't be certain about every connection.

"No time to question it," Alexis said. "Go."

Jess climbed first, moving with quick efficiency. Jewel, Jayne, and Sara worked together to create a human ladder, carefully passing the unconscious wolves up to her one at a time.

The logistics were brutal. Each prisoner had to be lifted while maintaining their safety, working in a confined space, and listening for the sounds of approaching security forces.

When it was my turn, I gripped the corroded rungs with one arm while supporting the fevered woman with the other, hauling both of us up through sheer determination and adrenaline. The metal was slick with condensation and sharp with rust, cutting into my palms as I climbed.

At the top, Jess reached down and pulled us through the opening with strength I hadn't known she possessed.

The vehicle bay was exactly as she'd described: dark, mostly empty, smelling of diesel fuel and motor oil. The scent of outside air was like a promise of freedom after the sterile horror of the facility's depths.

And then… voices. Not the mechanical wail of alarms this time, but human voices calling to each other in the distance.

Guards. People with weapons and radios, coordinating a search that was getting closer by the minute.

Jess grabbed my arm, her voice urgent and low. "We don't have much time. They're fading."

I looked around at our group. Jewel crouched beside the unconscious wolves with her weapon ready, Alexis and Jayne standing calm and alert in the way that usually preceded violence, Sara checking her remaining equipment with professional efficiency.

The rescued wolves were barely holding on, their breathing shallow and their skin burning. Whatever we were going to do, it had to happen now.

"What do we do?" Sara asked.

"We get the wounded out," I said. The decision crystallized as I spoke, became solid and unshakeable. "Then we finish this."

Jayne pointed toward a half-covered vehicle in the corner of the bay. It was a utility truck that looked like it had seen better days but might still be functional. "That truck might run, but I'll need a minute."

"Do it," I said. Every second counted now.

She moved instantly, her knife already flashing as she worked to hot wire the vehicle's ignition system.

Alexis stepped closer to me, her voice pitched for my ears alone. "You and I go back for the others."

"I know," I said quietly. The thought of leaving Ryan and the collared girl behind was unbearable, but so was the thought of losing the people we'd already rescued.

Sara glanced between us, reading the subtext of our conversation. "I'm coming too."

Jewel didn't argue with the plan, if she heard it at all. She was already lifting the injured wolves into the truck's bed, arranging them as gently as possible for what was going to be a rough ride through hostile territory.

Alexis's fingers brushed mine, gripping them in a moment of connection that carried twenty years of love and the promise of whatever time we might have left. "We grab Ryan and the girl. Then we break what we can. This place doesn't get to stand."

My chest tightened with the magnitude of what we were attempting. "And if Sloane's already waiting?"

Alexis smiled with the particular expression that had once made enemy Alphas reconsider their life choices. "Then we don't want to keep her waiting long."

The truck engine coughed, sputtered, then roared to life with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the enclosed space.

Jess twisted in the driver's seat to look back at us. "Ghost Ridge is still the fallback?"

"For now," I said. Though, I wondered if any of us would live to see that mountain sanctuary again. "We'll catch up."

Jayne shot me a look that mixed affection with exasperation. "Don't die. I don't want to have that conversation with Naomi. Even if I bring her a new truck.”

The thought of my second worrying about my safety while defending Mayfield from attack made my throat tight with emotion. "No promises. Plus, that thing is anything but new.”

Alexis was already checking her weapons, preparing for whatever final confrontation awaited us in the facility's depths. "Mount up. We'll draw them off and circle back. Go."

Sara was tightening the straps on her pack, her movements quick and determined. "Let's move."

The truck pulled away into the shadows beyond the bay doors, Jess killing the headlights as she navigated by memory and instinct. The sound of the engine faded quickly, leaving us alone with the approaching voices and the weight of what we still had to do.

And us?

We ran back into the dark.

CHAPTER 21

The sound of the truck engine faded into the distance, while shouts echoed through the vehicle bay as mechanics and drivers realized one of their trucks had vanished into the night.

We used the brief confusion to slip back inside the facility, where the atmosphere had changed completely. The overhead lighting was dead now, leaving only emergency strobes that flickered red and low along the baseboards. The intermittent flashes cast long shadows that twitched and danced whenever we moved, turning semi-familiar corridors into something from a nightmare.

The air itself had become a weapon, thick with the metallic tang of silver and burnt ozone that burned our noses as we crept back towards our wolves.

Alexis shifted beside me, her hand falling to her blade. "Too quiet."

"Too late to turn back," Sara muttered. “The truck already left.” Her voice carried the grim determination of someone who'd already made peace with whatever came next.

I didn't reply. My chest felt tight. Not from fear, but from the weight of knowing what we were walking back into. Every step took us deeper into Sloane's web, closer to whatever final trap she'd prepared.

We turned corner after corner, our footfalls silent on scuffed tile that had seen too much violence. The facility felt different now, less like a medical research center and more like a tomb waiting to claim new occupants.

That's when the voice started.

A low crackle of static, then the hiss of an intercom system coming to life somewhere in the vents overhead.

Then her.

Sloane.

"Well, well. Look who stayed behind. Two Alphas for the price of one."

Her voice slid through the ductwork like oil, smooth but dirty, carrying the particular smugness of someone who believed they held all the cards.

"I had my doubts, Lydia. You've never been one for finishing what you start."

Sara's jaw clenched tight enough that I could hear her teeth grinding. Alexis didn't even blink, but I felt her tension through our bond like a living thing.

I kept walking. Refusing to give Sloane the satisfaction of a response, refusing to play her psychological games.

But she wasn't finished. She never was.

"Tell me… do they know what kind of Alpha you really are?" she cooed with false sweetness. "You were always one of the weak ones. The kind who talks about peace while others bleed for you, rarely entering battle yourself. But look, there’s no Naomi here this time to take the brunt of the damage."

She let the silence stretch like a blade pressed against skin, waiting for me to flinch, to defend myself, to give her the reaction she craved.

When I didn't, she went on.

"I always wondered how long you'd last. All that compassion. All that mercy. You talk like a leader, but you move like prey."

"Shut the fuck up," Alexis snarled. Her voice carried an edge of protective fury, the particular rage of someone hearing their mate threatened.

"No," I said. The word came out steady, controlled. "Let her talk."

Because every word Sloane spoke revealed more about her psychology, her motivations, her need to be seen as superior. And that need would be her weakness.

Sloane chuckled. The sound was cold, clinical. It was the laugh of someone who'd lost the ability to feel genuine humor. "Of course you want to listen. You've always preferred words to war."

We continued through the maze of corridors, each turn revealing more of the same gray walls lined with doors that all looked identical, creating a disorienting sameness that was clearly deliberate. Sloane had cleared out her security forces, giving us unhindered access while simultaneously ensuring we'd become lost in the facility's bowels.

The gates and barriers that had marked our previous route were gone, removing the landmarks that might have helped us navigate. Instead, we were trapped in a labyrinth designed to disorient and demoralize.

And then, finally, I caught their scent, the closet.

The door was ajar, hanging open just enough to reveal the darkness within.

Sara got there first, yanking it open with desperate urgency.

The girl we'd left behind was still inside, slumped against the far wall in a position that spoke of unconsciousness rather than sleep. Her eyes fluttered weakly at the sudden light, and I could see blood crusted in her hairline where someone had struck her.

And Ryan…

He was on the ground beside her, his skin the color of old parchment. His whole body shook with tremors that could have been fever, pain, or both. A long, ugly gash cut across his ribs, leaking slowly but steadily.

The blood that oozed from the wound glittered with silver particles, preventing natural healing and ensuring the injury would continue to weaken him.

"Ryan," I breathed, dropping to my knees beside him.

He blinked up at me with eyes that were glassy with pain, but still aware, still fighting. "Didn't let them take her back,” he whispered. His voice was barely audible, but carried the fierce pride of someone who'd held the line against impossible odds. "One came. I… I stopped him."

“That explains the blood.” Sara said, her eyes following a trail that led out the door and down the hall in the opposite direction from where we had come.

Alexis knelt on his other side, her fingers finding his pulse with practiced efficiency. "It missed anything vital. Shallow, but effective for keeping him weak and slowing us down."

Sara was at the girl's side, gently pressing gauze to the wound on her temple with the careful touch of someone who'd treated too many injuries over the years.

"Why'd they do this?" Alexis asked quietly. Her voice carried the particular frustration of a sane mind trying to understand enemy strategy. "Why leave her alive and only hurt him enough to slow us down?"

"They're watching," I said grimly. The pattern was becoming clear, and I didn't like what it revealed about Sloane's endgame. "We're prey. They are toying with us." I paused, the full implication hitting me. "She's toying with us. Seeing how much we will take.”

The intercom crackled to life again, confirming my suspicions.

"I see you found your strays," Sloane said with poisonous sweetness. "Touching. But let me ask you something, Lydia. How many more will you drag into the dark with you before you realize you're not built to lead? Even now, Mayfield is under siege, and where is their Alpha?"

I looked up at the ceiling, hoping she could see me through the cameras because I wanted her to know I wasn't afraid of her judgment.

"You won't scare me like that, Sloane. I'm not dragging anyone," I said. My voice carried the conviction of absolute truth. "They chose this." Though inside, she'd hit a nerve I didn't have time to properly examine. Mayfield. What was happening to my people while I was here?

Sloane's laugh was distorted by the speakers, turning into something inhuman. "Then they're bigger fools than I thought."

The intercom died with a sharp click, leaving us in relative silence.

Alexis stood. Her movement was sharp, decisive. "She's buying time."

"She's stalling because she's scared," Sara snapped. Her voice carried the particular anger of someone who'd seen too much suffering at the hands of people like Sloane.

"No," I said. The truth was more complex and more dangerous. "She's trying to get in our heads."

I looked down at Ryan, noting the way his eyes had gone glassy, his breathing thin but steady. He was holding on through sheer willpower, but that wouldn't last much longer.

"She thinks I'll hesitate," I said.

"Will you?" Alexis asked. The question carried no judgment, only the need to understand what kind of partner she was following into hell. Would she need to step up and protect me?

"No." I met her eyes, letting her see the steel that had been forged through years of impossible choices and regret. "Not this time."

She nodded, and I felt her pride radiate through our bond.

We moved quickly, retracing our path with new urgency. The air around us had changed, becoming charged with electricity that made my skin prickle and my wolf strain against the boundaries of human form. She wanted to run, to get out while there was still a chance.

This wasn't just a trap anymore, it was a performance designed for an audience of one, and we were the unwilling stars of Sloane's twisted show.

"Doors are still open," Sara muttered as we passed junction after junction. Her voice carried growing unease at the obvious manipulation.

"She wants us to get lost again," Alexis said. Her mind working through the implications. "She wants control of the battleground."

I glanced at her. Her profile was sharp in the emergency lighting, carved from determination and barely controlled rage. "Then let's not make it easy and get the hell out of here.”

But the moment we turned the next corner, Sloane's game shifted into its next phase.

A metal gate slammed down behind us with a shriek of tortured steel, sealing off the path we'd just traveled. The sound echoed through the corridor like a death knell.

Then another barrier descended ahead of us, cutting off our forward progress with mechanical finality.

We were trapped.

Red light flooded the confined space, pulsing with metronomic regularity like a giant heartbeat. The effect was disorienting, hypnotic, designed to break down psychological defenses.

The intercom clicked on again with predatory satisfaction.

"Oops," Sloane said, her voice dripping with false regret. "Did I forget to mention the maze bites back when you start to get too cocky? Defenses put in place to control lost little wolves.”

Alexis slammed her fist against the nearest gate with enough force to rattle the entire structure, but the barrier didn't budge. The metal was too thick, the mounting too solid.

Sara shifted the injured girl in her arms, her wolf rising to the surface in response to the threat. "She's herding us."

"No," I said. Understanding crystallized with terrible clarity. "She's playing with us. Making sure we feel helpless."

"I'm not good at helpless," Alexis growled. Her eyes had begun to show flecks of gold as her control frayed at the edges.

I stepped up to the gate blocking our forward progress, running my hands along the metal surface, searching for weaknesses that probably didn't exist. "We aren't the helpless prey like she thinks. We'll find another way or fight our way through. She can't keep us trapped here forever."

The emergency lights flickered, dimmed, then surged back to full intensity with blinding force. The sudden illumination was like being struck by lightning, and all five of us growled and shielded our eyes from the assault.

And with the light came a new sound that made my blood run cold.

Footsteps. Heavy, measured, deliberate. The pace of someone who had all the time in the world and wanted us to know it.

Not soldiers. Not the rushed movement of security forces responding to an emergency.

One person. Walking with the confidence of absolute control.

Sloane.

She wanted us to know she was coming, was deliberately announcing her approach rather than attempting stealth.

Ryan groaned behind me, his body sliding further down the wall as his strength continued to ebb. He was still conscious, but barely, held to awareness only by the kind of stubborn will that had kept him alive through weeks of torture.

"Keep him behind us," I said. Positioning our small group for maximum protection of the wounded. "Sara, help the girl."

We moved back into defensive formation, blades ready, every sense focused on the approaching threat.

"Remember, if we have to shift, we will only get one shot," Alexis muttered, her fingers flexing over the hilt of her blade. I could see her canine teeth beginning to elongate slightly, and prayed that even that small shift wouldn't trigger the silver poisoning that filled the air.

The hallway beyond our metal cage began to fill with smoke, thick and sickly sweet, carrying a chemical edge that made my wolf recoil in instinctive fear.

It was dark and rolling, like a nightmare floating in through the vents. This was something designed specifically for our kind.

Alexis coughed. Her voice was already starting to sound strained. "She's flushing us."

“Clear vent's overhead," Sara said, pointing. Her mind was still working despite the growing chemical assault. "If we can reach it and send the girl and Ryan up⁠—"

"No," I cut her off. The suggestion violated every protective instinct I possessed. "We don't scatter, and we don’t have time to get us all up.”

Sloane's voice returned through the intercom, carrying the particular satisfaction of someone watching their plan unfold perfectly.

"Still trying to protect everyone, Lydia? How noble."

I gritted my teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response.

There was a scraping sound, then a mechanical hiss as those same vents opened above us.

The smoke thickened rapidly, becoming dense enough to obscure vision. But this wasn't meant to blind us. It didn't sting like tear gas. It lulled, seduced, promised relief from pain while delivering something far worse. My skin prickled with unnatural sensations, and my wolf whined, confused as reality began to warp at the edges.

I blinked hard, trying to maintain focus, but the hallway shimmered and twisted, becoming something that belonged in nightmares rather than the waking world.

Then I heard it.

"Lydia?"

Maya's voice, small and scared, carrying the particular terror of a child lost in the dark.

My heart seized, maternal instinct overriding rational thought. I turned instinctively, searching for her with desperate need.

But she wasn't there. She couldn't be there. She was hundreds of miles away, safe at Mayfield with Naomi and Princess.

"Help me," the voice came again, weaker now, fading like someone calling from the bottom of a well. "Please, I don't know where I am⁠—"

"No," I whispered. The word came out harsh, desperate. "No, you're not here."

Alexis stumbled against the wall beside me, her claws half-formed and her eyes glassy with chemical influence. "Did you hear that? That was Maya and Naomi. I heard⁠—"

"She's not here," I snapped. Fighting against the hallucination that threatened to drag me under. "None of them are here."

A beat of silence, then another voice joined the chorus of impossible sounds.

Jayne's voice, panicked and broken in a way that went against everything I knew to be real. "Lydia, they got Princess… they took her… please… I can't⁠—"

Jewel's scream followed, raw and anguished, the sound of someone watching their world end.

It felt real.

Real enough that my wolf clawed at my consciousness, demanding I shift and fight whatever was threatening our pack.

But Jayne didn't beg, and she didn’t panic. She faced impossible odds with grim humor and unshakeable determination.

Jewel doesn't scream. She growls, she snarls, she promises violence—but she doesn't break.

And Maya… Maya wasn't here. She was safe, protected by wolves who would die before letting harm come to her.

Sara dropped to a crouch, her eyes wild and unfocused, shoulders trembling as she fought against whatever horror the chemicals were showing her. "Something's in my head. It's in my head."

"I know." I knelt in front of her, grabbing her shoulders with steady hands. "It's not real. Sloane's using something. Gas. Chemicals. It's not them."

Behind me, I heard Alexis let out a low growl that spoke of pure, primal terror. I turned to find her with her blade drawn, the weapon shaking in her grip as she stared at something only she could see.

"Don't come closer," she warned, her voice cracking with pain and memory. "I won't let you hurt her."

Her eyes had gone distant and clouded, filled with ghosts from a past that should have been buried decades ago. Her whole body trembled as she took a defensive step backward, blade raised not at me, but at some phantom threat that existed only in her altered perception.

"Alexis," I said carefully, keeping my voice gentle and unthreatening. "It's me. Lydia. You're here. With me."

She didn't hear me. Couldn't hear me over whatever nightmare was playing out behind her eyes.

Her gaze darted to the corner of the hallway, tracking movement that didn't exist. Her lips moved silently before her voice followed, broken and desperate.

"Don't touch me," she snarled. The words were directed at her invisible tormentor, but they hit me like physical blows. "You don't get to touch me. No! Not again!"

I felt her scream like a blade between my ribs, the sound carrying years of buried trauma, and I hadn’t been there to help her heal.

Whatever Sloane had pumped through those vents was more than just a hallucinogen. It was memory weaponized, trauma refined into its most destructive form and delivered with surgical precision. Chemical warfare I had no doubt the government had contracted for humans as well as shifters.

Alexis was trapped inside her worst moments, reliving horrors that had shaped her into the warrior she'd become.

She moved suddenly, lunging forward with her blade extended, not trying to attack, but to defend. Her whole body curved protectively around an invisible figure on the floor.

"Get away from her!" she shouted. Her voice broke with the desperation of someone trying to protect what they loved most. "She's just a pup. She didn't ask for this!"

Tears streamed down her face, silent and shaking, as she fought battles that had already been won decades ago against opponents who were long dead.

I didn't hesitate. This was my mate, my partner, the woman I'd loved through years of separation and pain. I wasn't going to let Sloane's poison take her from me again.

I stepped into her defensive space, slowly, carefully, telegraphing every movement so she wouldn't perceive me as a threat.

She turned the blade toward me instinctively, her hand shaking so violently the weapon's edge blurred.

"Alexis," I said, voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest. "Look at me."

She didn't respond, still lost in whatever hell the chemicals had created.

"Alexis. Please. Look at me. It's not him. It's not the past. It's me."

A flicker of recognition crossed her features, then confusion, then anguish as her focus snapped back to the present moment, eyes going pure molten gold.

Her whole body collapsed inward, like the weight of memory and reality had finally become too much to bear.

I caught her shoulders before she could fall, one hand coming up to cup her cheek with infinite gentleness.

"I'm not him," I whispered. The words carried the weight of absolute truth. "I swear to the moon and back, I will never, never, let anyone hurt you or Maya again."

Her lip trembled, but she still couldn't speak. The chemicals had stolen her voice along with her sense of reality.

So I did what I should have done twenty years ago.

"I'm your mate."

The words cracked in my throat, raw with emotion I'd kept buried for too long. But they were real—real enough to cut through whatever fog still clung to her mind.

"I love you."

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as she processed what I'd said.

"I've loved you since the moment I realized why I couldn't let you go because I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.” I said, louder now, stronger, letting the truth ring through the chemical haze. "And I will say it again and again if that's what it takes to bring you back to me. I’m never letting you go again. Come back to me. I love you.”

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of machinery.

Then, slowly, her knees hit the floor alongside mine. She sagged forward, and I caught her, one arm curling around her back while the other cradled her head against my shoulder.

Her blade clattered to the ground, forgotten in the face of more important truths.

She buried her face against my neck, breathing in my scent like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality.

"I thought he was there," she whispered, voice raw and broken. "I saw his face above me, and then I heard her crying. I couldn't stop it… she wasn't even born yet. He never saw her, not once, but I had to protect her."

"You did," I said. The words carried absolute conviction. "You did stop it. You got her out. You got you out."

She shook her head, breath catching as the memory tried to drag her back under.

I tightened my grip just enough to keep her grounded in the present.

"I'm here," I said again. The simple truth that mattered more than anything else. "I'm real. You're not alone anymore. I love you.”

A heartbeat passed, then another. The chemical fog was beginning to clear, reality reasserting itself over manufactured nightmares.

Then her arms came around me, tight and desperate, clinging to the one constant in a world that had tried to break her.

"Mate,” she said, too low for anyone but me to hear. The word carried the weight of recognition, acceptance, and twenty years of love finally given voice.

I nodded, feeling tears slide down my cheeks. "Mate."

We stayed like that for a few precious moments, kneeling in the middle of a poisoned corridor while the smoke dissipated around us. The chemicals were short-lived weapons, but the truth we'd spoken would last forever.

When Alexis finally pulled back, there was steel in her eyes. Not the sharp kind that cut. The strong kind. The forged kind that could bear any weight.

She wiped her cheeks once, picked up her blade, and stood with renewed purpose.

She shook once, like a wolf casting off rain, and her focus crystallized. "I hate her."

"Good," I said. Standing to join her, feeling our bond settle into place with new strength. "Hold on to that."

A low hum filled the hallway once more, something below the range of human hearing, but my wolf caught it immediately. The frequency burrowed under my skin, designed to destabilize and disorient.

A pulse. A signal. Another weapon in Sloane's arsenal.

"This is how she breaks them," I murmured. Understanding dawned with horrible clarity. "This is how she turns them into what we found in those cages. When the collars alone don't work."

Sara gritted her teeth. Her voice was steadier now, anchored by anger rather than fear. "At least we know it's not real."

The chemical smoke was almost gone, thinning as the hallucinogenic compounds lost their potency. I helped pull Alexis to her feet, feeling the solid reality of her presence chase away the last shadows of manufactured horror.

Ryan had slumped unconscious again during our ordeal, the girl barely stirring beside him. I wondered what phantoms they had seen, what ghosts the chemicals had conjured from their traumatic memories, and hoped they had passed out before the terrors could take hold.

But our path forward was clear now. The gates had retracted while we'd been incapacitated, and the sound of approaching footsteps had gone silent.

There was nothing between us and our destination but a long, dark hallway stretching forward into the facility's heart.

Alexis moved to my side, her voice still carrying traces of vulnerability. "How did you know it wasn't real?"

"Because Jayne wouldn't beg," I said softly. The logic was simple but unshakeable. "And Maya would've come for you, not me."

Sara pulled the injured girl into her arms and followed without a word, understanding that explanations could wait until we were all safe.

We moved in silence through corridors that felt different now, less oppressive, but just as dangerous. Whatever game Sloane had been playing, we were done following her rules.

We stepped over the last tendrils of fading chemical fog, following faint emergency arrows that pushed us forward through the facility's depths. Alexis stayed close, her shoulder brushing mine in constant contact.

Ryan woke again, forcing himself to keep moving despite his pallor, while the girl in Sara's arms moaned softly, her head lolling with exhaustion and whatever the smoke had shown her.

I met Alexis's gaze, and she gave the smallest nod. Whatever had broken inside her during that chemical assault had reformed into something stronger. We had to believe that. She would carry the scars of what happened here, but we would get her out and she would heal.

"Keep moving," I said, and we did.

The lights above us flickered erratically as we descended deeper into the facility's tangled web of hallways. The corridor sloped gently downward, always downward, until the floor became slick, reflective tile that pulsed faintly beneath our feet.

I hated it. The surface reminded me of the cages, of sterile surfaces designed to contain and control rather than comfort. Surfaces that were easy to clean, wiping away the horrors that happened there.

"Emergency exit's supposed to be this way," Alexis muttered, consulting an emergency route map on the wall. Strange to think the Hunters had followed building codes at one point. I wondered if the was before or after the trap doors and chemical gas were installed. “It looks like they built tunnels in case of cave-ins.”

"I don't think cave-ins should have been their biggest concern," Sara said bitterly, shifting the girl higher in her arms.

We turned another corner, only to stop short at what waited ahead.

A massive steel door loomed before us, clean, seamless, reinforced with the kind of engineering that spoke of military-grade security. But there were no guards visible, no obvious barriers.

Just a long hallway and a door left open just wide enough to beckon us forward.

"She wants us to go through it," I said. The trap was obvious, but that didn't make it any less effective.

Alexis's jaw clenched. Her every instinct rebelled against walking into such an obvious snare. "Which means we don't."

"We don't have a choice," I said, glancing behind us at our injured companions. "She's still herding us. And Ryan can't take much more."

As if to punctuate my words, he made a small sound of pain, silver glinting in the blood at the corners of his mouth as the poisoning continued its work.

We pushed forward because the alternative was death by degrees.

Beyond the door lay a massive chamber that felt more like a cathedral of horrors than anything meant for healing. The space was cavernous, echoing, designed to make anyone inside feel small and helpless.

The walls gleamed with surfaces that were sterile and wrong: too smooth, too reflective, covered in materials that would show every stain and mark. Monitoring stations blinked with electronic life on the far side of the room, their screens displaying data that I didn't want to understand.

A surgical table stood abandoned in the center of the space, thick restraints still attached to its edges. The metal surface was stained with substances that could have been blood, could have been worse.

And surrounding the central area were rows of cages so small that any shifter inside would be forced to choose between remaining human in agonizing positions or shifting into their wolves, most of which would be too large for the confined space.

Sara swore. Her voice carried no small amount of disgust. "She brought us to a fucking experiment room."

And then— the lights cut out with mechanical finality.

Only the emergency strobes returned, painting everything in shades of red that made the chamber look like something from the deepest circles of hell.

The intercom system hissed to life with predatory satisfaction.

"I was beginning to worry you wouldn't make it, no matter how many welcome mats I laid out for you."

Sloane's voice slithered down from overhead speakers, carrying the particular pleasure of someone who believed their plan was proceeding perfectly.

"Dragging the wounded behind you. So noble. So utterly predictable. I would have left them in the hallway.”

I scanned the chamber, trying to locate cameras, speakers, any sign of where she might be observing from. "Keep moving. Don't stop. There must be a way through.”

But the doors behind us slammed shut, sealing off any possibility of retreat.

A soft mechanical click echoed from somewhere ahead.

Then she stepped out of the shadows.

Calm, collected, once again clad in form-fitting black tactical gear that emphasized her predatory grace. Her sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms marked with scars that spoke of violence given and received. Her collar was open, revealing the kind of relaxed confidence that came from absolute control. It was almost missing a Hunter collar, proving with sinister finality that she was doing this because she wanted to, not because they were forcing her.

She was smirking like we'd just stumbled into a dinner party she'd been planning all week, and she was thrilled to finally have her guests of honor arrive.

She raised an eyebrow at the sight of Ryan, her expression shifting to mock concern. "Still clinging to the broken ones, Lydia? That's always been your problem. You mistake dead weight for loyalty. That one… he's not going to fit into your band of merry female wolves. Not unless you force him to change like Jayne. Boy, girl, then it wouldn't matter as long as everyone feels safe."

The casual cruelty in her voice was designed to provoke, to make us react emotionally rather than tactically.

"Funny how you talk about dead weight," Alexis said, her voice like a blade drawn across stone. "I was about to say the same thing about you. How much do they pay to let you run around here setting up million-dollar traps?"

Sloane's grin widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp, too predatory. "More than you'll ever see. But they get results, don’t they? Make little would-be runaway wolves feel like there is a chance at escape and then… trapped.” She laughed, the sound grating. “But look at you. You're still broken, Alexis. That little meltdown in the hallway? Delightful. I wasn't sure the formula would take on Alphas, but it was magnificent."

She started walking toward us. Not rushing, not attacking, just enjoying herself with the leisure of someone who believed the outcome was already decided.

I stepped forward. Positioning myself between her and my wounded companions. "What do you want?"

She paused, tilting her head with the curiosity of a scientist observing an interesting specimen.

"I want you to see what peace costs those who would do anything for it."

Her hand moved to a control panel on the wall, slow and steady, with the confidence of someone who'd rehearsed this moment countless times.

"Let me show you what happens… when you let the weak live."

A loud, grinding hiss filled the chamber as hidden mechanisms activated. Metal screamed against metal as barriers that had been invisible began to retract.

Small, square openings appeared in the far wall, doorways that were barely large enough for a wolf to pass through on all fours.

And the stench that poured through them was enough to make even experienced warriors gag.

The smell of death and madness, of bodies pushed beyond their limits and minds broken by systematic torture.

Wolves. Dozens of them.

Collars cutting into infected flesh, eyes white with madness that went beyond simple feral behavior. They poured into the chamber like a flood of fur and rage, some still partially human, others gone entirely.

Some had foam gathering at their mouths, jaws locked open in permanent snarls. Still more moved with the jerky, unnatural gait of nervous systems damaged by prolonged electrical stimulation.

Screaming. Snarling. The sounds of creatures that had been destroyed and rebuilt as weapons.

One wolf crashed into the wall beside us, leaving a streak of blood as it fell. Another attacked its own reflection in the polished surfaces.

Sloane didn't move from her position by the controls, watching the chaos with the detached interest of a researcher observing lab results.

"Here's your army, Lydia," she said. Her voice carried the particular satisfaction of someone revealing their masterpiece. "You want to lead them? Be my guest."

CHAPTER 22

The first wolf didn't growl. It just charged.

A blur of matted fur and manufactured madness, eyes milky white and empty of everything that had once made it a person. It tore across the chamber like a nightmare given form, moving with the single-minded purpose of something that had been broken and rebuilt with only one goal.

Death.

And then there were more. Dozens upon dozens, pouring through the openings like a flood of damaged flesh and corrupted instinct.

Snarling, snapping, foam gathering at mouths that had forgotten how to close properly. More were still caught between forms with jaws twisted into impossible angles, limbs stretched too long, spines curved in ways that spoke of bones broken that had healed wrong.

They moved as one frenzied mass, but there was no coordination, no pack intelligence. These weren't soldiers or even proper monsters. They were simply pain given motion, suffering taught to hunt.

"Down!" Alexis barked, already throwing herself in front of Ryan with the protective instinct that defined every Alpha worth following.

I barely had time to register the command before the first attacker slammed into me, claws raking across my side. The creature's breath was a mixture of rot and chemicals so thick I nearly retched. It was the smell of bodies kept alive long past when they should have been allowed to die.

Sara moved with practiced efficiency, shoving the unconscious girl behind one of the overturned metal tables and positioning her body as a living shield between her and the approaching storm.

There was no time to think. No time to plan. No time for anything but the most primal response to mortal danger.

We shifted.

Alexis first, her human form dissolving in a ripple of muscle and bone. Her wolf emerged with a snarl that cracked through the air like a whip, every inch of her radiating lethal authority.

Then me.

The shift hurt worse than it ever had before. The silver that had been building in my system fought against the change, racing through my veins like liquid fire. My muscles tore and reformed, while every bone screamed in protest.

But I forced the transformation anyway because the alternative was death for everyone I'd sworn to protect.

The moment my paws hit the blood-slicked floor, I felt the difference. This wasn't the smooth, powerful form I was used to, this was compromised, weakened, fighting against poison with every breath.

There would be no peace in this. No clean victory, no merciful resolution. This was going to be brutal and desperate and ugly.

My wolf form was larger than Alexis's, built for endurance rather than speed. Under normal circumstances, I could have handled several attackers at once. But these weren't normal circumstances, and I wasn't at full strength.

This wasn't a fight we could win. The numbers were too overwhelming, our condition too compromised.

But we weren't here to win. We were here to buy time, to protect the wounded, to hold the line long enough for someone to survive this nightmare as Jess and Jewel and Jayne took the others away.

We were here for the girl and Ryan, and even for these broken creatures with no names that had suffered unspeakable violations in the name of science and progress.

A feral wolf lunged at me, its movements jerky and unnatural. I met it midair, using my superior weight to slam it to the blood-slicked floor. The impact drove the air from both our lungs, but I managed to pin its shoulders.

Up close, I could see the damage more clearly. Its eyes weren't just milky… they were shot through with silver traces that looked like continuous poisoning. Foam flecked its lips, but it was tinged with blood from internal bleeding.

This wasn't an enemy. This was a victim.

It didn't fight like a shifter, with intelligence and strategy. It didn't even fight like a proper animal, with instinct and survival cunning. It was simply terror given physical form, reacting to stimuli without thought or purpose.

I released it with a warning snap of my teeth, pushing it away with enough force to discourage further attack. It stumbled backward, disoriented, before another wave of attackers pressed forward from behind.

To my left, Alexis was a streak of dark fury, every movement calculated for maximum efficiency. She moved like death itself, precise, brutal, protective. But I could feel her exhaustion through our bond, could sense the way the silver was eating at her strength.

She was fighting to keep us alive for as long as possible, but it was clear she didn’t believe we would make it out. This was about buying precious seconds, about making every moment count and giving as many of these things a swift death as possible before they overwhelmed us.

Sara hadn't shifted—couldn't, not with the unconscious girl still vulnerable at her feet. She wielded her blade instead, her stance wide and defensive, slicing low and fast to disable rather than kill.

She left them breathing when she could. But the press of bodies didn't always give her that luxury.

As the only one still capable of human speech, she shouted warnings and instructions over the chaos, her voice cutting through the sounds of violence like a lifeline.

Another wolf leaped toward Ryan's prone form, mouth gaping wide to reveal teeth stained with its own blood. I didn't think, couldn't afford to think, just moved.

My body crashed into the attacker mid-flight, knocking it off course with bone-jarring force. It yelped in confusion, then scrambled upright with the persistence of something that couldn't understand pain anymore.

But now its attention was focused on me instead of the helpless shifter.

We were surrounded. The chamber had become a nightmare of walls lined with silver, floors slick with blood, and air thick with the sounds of creatures that had been destroyed and left to live rather than die.

I caught Alexis's eye as another attacker slammed into her side. She absorbed the impact without falling, but I saw her falter, just for a second, just long enough to reveal how much the fight was costing her.

Her coat shimmered dark with blood and determination, and despite everything, she stood tall. Even compromised, even poisoned, even facing impossible odds, she radiated the kind of strength that had built Ghost Pack from nothing.

And in that moment, watching her fight with everything she had, I realized something that chilled me to the bone.

These creatures weren't just randomly violent. They had been programmed, conditioned to respond to specific triggers. And whoever had designed this nightmare had trained them to ignore each other while focusing on targets that showed protective behavior.

In a real war, that would mean civilians, a force of monsters that could attack, corral, or disrupt entire non-military populations who were simply trying to protect and flee, with terrifying efficiency.

Here, in this chamber of horrors, it meant us.

A low, savage howl ripped through the space. Whether it was a rallying cry from one of our attackers or a warning from deeper in the facility, I couldn't tell.

It didn't matter which. Because the tide of bodies kept rising, and we were already drowning in violence we couldn't stop.

The flurry of fur and chaos at the far end of the chamber provided enough cover that when the new shape appeared, I almost missed it.

Not a wolf. Not one of the ferals.

Sloane walked calmly through the storm of fur and fangs, her boots clicking softly against blood-slicked tile. She stepped over unconscious forms, past the wounded, moving through the carnage like she was strolling through a garden she'd designed personally.

She wasn't here to help, wasn't here to participate in the violence she'd orchestrated.

She was here to savor the unraveling, to watch everything we'd fought for dissolve into chaos and death.

She moved with the fluid grace of a predator who had never doubted the outcome, someone who had already decided she wouldn't need to dirty her hands with actual combat.

But then her gaze found Alexis, tracked to me, and lingered with the particular satisfaction of someone watching a long-planned revenge finally come to fruition.

She tilted her head with mock curiosity.

"Still alive?" she said, her voice cutting through the chaos like nails pressed against glass. "I should've known simple pain or psychological torment wouldn't be enough. You've always needed a spectacle, Lydia." She examined one perfectly manicured nail, completely unbothered as a feral wolf flew over her head in pursuit of some invisible prey. "That was something that always bothered me about Mayfield. The drama. So much drama between wolves that supposedly wanted peace. But you know what I think?"

I didn't answer. My wolf form had no interest in her psychological games, no patience for the verbal sparring she craved.

She continued anyway because narcissists always did. "I think that violence is in our very nature. The need to hunt those less powerful and rip them to shreds. That means you can't have a pack of pacifist wolves without the drama simmering over."

The silver in my system was beginning to coil tighter, burning like acid as I stepped forward. My joints felt stiff from accumulated damage, but I didn't stop moving toward her.

Because Sloane was here, in person, within reach.

That meant we still had a chance to end this.

"You look tired," she went on, her eyes sparkling with the cruelty of someone who enjoyed others' suffering. "Are you sure you can still lead this little rebellion? Or did I finally break you too?"

She moved faster than I remembered, faster than someone her size should have been capable of. Mid-stride, without warning or hesitation, she shifted.

There was no struggle, no moment of vulnerability during the transformation. Just fluid violence made manifest, the change flowing through her like water taking a new shape.

Her wolf form was sleek and sharp, a perfect mirror of the woman she'd been—all predatory elegance and controlled power. Muscles rippled beneath her coat as she moved, and every step radiated absolute confidence.

She didn't snarl or posture or waste energy on threat displays.

She didn't need to.

I answered with a growl that tore through my throat, the pain of it sharper now as the silver continued its assault on my nervous system. This was the rematch I'd tried to avoid, the confrontation I should never have allowed to happen.

My body screamed as the last of my resistance to the silver poisoning finally broke down, flooding my bloodstream with liquid agony that made every movement an act of will.

But I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Because this wasn't about victory anymore. This was about closure. For everything I hadn't done the last time we'd fought, for every life her experiments had shattered, for every wolf who'd died because I'd shown mercy when I should have shown justice.

We met in the center of the chaos, two wolves, finally settling a debt that had been simmering since she had first stepped a paw into my territory.

Claws. Teeth. The sharp sound of bone meeting bone, the wet noise of flesh tearing under pressure.

There was nothing clean or honorable about it. This was survival distilled to its most basic form. Kill or be killed, with no room for hesitation or doubt.

She was faster than me, her movements uncompromised by poison. She tore at my flank before I could dodge, claws finding flesh with surgical precision.

I spun with the impact, using her momentum against her, catching her ribs with my shoulder and slamming her into the nearest wall with enough force to crack the reinforced surface.

She bounced back like she was made of spring and steel, launching herself at my throat with the fluid grace of a natural killer.

I ducked low, twisting beneath her attack, and clamped my jaws around her foreleg. The taste of her blood was copper and chemicals, wrong in ways that spoke of enhancement drugs and genetic modification.

She yelped, but even her pain sounded smug, calculated, like she was enjoying some private joke at my expense.

She wanted me angry. Wanted me wild and uncontrolled, fighting on instinct rather than strategy.

But I wasn't here to play her psychological games anymore.

I was here to end them.

I released her leg and spun again, catching her across the muzzle with a brutal swipe that sent her staggering backward. Her claws raked across my side in return, drawing blood that mixed with the silver traces already poisoning my system.

We circled each other in the eye of the storm, two predators looking for the perfect opening while chaos raged.

Around us, the battle continued to rage. Sara's voice cut through the violence periodically, calling our names, shouting warnings, but we couldn't spare the attention to respond.

This moment belonged to us alone. Years of history distilled into tooth and claw. Right here. Right now.

Sloane lunged again, faster this time, and we collided once again in midair with bone-jarring force. The impact drove us both to the floor in a tangle of fur and fury, snarling and snapping as we fought for position.

I used my superior weight to pin her beneath me, but she was stronger than she looked. Her jaw snapped toward my throat with predatory precision.

But I was faster. Just barely, but enough.

I sank my teeth deep into the thick muscle at the base of her neck, just below the skull, where the nerves clustered. The taste of her blood flooded my mouth. Warm, metallic, tinged with the artificial compounds that had enhanced her beyond natural limits. It was vile and nasty, causing my wolf to retch, but I clamped down tighter against it, feeling her bones snap between my jaws.

She shrieked, a sound that was part wolf, part woman, part something else entirely. The noise cut through the chaos like a blade, making even the feral attackers pause in their violence.

I bit harder, feeling muscle and sinew part beneath my jaws. There would be no mercy this time, no opportunity for her to escape and continue her work elsewhere.

Her body bucked beneath me—once, twice—then went still.

Her eyes widened, but not with fear or pain. With surprise, as if she'd never truly believed this moment would come.

I pulled back just enough to shift, my muscles trembling with exhaustion and silver poisoning. The return to human form provided immediate relief as my human resistance to the metal reasserted itself, but I was running on borrowed time.

I pressed my knee to her chest, keeping her pinned as her own form flickered between wolf and human, unable to maintain either shape properly. Blood seeped between us, warm and vital and final.

She opened her mouth, to laugh, to speak some final cruel observation, to deliver one last psychological blow.

It didn't matter anymore.

"I tried to show you mercy," I said, my voice low enough that only she could hear it over the chaos around us. "You called it weakness."

My hand found the hilt of the silver blade I'd kept tucked in the sheath that stayed with me through transformations. It was a weapon I'd hoped never to use, but had carried anyway.

"You were wrong."

I drove it through her chest, angling upward toward her heart with the precision that came from years of Alpha training. The silver blade slid between ribs like it was meant to be there.

She gasped once, a ragged, stuttering breath that carried the weight of genuine surprise.

Then nothing. Her head lolled to the side, lips parted around words that would never be spoken.

And just like that, after years of running and hiding and trying to build something better, Sloane was gone.

But as I pulled back from her still form, something caught my eye. A small device embedded just beneath the skin of her wrist, barely visible but now pulsing with urgent red light.

Her hand twitched once, fingers curling around nothing.

Then a low, mechanical click echoed across the chamber, audible even over the sounds of ongoing violence.

Behind me, I heard something that made my blood freeze.

The sound of locks disengaging. Of seals retracting. Of barriers that had been meant to stay closed forever, finally opening.

A massive hiss of air pressure being released from somewhere in the facility's depths.

Sara turned toward the new sound, her face going pale with understanding. "What the fuck⁠—?"

Too late. We were all too late to stop what Sloane had set in motion.

The floor groaned beneath us as hidden mechanisms activated, massive seals retracting with sounds like the world ending. The vibration traveled up through our bones, making teeth ache and hearts skip.

Emergency lighting began to strobe throughout the chamber, painting everything in alternating red and shadow.

The gates at the far end of the chamber cracked open with the sound of breaking mountains, and from the darkness beyond came something that made the previous attacks look like a minor disturbance.

The air hit us first. A wave of stench that poured from the opening like breath from a mass grave. Stale and heavy and wrong, thick with rot and desperation and the particular smell of things that should have been dead long ago.

Then came the sound. Not footsteps or howls or anything that could be mistaken for normal animal behavior.

Just motion. The whisper of hundreds of paws moving together, the rustle of bodies that had been compressed into spaces too small, the collective breathing of creatures that had been waiting in darkness for longer than anyone could sanely endure.

I turned just in time to see them emerge from the depths.

More wolves. So many more that counting became impossible, flowing from the opened barriers like a tide of damaged flesh and broken minds.

But these weren't like the previous attackers. The first wave could have been test subjects, conditioned for specific responses, trained to react to certain stimuli.

These were the rejects. The ones too broken to fix, too dangerous to study, too valuable to simply kill. They had been stored in the facility's deepest levels, kept alive behind barriers that were never meant to open.

Until now.

They burst into the chamber like a tsunami of fur and teeth and accumulated rage. Some were little more than skeletons wrapped in patchy fur, their bodies wasted by years of minimal feeding and chemical experimentation.

Others had been pumped full of enhancement drugs until their muscles bulged grotesquely, their bones thickened beyond natural proportions, their very biology warped into something that belonged in nightmares.

And all of them were angry with the nightmarish fury of creatures that had been tortured and then forgotten.

They didn't stop to assess targets or choose specific enemies. They lashed out at everything within reach, our previous attackers, the walls, the equipment, even each other.

One hurled itself at a bank of monitoring equipment, smashing its skull against the controls repeatedly until sparks rained down, and the screens went dark.

Another leaped onto the upper scaffolding and released a howl so loud and filled with such raw anguish that the entire chamber shook. Dust rained from the ceiling, and somewhere in the distance, more alarms began to sound.

The scent of blood in the air drove them beyond any semblance of rational thought.

A now shifted Alexis grabbed my arm with hands that shook from exhaustion and silver poisoning. "We need to move. Now."

I nodded, understanding that our window for escape was measured in seconds rather than minutes. "Sara⁠—"

"Already on it," she called, dragging Ryan and the unconscious girl toward what looked like the only remaining exit. "They're going to tear this place apart."

She wasn't wrong. The floor beneath our feet had begun to vibrate with increasing intensity as the mass of bodies threw themselves against walls, equipment, and each other with suicidal fury.

Pipes burst in the walls, sending torrents of water and chemical solutions cascading across the blood-slicked floor. The overhead lighting flickered and failed as electrical systems overloaded.

Somewhere deeper in the facility, emergency sirens began to wail, not the controlled alarm of a security response, but the desperate warning of automated systems detecting catastrophic failure.

The entire mountain was waking up to its own destruction.

"This was a kill switch," I said, the realization hitting me with the weight of absolute certainty. "She knew she couldn't win… so she burned it all down with her."

Sloane's final revenge.

If she couldn't have victory, she'd settle for mutual destruction. Every creature in the facility would have been released, every containment protocol would fail, and everything would die together in an orgy of violence and chemical fire.

Alexis looked at me, her jaw tight with grim determination. "Then let's make sure we live long enough to give her memory a proper fuck you."

We ran. Through blood and fire and howls that no longer sounded like anything born of this world. Through corridors that shook with the force of destruction, past rooms where emergency lighting revealed horrors that had been hidden in darkness for years.

Behind us, the facility began its final transformation from research center to tomb.

We didn't look back. There was nothing left behind us worth saving, and no time to mourn what had been lost.

There was only forward now. Toward whatever exit we could find, toward whatever future might exist beyond these walls of horror and systematic cruelty.

If we could make it that far.

CHAPTER 23

The gates gaped open like a wound, lacerated and bent at angles no human could have possibly caused.

We weren't following the ferals. We were following the destruction they left behind.

The hallway beyond the lab was barely wide enough for us to walk two across, its floor scraped and bloodied where claw marks had dragged against metal and tile for the months, more likely years the facility had been operating. The grooves were deep enough to catch my heel, telling the story of captured and broken wolves being dragged to experiments and worse. The walls bore similar scars. Desperate claws seeking purchase, seeking escape, seeking anything but the horror that waited at the end of these corridors. Now, the ferals were retracing those horrors, following the same paths but in reverse, reclaiming territory that had never been theirs to lose.

The lights above flickered with every tremor, casting broken shadows over the smeared walls. The smell still hit me in waves: old fear soaked into concrete, fresh blood, and underneath it all, the metallic tang of silver.

Somewhere ahead, the wolves were still running.

Screaming.

It smelled like silver and ozone.

Like rot.

Like fear and like freedom, wild and terrible and long overdue.

No one spoke.

There was nothing left to say.

Alexis took point, her breathing ragged but focused. Blood had dried in dark patches across her ripped and bruised skin, and I could see the careful way she held her left shoulder, but her steps never faltered. Strips of skin clung to her, soaked through from battle and blood, but her steps were steady. I stayed close behind, Ryan between us, one of his arms slung over my shoulders. He was limping, favoring one leg, but still upright. His breathing was shallow, controlled, the kind of careful rhythm that said he was managing pain through sheer will.

Sara followed, carrying the unconscious girl like she weighed nothing. The woman’s head lolled against Sara's shoulder, her face pale but peaceful in a way that seemed impossible given everything we'd witnessed. Sara's eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, her protective instincts on high alert even as we moved away from immediate danger. In fact, we followed it. Anyone still in our path would be cleared by the creatures running before us.

Behind us, the floor trembled again. A distant howl echoed, followed by the sound of something collapsing in the distance: metal warping, glass shattering, alarms flaring and dying. The mountain itself seemed to be coming apart, years of experimentation finally taking their toll on the structural integrity.

We didn't look back.

The corridor twisted as we walked, leading us deeper into the mountain before turning again towards what I prayed was freedom. The air grew thicker here, heavy with the weight of stone and secrets. The hallways in this area looked like they had once been used for coal transport. There were rails embedded in the floor, long rusted over. The metal tracks disappeared into darkness in both directions, speaking to a time when this mountain had served a different purpose, before it became a tomb for wolves who deserved better. Some kind of lift system, maybe. Maybe supply carts. It didn't matter, not anymore.

We passed the remnants of what might have been more holding cells. Reinforced glass, cracked and stained. Monitoring equipment crushed under claw and fang. Twisted metal that had once been restraints lay scattered across the floor like broken bones. The walls showed impact patterns, bodies thrown against them with enough force to crack concrete. There were signs of life once. And signs of loss.

But now they were empty.

Ryan's voice was a whisper beside me. "They did this to them."

I nodded, jaw tight. "And they left it to fester."

"I don't think they expected them to make it this far."

"It was Sloane that did it, and I don't think she cared if they did or didn't."

"Why would she?" Alexis added. "She would already be dead if it came to this."

He didn't answer after that. What was there to say? We were walking through the graveyard of Sloane's and her handlers ambitions, and the cost was written in blood on every surface.

The corridor sloped downward, deeper underground. The wrong way again, but we continued to follow the destruction past reinforced doors torn off their hinges and more shattered lights. The emergency lighting cast everything in hellish red, making the blood on the walls look black, and the shadows dance like living things. At one point, we passed what looked like a medical observation bay, its one-way glass shattered from the inside. A handprint stained the wall in blood.

Not a wolf's.

Too small. Too delicate. Human.

I slowed for a moment. Just a second, letting myself acknowledge what that meant. That the hunters had become the hunted, that fear had changed sides in these corridors. The government knew no species down here, only test subjects.

We kept moving.

The hallway opened into a wide, circular room. This one was clearly different from the others we'd passed. It wasn't a lab, or a holding cell, but was clearly a control center of some sort. Monitors lined the curved walls in stacked columns, most broken or static-filled, a few still flickering with grainy feeds from parts of the facility we'd passed. The air hummed with electricity and the burning plastic smell of overloaded circuits. One showed the wrecked hallway with the shattered observation window. Another caught the chamber from before, now quiet, littered with still bodies.

A few showed the ferals. Clear views of the destruction as they tore into the Hunter squads that had appeared to contain them. The footage was grainy but unmistakable: wolves moving with supernatural speed and strength, overwhelming their captors with the kind of primal fury that came from years of suppressed rage finally finding its target. It wouldn’t matter what the Hunters did now. There were too many wolves and not nearly enough silver bullets to stop them. But it was these monitors that caught my attention because behind the ferals were signs of wolves who were still whole.

Whole and running.

Escaping.

The lights above flickered, bringing my attention back to the room. And in the center of it all stood a woman.

Not cowering. Not running.

Just waiting.

She turned at the sound of our approach, slowly, with the unhurried confidence of someone who didn't expect to be harmed. Her movements were precise, controlled, the kind of calm that came from absolute certainty.

None of us recognized her, but I had a guess given the descriptions I had heard during Princess's and Jayne's debriefing.

Her hair was neatly pinned. Her lab coat was spotless. Not a drop of blood on her, not even a wrinkle out of place. In the chaos and destruction surrounding us, her pristine appearance felt almost obscene.

Alexis shifted her stance, blocking Ryan with one arm. "Who the hell are you?"

The woman studied her for a moment before offering a faint, unreadable smile. Her eyes moved over each of us with clinical interest, as if we were specimens she was cataloging for future reference. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it this far."

"Try again," I said. "Who are you?"

Her gaze settled on me. Cool. Calculated. Like I was an equation she was solving in real time. "I know you, Lydia. The gentle Alpha of Mayfield. Surely, my lost little Princess would have told you about me."

"Dr. Pierce." I growled, knowing I was right.

The name tasted like ash in my mouth.

But Ryan inhaled sharply, his grip tightening on my shoulder.

"She's the one behind the neural tech," he said, voice tight. "The bio-enhancements. The collars and the gas. She's… she built the models for the reprogramming protocols."

"Built them?" Alexis echoed, tone sharpening. I could feel the predator in her rising, responding to the presence of someone who had caused so much pain. "You're telling me all of this, what we saw down there, was your idea?"

Pierce shrugged. The gesture was casual, dismissive—as if we were discussing the weather rather than the torture of innocent wolves. "Refined them. My previous partner met a tragic end in this same facility. I came to, more or less, pick up the pieces and make sure our work continued."

Her voice held no remorse, no recognition of the lives destroyed by her 'work.' If anything, she sounded mildly inconvenienced by the setback.

Sara's expression darkened. "Your work is destroying this place. Why are you still here?"

"Because someone needed to witness the conclusion. It's the foundation of scientific discovery. You have a hypothesis, you run the tests, and you observe the results. Without the observation, the ability to report, the results are meaningless."

The clinical detachment in her voice made my skin crawl. She was talking about the destruction of lives as if it were a research project, and she needed to get an A.

"How were you planning to report if you're dead?" Alexis asked. Blood had smeared across her front teeth when she had shifted, and when she smiled, it was all predator, sharp and promising violence.

Dr. Pierce's hands stayed where we could see them. She made no move toward the monitors, though I was sure a dozen failsafes were built into the room. "I have systems and backup systems if those fail. Even if I die today, the work will continue in other facilities around the country."

The words hit like a glacier, chilling my blood. Other facilities. More wolves. More suffering.

"No." I shook my head, trying to push out the thought that there were potentially dozens of places just like this. "You've killed your own people," I said. "Unleashed something you can't control. There is no way the military will condone keeping this going."

Pierce raised a brow. Her expression shifted slightly, and for the first time, I saw something that might have been genuine amusement. "You think control was the point?"

The question hung in the air like a poisonous cloud. If control wasn't the point, then what was? What could be worth all this destruction?

I didn't respond. I was already scanning the room, marking exits, blind spots, anything that might turn into a trap. My wolf was on high alert, every instinct screaming that this was wrong, that standing here talking to this woman was a mistake.

She caught my glance and gave a slow shake of her head. "I'm not here to stop you. I have no delusions of heroism. Or survival."

"Then what do you want?" Alexis asked, her voice dropping to something low and dangerous.

Pierce tilted her head, as if genuinely intrigued by the question. Her eyes lit up with the kind of intellectual curiosity that belonged in a lecture hall, not a collapsing mountain full of traumatized wolves. "Someone to remember. Someone who understands what was really at stake here."

She moved then, calmly, just three steps to her left and pressed a keycard to a panel behind one of the flickering monitors. The beep that followed was soft, almost gentle, a sound completely at odds with everything surrounding us.

A section of wall slid open.

Beyond it, a hallway. Clean, white, and fully lit. A sharp contrast to the blood-slick ruin we'd crawled through. The air that drifted out smelled sterile, artificial, like hospitals and laboratories rather than mountain stone and wolf fear.

"That leads to the elevator," she said. "You'll reach the surface in under three minutes."

No one moved. The offer felt like a trap, even though logic said it was our best chance at escape.

Pierce remained beside the console, hands still at her sides. Her posture was relaxed, almost conversational, as if she were giving directions to a lost tourist rather than helping us escape the scene of a massacre. "This place was never meant to last. I mean, I had hoped it would be functional for a bit longer, but I assume you've noticed the instability in the lower levels."

Sara nodded. "We heard something collapse."

"Multiple somethings," Pierce said. Another distant rumble punctuated her words, as if the mountain itself agreed with her assessment. "There are systems failing in every direction. I'd suggest moving quickly."

I stared at her, my free hand clenching and unclenching. Part of me wanted to shift right here, to let my wolf tear into this woman who spoke so casually about the destruction of lives. But another part, the Alpha part, recognized that we needed to get Ryan and the unconscious girl to safety. "You're not coming. Not even trying."

"No," she said simply. Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she were declining an invitation to dinner rather than choosing death. "My work ends here. I have uploaded the data we gathered to my superiors, but I have nothing left there. Going back will mean reprimands, protocol adjustments, roadblocks in scientific discovery, all of it. I am tired of those games. This was my future."

Another distant boom rumbled beneath our feet. The floor shook slightly, and several of the monitors flickered and went dark.

Alexis's voice was sharp. "If this place goes, you go with it."

Pierce didn't argue. She actually smiled. A small, peaceful expression that was somehow more chilling than any threat could have been. "That's the idea."

We stared at each other across the ruined command center, the weight of a thousand unspoken horrors suspended in the silence. In that moment, I understood that Dr. Pierce wasn't just choosing death. She was choosing to become a martyr for a cause that had consumed everything human in her.

Maybe this was penance for a life that had destroyed so many others.

"Go," she said quietly. Her voice softened slightly, and for a moment, she almost sounded like the concerned mentor she might have been in another life. "There's nothing left worth saving here. You already unleashed my final work. Now I suggest you flee before they decide to turn on you too."

The threat in those last words was clear: the ferals might be free, but freedom didn't automatically mean friendship.

I looked at Alexis.

Then at Sara.

Then we moved. Past her. Through the open door and into the light of the corridor beyond.

And behind us, the wall slid shut.

We didn't hear it lock, but somehow, I knew it had. Dr. Pierce had made her choice, and we had made ours.

* * *

The elevator shuddered as it climbed, slow and groaning, like the mountain itself was reluctant to let us go.

None of us spoke.

Not at first.

The silence felt heavy, weighted with everything we'd seen and everything we were leaving behind. The sterile air of the elevator seemed to emphasize the contrast. We were moving from hell back to the world above, but the transition felt surreal, like waking from a nightmare only to discover the monsters had followed you into daylight.

Alexis leaned her back against the wall, arms crossed, though her hands still shook slightly. Her eyes were open, but far away, lost in whatever memories she was processing. I could feel the weight in her body, the strain of every fight she hadn't yet let herself process. The bond between us hummed with exhaustion and relief and a dozen other emotions too complex to name. After a moment she shifted, leaning her head against my shoulder, and I turned to kiss her forehead. Her hair smelled like smoke and sweat and survival.

Sara stood near the door, the girl still unconscious in her arms, her jaw set like stone. The protective way she held the unknown wolf spoke to every protective instinct that had made her the matron of the Haven pack, even if they never had a proper Alpha.

Ryan exhaled, leaning into the corner beside me. He wasn't crying, but he looked like he might if anyone asked him to explain how it felt to walk away. His breathing was still careful, controlled, but I could see the moment when the adrenaline began to fade and the reality of what we'd survived started to sink in.

I didn't ask what had happened to him in there. Some wounds needed time before they could bear examination.

The ride felt like an eternity. Three never-ending minutes of purgatory. The elevator buzzed faintly with electricity, lights blinking overhead like it was any other elevator in any other building.

Except it wasn't.

It carried us out of hell.

And we had no idea what waited at the top.

The numbers above the door climbed steadily—B7, B6, B5—each floor marking our distance from the nightmare below. But with each level, I felt the weight of what we were returning to. The world above didn't know what we'd just unleashed. Didn't know that everything had changed.

Then, without warning, it stopped.

A soft chime. A hiss of pressurized air.

The doors slid open.

Light flooded the chamber, and we all recoiled, squinting and hissing as something other than artificial fluorescence assaulted our vision.

Sunlight.

Real and warm and wide. After hours in the artificial hell below, it felt like a benediction.

I stepped out first, still on alert for any signs of movement. My wolf senses, dulled by the silver and sterile environment below, suddenly exploded back to life: pine, earth, clean air, and underneath it all, the wild scent of freedom.

We were in the trees, pines towering high above us at the mountain base entrance, scorched in places where debris from the mountain had already rained down. The forest floor was littered with broken stone and twisted metal, evidence that the destruction below was affecting the entire mountainside. The lift had been built into the side of a bluff, hidden by rock and scrub. But now the ground around us was cracked and smoking, long fractures splitting the stone where the weight of the collapsing tunnels below had shifted something massive and old.

The air tasted of freedom and fear in equal measure.

And we weren't alone.

Wolves were everywhere.

Dozens. Maybe more. They moved through the trees like living shadows, some still bearing the physical marks of their captivity, others already beginning to shed the hunched postures of the imprisoned. Not organized. Not coordinated.

Just running.

Some tore through the trees with wild, unsteady steps, their movements speaking to wolves who had forgotten what it meant to choose their own direction. Others hesitated near the tree line, sniffing the air as if unsure what freedom smelled like. Some moved in small groups, drawn together by shared trauma. Others remained solitary, too damaged for pack bonds, but no longer caged.

And among them, I saw something that made my breath catch.

One shifted.

Right in front of us.

She dropped to her knees, naked and gasping, her limbs trembling. The transformation from wolf to human was rough, uncontrolled. It was the shift of someone who hadn't been allowed to choose her form in too long. Her hair was matted with dirt and blood, her body covered in scars, some old, some fresh, all telling stories of survival against impossible odds. But her eyes…

They were golden and sane. Wide and full of wonder. Not the flat, broken gaze of the truly feral, but the bright awareness of someone who had found herself again.

She looked up at us for only a moment—recognition, gratitude, and something that might have been hope flickering across her features—and then bolted into the trees, claiming her freedom with every step.

"They're not feral," Ryan whispered behind me. His voice held wonder and relief in equal measure. "Not all of them."

"No," I agreed, watching more wolves emerge from the forest around us. "They're just… free."

We stood in silence as more wolves emerged out of the mouth of the bluff, out of the trees, from tunnels we hadn't seen. Each emergence was a small miracle, a life reclaimed from the jaws of human cruelty.

The mountain continued to groan and settle, aftershocks of the destruction still rippling through stone and earth. But above it all, I could hear something that made my chest tight with emotion: the sound of wolves calling to each other across the forest, voices raised not in pain but in recognition, in reunion, in the simple joy of being able to speak their own names again and share it with others.

There was no one left to stop them.

No Hunters.

No cages.

No silver.

No Sloane.

Just a world too unprepared to catch them all. And perhaps that was as it should be. The world would have to learn to coexist with what it had tried to destroy… and create.

And somewhere, sometime very soon, the world was going to realize it wasn't alone. These wolves, both sane and not, would find their way out of the trees.

Sara stepped up beside me, her voice low. She adjusted her grip on the unconscious girl, protective instincts still fully engaged. "What happens now?"

I looked at Alexis. She was watching the wolves with an expression I couldn't quite read, part tactical assessment, part something deeper. Our bond hummed between us, steady and strong despite everything we'd endured.

She didn't answer, but I felt the shift in her posture as the reality of our survival truly sank in.

But for the first time in days, her shoulders dropped. Just slightly. Her gaze lifted toward the sun. And when she looked at me, I saw something I hadn't seen in twenty years: peace.

"I don't know," I said, the words carrying more hope than fear for the first time in longer than I could remember.

Alexis spoke at the same time, our voices blending in perfect synchronization: "I don't know."

I caught her eyes, and we smiled, the feel of our bond pulsing bright and warm from my chest, a reminder that some things were worth every risk, every fight, every moment of terror, if they led us back to each other.

And for once…

Hoping for peace didn't feel like a failure.

It felt like a beginning.

CHAPTER 24

The trees thinned just before the bluff, opening into a broad, pine-shadowed clearing that, if I was being honest, I hadn't thought I would ever see again when we were staring down dozens of our kind in the darkness.

Ghost Ridge.

The name felt more appropriate now, this close to where so many had lost their lives. The air itself seemed heavy with memory, thick with the echoes of wolves who had fought and died for freedom. Ghosts would haunt these woods now, stalking and preying on the weak, until the Moon Goddess called them home. I hoped for their sakes that their final hunter would come soon.

But we had survived.

Against all odds, through hell itself, we had survived.

The sentries were already waiting for us, triage kits in hand.

Two stood at the edge of the perimeter, shoulders squared, eyes sharp. They moved with the kind of controlled alertness that spoke to wolves who had been expecting trouble and were relieved to see familiar faces instead. Their weapons weren't raised, but they hadn't lowered them either. Instinct, probably. Habit. But the tension in their jaws said they didn't know what to make of us coming back bloodied, limping, and half-dragging ourselves out of the woods.

We looked like survivors of a war zone. Which, I supposed, we were.

But Alexis was leading us.

That was enough for them.

One of them, a wiry woman with dark braids and a hunter's stillness, took a step forward. Her eyes moved over each of us with professional assessment, cataloging injuries and threat levels. "Alpha?"

Alexis didn't raise her voice. Didn't snap a command. Just met the woman's gaze and nodded once. A simple gesture that conveyed everything necessary: we were alive, friends, and welcome in their territory once more.

It was enough.

The sentries parted with neither challenge nor fanfare. Just the sound of breath catching as Alexis passed between them, her bare and bloody feet crunching over pine needles and broken branches. I caught the way their eyes lingered on her injuries, the protective instinct of pack wolves recognizing their Alpha's wounds. But they didn't question, didn't demand explanations. Ghost Pack understood that some stories were told in scars, not words. The rest of us followed, a quiet passing over us as the reality of it hit each of us differently.

Ghost Ridge wasn't warm. It wasn't welcoming. But it was safe.

That was more than enough for now.

The entrance to their mountain loomed ahead, carved into the rock, ready as ever. The familiar sight of those stone walls, weathered by time and reinforced by determination, hit me with unexpected emotion. How many times had I wondered if I would see this place again? It made me pause for a brief moment, Ryan halting beside me as we both pushed down memories of being trapped beneath different rock and stone.

The mountain air tasted different here, cleaner, carrying the scent of home fires and pack bonds rather than fear and experimentation. A low hum of activity came from inside, followed by footsteps, distant voices, someone moving supplies. They'd been bracing for the fallout, I realized. Maybe even expecting a couple of us to return, but not all. I doubted they were ready for what we looked like.

We looked like hell. Felt like it too.

Ryan stumbled forward as we crossed the threshold. I caught him before he fell, but my own legs weren't far behind. The adrenaline that had carried us through the escape was finally fading, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and the kind of weariness that sleep alone couldn't cure.

Alexis turned just enough to glance back. Her voice carried the automatic authority of an Alpha ensuring her pack's welfare. "We need medics. One unconscious, two injured."

No one questioned her. Ghost Pack wolves materialized from the shadows where they'd been summoned, moving with silent efficiency. She gently steadied us both, supporting me with one arm and Ryan with the other. He tilted his head, showing her his neck, and she brushed his forehead with her nose, accepting his submission.

The gesture was simple but profound—Ryan acknowledging Alexis as Alpha, Alexis accepting responsibility for his welfare. Pack bonds forming in real time.

Sara handed off the unconscious girl without a word. The medic who took her moved with practiced care, already assessing vitals and injury patterns with expert hands. Ryan was led away, supported on both sides. He didn't resist, but his eyes never left Alexis and me.

"We'll be there soon," I promised.

He nodded and disappeared through the doors, trusting us to keep our word because what else could he do? We had brought him this far.

Only then did I realize my hands were shaking.

Not from fear, but from relief so profound it felt like its own kind of trauma.

Alexis moved closer, brushing her fingers against mine. It wasn't a kiss. It wasn't a promise.

Just contact.

Reassurance.

Proof that we were both real, both here, both alive despite everything that should have killed us.

"We made it, mate," she said softly.

The endearment sent warmth through my chest, our bond humming with recognition and relief.

I looked around at the trees, the stone, the guarded faces of wolves who still didn't know with certainty what we were to each other and now pretended not to have heard the endearment from their Alpha.

"No," I murmured. "We came back changed.”

She shook her head, firmly taking my hand in hers. Her fingers intertwined with mine, warm and solid and utterly certain. "We came back together."

And that, I realized, made all the difference.

* * *

The infirmary hadn't changed, but it had grown more crowded.

Inside the same clean stone walls, with their same low flickering lights, were almost a dozen wolves who seemed to have already found their way here. The space hummed with quiet activity. Medics moving between beds, the soft murmur of voices, the gentle sounds of healing taking place. Some were still panting, as though they hadn't stopped running until they had found shelter and, even now, didn't believe they could relax. Others lay still with the boneless exhaustion of wolves who had finally found safety. There was a quiet tension humming beneath every breath. I recognized a few of the doctors from before, Ghost Ridge medics and caretakers who'd been tending injuries when we first arrived. The familiar faces were reassuring, continuity in a world that had been turned upside down.

They didn't ask questions. Just moved around us with quiet efficiency.

Ryan was settled in one of the beds near the back, his injured leg elevated and bandaged, ribs tightly bound, and an IV of some fluid was dripping slowly into his veins. His color looked better already, and the tight lines of pain around his eyes had begun to ease. He was awake now, watching everything, wide-eyed and silent. He didn't flinch when Alexis entered with me beside her, but something in his shoulders loosened.

Recognition. Relief. The knowledge that he wasn't alone.

"Nothing permanently broken," a medic said as she approached Alexis with a new set of bandages and gauze. "He's lucky."

"I know," Alexis replied casually, but her tone suggested she understood exactly how close we'd all come to a very different outcome.

The woman started to reach for my arm, but Alexis gently guided her hand away. "I've got her. I'll get you if we need help."

The medic's eyes flicked between us, reading the subtext with the kind of awareness that came from working closely with mated pairs.

There was no protest. Just a nod, and then the medic turned to another patient across the room.

I didn't argue either. Some wounds required specific hands for healing, and after everything we'd been through, I needed hers.

She guided me to a nearby cot, the edge cool against my thighs as I sat. Then she knelt in front of me, her fingers gently running over my thighs, calves, and feet, searching for injuries. Her touch was methodical but tender, cataloging every scrape and bruise with the kind of careful attention that spoke to someone who understood how close they'd come to losing what mattered most.

"You don't have to—" I began, but her look stopped me.

"I do."

Her voice was quiet, but anchored in something unshakable. There was a fierceness in her expression that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the desperate need to care for what she'd almost lost. She massaged my muscles gently, noting where I winced or hissed, before using a damp cloth to wipe away the dirt, the blood, the ash. Her movements were slow, reverent, the kind of touch that said you're here, you're real, I need this to be true.

I didn't stop her, even though her injuries looked worse than mine. Some wounds were deeper than flesh. The need to touch, to tend, to prove that survival was real… that was its own kind of medicine.

I watched instead, my eyes following her hands, her shoulders, the silver-burnished scar just beneath her collarbone. The mark was old, healed long ago, but it told a story of violence survived and strength endured.

Without thinking, I reached up and touched it. Just once.

She didn't flinch. If anything, she leaned into the contact, as if my touch could somehow heal wounds that went deeper than skin. "Pierced by a bullet. Just missed the lung."

"Alexis…"

"I'm here," she said softly, without looking up. Her hands never stopped their gentle ministrations, cleaning and soothing with the kind of focused attention that felt like worship. "That's all that matters."

My throat tightened. "You almost weren't. So many times." We both knew I wasn't just talking about the mountain. Years of separation, of believing the other was lost forever, of living half a life because the other half was missing.

Her hands froze against my shin. When she looked up, her eyes held the weight of every moment we'd spent apart, every night she'd wondered if I was alive, every day I'd convinced myself she was better off without me. "And neither were you."

Then her gaze met mine, gold and unguarded. The bond between us hummed with recognition, with relief, with the kind of love that had survived everything life could throw at it. "But we are together now. And whatever comes next… we face it as one."

"I missed you," I whispered. The words felt inadequate, too small to hold years of longing.

"I never stopped loving you."

The confession hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath and filling the hollow places in my chest with warmth I'd forgotten was possible.

Her forehead touched mine, the press of skin and bond and breath, something grounding in the chaos. This close, I could see the flecks of human green mixed in her golden wolf eyes, could count the silver threads in her blonde hair, could memorize every detail I'd thought I'd lost forever.

But the silence didn't last.

A medic passed behind us. A groan came from a bed near the far wall. The scent of silver and antiseptic still clung to the air, reminders of the world beyond this moment.

"This isn't where I wanted to say it," Alexis murmured.

"Say what?"

She rose slowly, her fingers still in mine. Her eyes held mine with the kind of intensity that made the rest of the world fade away. "That I love you."

My breath hitched. After everything we'd been through, after all the words we'd spoken and all the silences we'd shared, hearing those three words felt like coming home.

"I want to say it again and again, until you tell me to stop," she continued. Her voice was soft but fierce, carrying the weight of almost two decades of unspoken feelings. "But not here. Not when we're still bleeding."

She tugged gently on my hand. The gesture was an invitation, a question, a promise all rolled into one. "Come on."

I followed her down a corridor I didn't recognize, one of the more private ones, tucked deeper into the mountain. The stone walls gradually gave way to more finished surfaces, speaking to areas of Ghost Ridge reserved for pack leadership. The walls turned from stone to tile. The air smelled cleaner here, like cedar and soap, with an underlying warmth that spoke to hot springs and careful maintenance. When she opened the door at the end of the hall, I realized where we were.

A bathing chamber. The space was carved from living rock but finished with smooth tiles that gleamed in the soft light. Steam rose from the natural hot spring that had been channeled into a pool sunk into the floor, creating an atmosphere that felt both primitive and luxurious. Warm and misted from some earlier use, steam curling around the edges of the heated pool that reflected the gentle lighting like a mirror.

The space felt sacred, set apart from the world of violence and fear we'd just escaped.

I hesitated. After everything we'd been through, the thought of being truly vulnerable felt both terrifying and necessary.

Alexis didn't.

She stripped out of what was left of her clothes—bloody, torn, barely hanging on—and stepped into the water without a sound. Her body told the story of our journey in bruises and cuts, but also in the fluid grace with which she moved, the strength that had carried us through hell and back. Her body, scarred and strong, moved like a shadow between the rising clouds of steam as dark tendrils of blood slowly floated away, leaving her skin clean and shining. She turned, meeting my gaze as she held out her hand.

The invitation in her eyes was clear: not just to join her in the water, but to trust her with everything.

Body.

Heart.

Future.

"I don't want the blood to be the last thing I feel on my skin," she said. Her voice was soft but urgent, carrying the weight of someone who had seen too much death and needed to feel fully alive. But there was a hint of playfulness buried there too, “But I might die if you don’t come wash it off with me.”

I moved slowly, shedding the ruined remnants of my own clothing with hands that trembled slightly, every scrape and bruise making itself known. The silver wound on my thigh screaming. But as the fabric fell away, so did some of the weight I'd been carrying. The fear, the desperation, the bone-deep exhaustion… all of it seemed to dissolve in the warm, misted air. The moment my feet hit the water, warmth surged through me like a blessing, like forgiveness, like coming home after a journey I'd never thought would end.

Alexis pulled me close without a word. The water lapped gently around us, warm and soothing against skin that had been battered and bruised.

Her hands moved over my back, tracing each line like she was memorizing me all over again. Her touch was reverent, worshipful, as if she couldn't quite believe I was real and needed to map every inch to convince herself. I did the same, letting my fingers skim the curve of her shoulders, the hollow of her spine, the pulse beneath her throat. Each point of contact sent warmth through our bond, reassurance, and love, and the simple joy of being able to touch freely.

It wasn't about sex, though desire hummed beneath the surface like a distant song.

It wasn't even about comfort, though the warmth and closeness soothed wounds deeper than skin.

It was about presence. Contact. Cleansing. About washing away everything that had tried to destroy us and emerging clean and whole and together.

"I don't want to leave you again," I said against her neck. The words came out muffled but fierce, carrying two decades of regret and determination.

"Then don't," she replied.

Simple words that held the weight of forever.

The steam coiled around us, thick and soft, muffling the world. In this space, there was no past and no future… only the present moment, perfect and complete.

I felt her breath before I felt her lips, the ghost of it tracing the edge of my jaw before she kissed me, slowly, deeply, like it wasn't the first time or the last, but the only one that ever mattered. The kiss was everything I'd dreamed of, tender and fierce, desperate and patient, holding all the words we'd never been able to say. There was no hunger in it. No rush. Just the steady press of her mouth claiming mine the way she always had, like I was hers.

And I was. Had always been, even when we were apart, even when I'd convinced myself I was better off alone.

Her fingers tangled in my hair as I melted into her, our bodies slick with heat and water and the weight of too many moments we hadn't been given. The warm water lapped gently around us, a constant caress that emphasized every point where skin met skin. Every inch of contact was a promise kept. Every brush of skin against skin whispered we made it.

We're here.

We still choose this.

She kissed the hollow beneath my ear, my shoulder, the corner of the scar that wrapped low around my ribs. Each kiss was a claim, a benediction, a healing touch that reached deeper than flesh. I arched into her touch, needing her to know this wasn't just relief. It wasn't just survival.

It was love.

It was home.

It was everything I'd thought I'd lost forever, returned to me just as I'd stopped believing in miracles.

I reached for her, guiding her back against the edge of the pool, the tile warm beneath our thighs as I straddled her lap and held her close, my forehead resting against hers. This close, I could see every detail of her face. The laugh lines around her eyes, the small scar on her chin, the way her pupils dilated as I settled against her. Her hands splayed across my back, fingertips gliding down the curve of my spine, settling at the base where it met the water. She was grounding me. Or maybe I was grounding her.

Maybe we were grounding each other, anchoring ourselves to this moment and this feeling and the promise of all the moments to come.

"I thought I lost you," I murmured. The words carried the weight of every sleepless night, every moment of doubt, every time I'd wondered if she was alive somewhere in the world.

"You did," she whispered. Her honesty was brutal and necessary, acknowledging the years we'd spent apart, the choices that had driven us away from each other. "And then you found me again."

Her words held wonder, as if our reunion was as miraculous to her as it was to me.

Now it was my turn to kiss her like I meant it, like she was oxygen and I hadn't breathed since the first day she left. The kiss was hungry now, desperate with want and the knowledge that we had almost lost each other again still so fresh. Her hands slid over my hips, pulling me in until there was no space between us. Not even air.

We moved slowly, together, not frantic or wild, but with the kind of rhythm born from knowing someone inside and out. Every touch, every movement, every breathless moment was familiar and new at the same time. Muscle memory overlaid with the wonder of rediscovery. The kind of rhythm you return to like a favorite song.

The water supported us as we moved together, warm and buoyant, adding its own rhythm to our dance. Steam rose around us like incense, blessing this reunion, this reclaiming of what had always been ours.

Water lapped gently around us, a hush to the rest of the world. Time folded in on itself. There were no past mistakes, no future uncertainties. Just this.

Just her. Just me.

Just the perfect synchronization of two hearts that had found their way back to each other against all odds.

When she came apart beneath me, soft and trembling with my fingers still brushing those sweet, secret spots inside, my name was on her lips like a prayer, and I felt something inside me ease. The last knot of fear and doubt finally released, replaced by pure, golden certainty.

And when I followed, clinging to her like the ground beneath my feet might vanish, I realized it already had. But I didn't need solid ground anymore.

Not when I had her arms to catch me.

Not when I had this.

Not when we had each other.

Afterward, we lay in the shallows, clean, with skin pressed to skin, the water cradling us like a second heartbeat. The gentle movement of the water was hypnotic, soothing away the last remnants of tension and fear.

In the quiet that followed, with nothing but the soft lap of water and the whisper of steam, I felt more peaceful than I had in twenty years.

"I'm not going back to before," she said, voice low. Her words carried the weight of absolute certainty, a line drawn in the sand of our future. "Even if it means not being at Ghost Ridge. Not being in command. Not if it means losing you."

"You won't," I promised, rolling to kiss her chest. The taste of her skin was warm and clean, flavored with mineral water and love. "But I won't take you from this place. It's yours. Every wolf here lives for you, looks to you to command them. This close to the frontlines, you will be needed more than ever. Who knows where those ferals went or what the government will do with the ruins of the facility. I won't take you from here. It’s your home.”

The words cost me, but they were true. I couldn't ask her to abandon her pack, her purpose, her calling… not even for love.

“It could be yours.” She said, voice so soft I almost didn’t hear it.

We lay still for a while, both thinking about things that had been and commitments that would still need to be seen to. It was the life of an Alpha, moments of peace stolen between responsibilities, quiet interludes in a symphony of duty and care. Sure, you had quiet moments for yourself, but you lived for your pack.

Finally, I rolled over, my head cradled in the place where her arm met her shoulder. Her heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a rhythm I wanted to memorize and carry with me always. "Mayfield still needs someone. The ones we saved… some will need a place to land, far from all this rock.”

She was quiet for a time, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep thought before she nodded. When she spoke, her voice carried the kind of certainty that came from seeing a solution clearly. "Then we give it to them." She looked down at me, her golden gaze capturing mine, and for a moment, I saw her plan before she spoke. The certainty in her eyes, the way her lips quirked in the barest hint of a smile. She had already worked it out. "We give it to her."

My heart stuttered, but there was no hesitation. No spike of fear or doubt. I knew she was right, and so did my wolf. The logic was inescapable, even if the emotion of it made my chest tight. Three Alphas residing over two packs didn't work. But if I stayed here, with her, "Princess?"

"She's already halfway there," Alexis said, brushing a wet strand of hair from my face. Her touch was gentle, reassuring, understanding the complexity of what we were discussing. "She just needs someone to believe in her."

I was quiet for a moment, then, “I do.”

"So do I."

“You’re assuming it is still standing.”

“If it wasn’t, we would have known the moment we reached the territory lines. If Maya had been taken or killed, half of Ghost Pack would already have left to find her. With or without me here to command it.”

And in that heartbeat, I could see it—Princess taking over Mayfield, transforming it from a sanctuary into something even greater. The vision felt right, felt inevitable, felt like the natural progression of everything we'd been building toward.

Silence stretched between us again, this time easier. Steadier.

I pressed a kiss to her collarbone, just above the silver scar. The old wound felt warm under my lips, a reminder of all she'd survived, all we'd both endured to reach this moment.

"So I stay, and we'll figure the rest out," I murmured. The words felt like a vow, a commitment to whatever came next. I felt our bond fluttered before tightening into something I suspected would be impossible to unravel. “But I might want a place outside the mountain. Like a nice cabin. Somewhere quiet."

She smiled, the first real one I'd seen in what felt like forever. It transformed her entire face, bringing back the woman I'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

"I'll get some plans together."

The promise in her voice made something warm unfurl in my chest. Not just the prospect of a cabin, but the casual assumption of a shared future, of plans made together, of a life built side by side.

We didn't linger in the water after that. Just long enough to feel whole again, to scrape away the blood and grief clinging to our skin like soot, leaving only clean skin and fresh resolve. The heat had soaked into our bones, warming us from the inside out, preparing us to face whatever waited beyond this perfect moment.

When we stepped back into the corridor, dressed in the soft, neutral clothes one of the medics must've laid outside the chamber, the halls of Ghost Ridge felt different. The stone walls seemed warmer somehow, more welcoming, as if the mountain itself approved of our reunion. Not lighter exactly. But quieter. Like the mountain was trying to let all of its occupants take the time they needed in peace.

Or maybe it was just that I felt different. Whole in a way I hadn't been for twenty years, ready to face whatever came next because I wouldn't be facing it alone.

The infirmary was calmer now. The earlier sense of urgency had given way to the steady rhythm of healing, of rest, of safety finally achieved. Ryan was asleep, his face slack with exhaustion, and Sara was slumped, just as asleep, by his side. They looked peaceful in a way that spoke to bone-deep relief, to the knowledge that the running was finally over. The girl we had carried out, still nameless, was sedated, a drip attached to her arm and a bandage cleanly wrapped around her ribs. Her color looked better, her breathing steady and even. The worst of the injuries had been tended to. Ghost Ridge's wolves were nothing if not prepared.

But it wasn't the sleeping forms that made my pulse catch.

It was the figure in the far corner, shoulders tense, boots planted wide, dark hair pulled into a low, sweat-matted ponytail.

Jess.

She didn't hear us at first. Her back was to the door, facing the wall like she didn't trust herself to sit down. Her posture spoke to someone still running on adrenaline, still waiting for the next crisis, unable to accept that safety was real. Jewel stood a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze flicking between Jess's rigid stance and the hallway beyond. The concern in her expression was clear, she was guarding not just against external threats, but against Jess's own tendency toward self-destruction.

Jayne was seated, one leg propped on a stool and a bandage visible around her ankle. She looked as if she'd been in a fight with a blender and lost, but there was a looseness to her posture that spoke to genuine relief. She looked exhausted. But alive. She always looked half-alive and half-feral, but this was the softest I'd seen her in a while, like she'd finally exhaled something she'd been holding in since the moment she left Mayfield.

The three of them together painted a picture of survival. Battered, exhausted, but fundamentally whole.

We didn't speak, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the room.

Jayne was the first to notice us. She pushed to her feet, moving with the slow stiffness of someone who'd recently shifted and regretted it. Her movements were careful, calculated, speaking to injuries still healing and muscles still protesting. Her eyes met mine first, then slid to Alexis, then back again. Her expression didn't shift, but something in her eyes softened slightly.

"Shit," she said quietly. Her voice carried the kind of dry humor that was purely Jayne, but underneath it was genuine warmth. "Fucking love got you too."

The observation was crude and accurate, and somehow exactly what the moment needed. Acknowledgment without sentiment, recognition without drama.

That was enough warning for the others.

Jess turned, fast and sharp, and her breath actually hitched when she saw me. Not just surprise but recognition, relief, the kind of emotion that came from seeing someone you'd thought you might never see again. Like she couldn't believe I was real.

"Lydia." It came out as a rasp, like the word had gotten stuck behind too many days of silence, too many hours of wondering if we'd made it out alive. "You⁠—"

I didn't wait. Some moments called for words, but this one called for action.

I crossed the room and pulled her into a hug that knocked the wind from both of us.

Her body was tense at first, as if she'd forgotten how to accept comfort, but then she melted into the embrace with the desperate relief of someone who had been holding herself together through sheer will.

Her arms wrapped around me like steel bars, tight, and trembling. I could feel the fine tremor in her muscles, the way she held on as if I might disappear if she loosened her grip. "You made it," she whispered into my shoulder. Her voice was thick with emotion she was trying to control.

"You too," I said. The simple words carried the weight of everything we'd all been through, everything we'd all survived. I didn’t need to tell her I forgave her. We were here. We were pack. That was enough.

I felt her nod. Then pause. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller, more vulnerable. "Where's… is Ryan…?"

"He's okay," I told her, glancing toward the bed where he slept peacefully. "Sleeping. Healing. We made it out. Sara's with him."

The relief that flooded through her was palpable, her body finally beginning to relax as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Jewel was beside us a second later, brushing a hand down Jess's arm. Her touch was gentle but grounding. "I told you," she said gently. Her voice carried quiet satisfaction, the vindication of faith rewarded. "Told you they'd come back."

Jess didn't let go, but her voice thickened. The words came out rough, scraped raw by emotion she was struggling to contain. "I wasn't sure."

"You don't have to be sure anymore," Alexis said from behind me. Her voice carried the absolute certainty of an Alpha making a promise. "It's a fact. We're here."

Jayne let out a tired laugh. The sound was rough but genuine, carrying relief and humor in equal measure. "And here I thought today was gonna end with me having to tell Princess you had died, and she had to run Mayfield now."

I glanced at Alexis. She shook her head, but there was a smile on her face. Now wasn’t the time, but it seemed like Jayne would be ok with being first lady of Mayfield.

Instead, I looked down at Jayne, then down at her ankle. "You good?"

"I'm not dead," she muttered. The response deflecting concern with dark humor, but fundamentally reassuring. "That's a win."

"We're all alive," Jess said, stepping back finally, her eyes searching mine. Her voice held wonder, as if she was still processing the miracle of survival. "But Mayfield…"

The word landed heavy, but from the way Jayne was talking, it sounded like my pack was still standing. The relief of that knowledge was almost overwhelming. We had not just survived, but preserved what we'd fought to protect.

“They are alive?” I asked, just to make sure.

“Yeah, but…”

I nodded. The future stretched ahead of us, uncertain but no longer impossible. "We'll figure it out. But not tonight."

"Tonight," Alexis said, her arm sliding around my waist again, pulling me close with the casual possessiveness of a mate reclaimed, "we rest. And tomorrow, we begin again."

The words carried the weight of promise and possibility. An acknowledgment that while this chapter was ending, our story was far from over.

No one argued.

Even Jayne didn't snark. The moment felt too precious, too hard-won, to disturb with anything but gratitude.

We were back at Ghost Ridge, but more importantly, we were back with each other. Pack. Guild. Community. No matter what you called it, or your place in it, it was home.

We were home.

And the future, for the first time in a long time, felt like something we might get to choose.

CHAPTER 25

Daylight came much too quickly, even if the mountain kept back most of the morning rays. I still felt it, the sun peeking over the horizon and calling my wolf to a new day. A day that yesterday I hadn't been sure I would see.

That any of us would see.

The thought hit me like a physical weight. How close we'd come to never seeing another sunrise, never feeling the gentle pull of morning light with wolf senses that had evolved to treasure such simple gifts.

I stretched slow, careful of the bandages and the dull throb still buried in my thigh. Every movement reminded me of our escape, but the pain felt distant now, manageable in a way that spoke to both healing and the profound relief of survival. The cold spot in the bed next to me, less so. I jerked up, eyes frantically scanning the room, my heart jumping with instinctive panic before logic caught up.

Alexis stood with her back to me, already dressed in a fresh set of clothes. Every line of her body spoke to readiness, to the kind of controlled alertness that made Ghost Pack the lethal force they were. She was pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail, all business, every movement sharp with purpose.

The sight of her like this, warrior, Alpha, mate, sent a surge of pride through me so intense it nearly took my breath away.

It was hard to look away.

My mate, I thought, pride surging through me as I watched her finish. A warrior ready for battle. But more than that, a leader who had guided us through hell and back, who had never stopped fighting for what mattered.

Here in the heart of her territory, her power practically oozed from her, giving her eyes a near constant golden glow that warmed her features even in dim lighting. This was her domain, her people, her responsibility, and she wore the weight of leadership like a crown.

She turned toward me just as I shifted to sit up, her mouth twitching at the corners as she reached for a discarded robe and tossed it my way. The gesture was casual, domestic, but her eyes held the kind of warmth that I hoped to wake up to for the next twenty years or more of our lives.

"Morning," she said. Her voice carried the satisfaction of someone who had slept deeply, and with intimate company. "You slept like the dead."

"Feels about right," I muttered, dragging the robe across my sweat damp skin. The fabric was soft against skin that still felt hypersensitive, as if my body was still processing the trauma of our escape. How was it so hot in a cave? "This bed is barely big enough for one of us, let alone two. And the mattress? Alexis, it's practically a rock. Did you carve it from the wall?” I wiped more sweat. The heat seemed to radiate from the stone walls themselves, speaking to geothermal activity deep beneath the mountain. "Plus, it's a million degrees in here! It was cold before, what happened?”

"Oh? First you’re too cold, then too hot when I open the vents….” she grinned, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. Her posture was relaxed, but I could see the amusement dancing in her eyes. “And you're critiquing my sleeping quarters now? A few nights and it's no longer good enough." Her smile was all tease, but underneath it was genuine curiosity, as if she was already planning improvements based on my complaints.

"I'm just saying," I growled, the threat ruined by a hint of laughter woven in, "if I'm staying here…we're getting a bigger bed. Maybe something with actual padding. A few pieces of furniture that don't look like they belong in a bunker. And, Goddess help me, some art and a fan.”

"Art?" The word came out with such genuine bewilderment that I had to laugh.

"Yeah," I nodded seriously. The conversation felt surreal after everything we'd been through, but maybe that was exactly what we needed. Normal concerns, domestic planning, the luxury of worrying about interior decorating instead of survival. "Something ridiculous and totally unnecessary. Like a painting of a wolf howling at the moon. Or a bowl of fruit. I'm flexible."

Alexis chuckled, the sound low and real, and it made something inside my chest loosen. The easy intimacy of the moment, the way we could slip from life-or-death stakes to playful banter, felt like a small miracle. She crossed the small space between us and sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing against my knee. The contact was warm, grounding, a reminder that this was real—we were real, together, planning a future.

"You're really staying?" The question held weight beyond the words, asking not just about location but about commitment, about choosing love over duty, about rewriting the story we'd been telling ourselves, alone in the dark.

I sobered, nodding slowly. The decision felt both momentous and inevitable, like something I'd been moving toward my entire life without knowing it. "If you'll have me."

Her gold eyes locked on mine. The intensity in her gaze made my breath catch. Desire and love and possessiveness all wrapped together in a look that claimed me completely. "I'll have you in every way there is."

The promise in those words sent heat through me that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with her voice.

We stayed like that for a long moment, the quiet between us deep and steady. In that silence, I could feel our bond humming between us, strong and sure, no longer fighting against years of separation but embracing the present moment and all its possibilities.

Then I exhaled. Reality crept back in, bringing with it the weight of responsibilities that couldn't be ignored, even in paradise. "We need to talk about Mayfield."

Her brows drew together slightly. I could see her mind already working, processing the implications and complications of what came next. "I figured we would."

"It's not just my pack or Princess’s anymore. Not really. It's become something bigger than what I originally built. It’s a symbol, a sanctuary, a place where wolves can find safety and acceptance." I took a breath, organizing my thoughts. "There are people there, survivors, who need somewhere safe. They always will. And I think it should stay standing. As a home. As a start. Maybe some of the ones from yesterday will find it and…"

She put a finger to my lips, silencing me. Her touch was gentle but firm, and I could see understanding dawning in her expression. "I already know, and it's okay. I understand." I smiled at her and gently nipped at the tip of her finger as she continued, "You are still thinking Princess would be a good fit?"

"She's already Alpha," I said, kissing her finger before releasing it and sitting back. The truth of it was simple, undeniable, Princess had been leading in all but name since the moment she'd stepped into authority. "And Jayne will be there for reinforcement. The others trust her. I think some of mine would stay."

But even as I said it, I felt the weight of what I was proposing. We had talked about it yesterday, but that was then, after a life or death experience. Now, in the morning light, I was talking about handing over everything I'd built, everything I'd poured my life into, to someone else. The rational part of me knew it was right, necessary, the natural evolution of what Mayfield had become. The emotional part of me felt like I was giving away my child.

"Just some? You expect me to house and feed more wolves for free?" She raised one brow at me, but I could see the teasing glint in her eyes. "That will cost you."

"What kind of payments do you accept?" I asked, pretending to fish around in the robe's pocket. The playful distraction was exactly what I needed to push away the melancholy threatening to settle over me. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet…"

"It's no problem," she purred, her voice like silk and heat and everything I had been missing. The sound sent shivers down my spine, reminding me of all the ways she could make me forget everything else in the world. "We accept more sensual forms of payment around here."

"Oh?" I tilted my head, eyes narrowing with mock curiosity. Playing along with her game felt natural, easy, like slipping into a favorite piece of clothing. "Like… everyone at Ghost Pack accepts that form of payment, or do you have an official comptroller I should talk to?"

She growled in warning, but it was the kind that curled deep in my stomach and made my skin flush beneath the robe. The sound was pure predator, pure mate, pure Alexis… and it lit up every nerve ending in my body.

Then she lunged, knocking me flat on my back with one smooth, practiced motion. The movement was fluid, controlled, reflexes honed by years of combat and the natural grace of an Alpha in her prime. Her thighs straddled mine as her hands pinned mine above my head, the force of her body delicious and deliberate. Her lips hovered just above mine, breath hot, eyes molten gold and hungry.

"I'm the comptroller," she murmured. Her voice was rough with want, carrying the kind of authority that made my pulse race for entirely different reasons than fear. "And you're late on all your dues."

I smirked, arching up against her just enough to make her breath hitch. The small sound of surprise and pleasure that escaped her made me feel powerful in a way that had nothing to do with Alpha dynamics and everything to do with knowing exactly how to affect the woman I loved. "Maybe I'm waiting for a late fee to be applied."

"Oh, you'll get one. With interest," she whispered, and then her mouth was on mine.

It was the kind of kiss that stole heat and gave it back in double. Her lips moved against mine with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing, who understood my responses as well as her own. Her lips moved with purpose, tongue sweeping across mine like she owned the right to taste me. Probably because she did. The thought sent a thrill through me, belonging to her, being claimed by her, choosing to surrender to someone who would never abuse that trust. I let her have it, let her take and take, because I wanted her to. Her grip on my wrists tightened just enough to make me gasp, and she used the sound to deepen the kiss, her hips grinding down ever so slightly against mine. The pressure was perfect, just enough to make me arch beneath her, seeking more contact.

The robe slipped open under the motion, and the friction of bare skin meeting firm fabric sent sparks straight through me. Every point of contact felt electric, hypersensitive, as if my body was making up for all the time we'd spent apart.

I broke the kiss for air, gasping, my voice breathless and teasing, "This feels more like extortion than rent."

Her teeth nipped my jaw, her voice rough with amusement and want. The combination of playfulness and desire in her tone made my stomach flip with anticipation. "You can call it whatever you want. Just don't stop paying, or the fines will be doubled."

Her hands finally let go of my wrists, but only so they could slide down my arms and cup my face, holding me like I might vanish if she blinked. The tenderness in her touch was a sharp contrast to the passion of moments before, reminding me that underneath all the heat and desire was love, deep, abiding, twenty years in the making. The next kiss was slower, but no less intense, more claiming than teasing now.

She kissed me like I was hers.

Like I always had been.

Mates.

And I kissed her back like she was the only place I'd ever felt safe. The truth of it hit me with startling clarity. I had been a fool to stay at Mayfield all this time. This was where my safety was. Not in the walls I'd built or the pack I'd gathered, but in her arms, in the space between heartbeats where our bond sang with perfect harmony.

When she finally pulled away, just enough to rest her forehead against mine, I was breathless and flushed, lips tingling. The world felt soft around the edges, blurred by passion and the overwhelming rightness of being exactly where I belonged.

"So," I whispered, still catching my breath, "do I get a receipt for that?"

Alexis grinned, wicked, and flushed. Her hair was mussed from my fingers, her lips swollen from our kisses, and she looked absolutely perfect. "You sure I shouldn't send it to Princess instead?"

I laughed and it felt like the first time. The sound was pure joy, uncomplicated by grief or fear or the weight of leadership.

She shrugged, pushing off me and extending a hand to help me back up. Her movements were fluid, graceful, but I caught the way her eyes lingered on my bare skin, the possessive satisfaction in her expression. Once on my feet, she hugged me, pulling me close and kissing my hair. The gesture was tender, grounding, a reminder that passion was only one facet of what we shared. "We'll talk to her. Offer it properly. If she wants it, it's hers."

The words should have made me feel lighter, but instead they brought back the weight of what I was contemplating. Giving up Mayfield wasn't just about logistics. It was about identity, about redefining who I was if I wasn't the Alpha who had built a sanctuary from nothing.

She had read my mind, picking up the conversation right where I needed her to. But before the gravity of the decision could settle fully over me, before I could spiral into doubt or regret, there was a knock on the door.

The interruption felt both unwelcome and necessary, a reminder that the world beyond this room still existed, still needed our attention.

Sara was waiting behind it, bouncing from foot to foot like an antsy teen. Her energy was infectious, she fidgeted like someone who had news and couldn't wait to share it.

"Sorry to interrupt," Sara said without preamble, her voice clipped but respectful. She managed to look apologetic and urgent at the same time, a skill that spoke to years of delivering important news to busy Alphas. "There's a runner. From Mayfield."

My pulse stumbled. After everything we'd been through, my first instinct was still to assume the worst. That something had gone wrong, that the peace we'd fought for was already under threat.

Alexis's stance shifted subtly, just a hair more alert. I could see her mind already working, processing possibilities and preparing for action. "Status?"

"Alive. Panicked. Jayne's already with her."

Of course Jayne was already involved. The woman had a sixth sense for drama and crisis.

I groaned and swung my legs off the bed. The morning's peaceful intimacy evaporated, replaced by the familiar weight of responsibility. "Then we'd better go. Before she tears her throat out for not answering fast enough."

"Might already be too late," Sara muttered, but there was affection in her voice rather than genuine concern.

Alexis was tossing me a fresh shirt as she headed for the door. Her movements were efficient, purposeful, already shifting from mate to Alpha. "Let's go find out what we're dealing with."

* * *

The hallway pulsed with motion as we made our way down to the central chamber, forcing us to dodge wolves moving supplies, rechecking patrol schedules, and hauling crates of salvaged gear. Ghost Ridge wasn't quiet anymore. It was scavenging everything it could from the mountain and surrounding area before the government came to collect whatever was left. The thought of federal investigators crawling over the ruins of the facility made my skin crawl, but it was an inevitable consequence of our actions.

The air hummed with purpose and underlying tension, wolves who understood that their world had shifted fundamentally and were preparing for whatever came next.

We found Jayne in a side room off the main entrance. She stood with the kind of coiled stillness that suggested she was restraining herself from more aggressive forms of interrogation, glowering at a girl seated on a bench who couldn't have been older than eighteen. Her eyes were wide with adrenaline, her chest rising and falling in shallow pants, and her clothes were stained with dust and travel grime, but I recognized her as one of the survivors from the Haven pack that Princess had taken in. The scent of exhaustion and fear clung to her, but underneath it was determination. She had run hard to get here, driven by urgency rather than panic. I caught the faint scent of Mayfield on her now too, ash, maple, and corn field-filtered air. The familiar smell hit me with unexpected nostalgia, a reminder of everything I was preparing to leave behind.

"I'm not lying," the girl was saying, voice shaking. Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice carried conviction. "We're okay. Everyone's okay."

Jayne didn't blink. Didn’t move. Her expression was skeptical, but I could see the concern underneath. This was someone who cared deeply about the pack's welfare and wasn't satisfied with simple reassurances. "That's not enough. Okay is not enough. What happened?"

I moved to stand beside her. The girl's relief at seeing me was palpable. A familiar face, someone who represented safety and authority in equal measure. "Jayne, let her breathe.”

"She ran for miles without stopping. Shows up here panting. I want to know what made her think she had to."

The logic was sound, even if the delivery was harsh. In our world, desperate runs usually meant desperate circumstances.

The girl looked between us, her face paling slightly. The weight of two Alphas' attention was clearly overwhelming, but she found her courage. "Alpha." Both Alexis and I nodded, and somehow she got even more pale but found her voice. When she spoke, the words came out in a rush, as if she was afraid she might lose her nerve. "There was a blast. One of the storage sheds near the clinic collapsed. The tremor set off the alarm, and people panicked. But the main buildings are fine. We checked everything. There were only minor injuries. It was a small group of fighters. We ran them off.”

"And Princess?" I asked, jumping to what I knew Jayne needed to hear. The question that mattered most, the one that would determine whether this was a crisis or simply an inconvenience.

"Fine. So is Luna." She added quickly, and I gave her extra points. Understanding pack dynamics meant knowing which relationships mattered most, which reassurances would carry the most weight. "We're trying to keep things calm. Princess sent me to let you know. Said someone needed to get word to Alexis before Ghost Pack did something… dramatic."

The girl's diplomacy was impressive, managing to convey Princess's concerns without directly insulting anyone present.

Alexis's eyebrows lifted. There was amusement in her expression, but also respect for Princess's tactical thinking. "Was she worried I'd attack my own allies?"

"No, ma'am. She was worried you'd show up with half your wolves and scare the humans in the town into hiding or a frenzy."

The distinction was important. Princess understood both Ghost Pack's protective instincts and the delicate balance Mayfield maintained with the human community. They were productive members of that community, most of them having perfectly normal, perfectly human day jobs.

Jayne snorted. Her tone carried grudging respect for Princess's assessment. "She's not wrong. It's what I'd do."

Alexis rolled her eyes but stayed quiet. The gesture spoke to someone who had worked with Jayne long enough to recognize her particular brand of protective overkill.

I felt my shoulders relax slightly. The crisis was manageable, contained, not the catastrophe my paranoid mind had conjured. "So the town's still standing as well. Anyone notice anything is wrong?"

"Not really. The Hunters were smart about staying just outside and really only wanted us. Power's iffy, but nothing catastrophic or unexplainable."

The careful phrasing suggested Princess had been thinking strategically about cover stories and plausible explanations. Alpha thinking in action.

Alexis crossed her arms and chuckled. Her tone held approval and a hint of challenge. "So she's got a fixer-upper on her hands. Welcome to leadership."

The girl looked confused. Her expression suggested she wasn't entirely sure what subtext she was missing. "She said something about needing Lydia to file an insurance claim?"

The innocence of the question made me want to both laugh and cry. The practical concerns of maintaining a werewolf sanctuary in the human world.

Jayne blinked. Her expression was pure incredulity. "Insurance? The trucks got damaged?" She dropped her head back dramatically and gave me a sideways glance. The gesture was theatrical but fond, speaking to years of shared exasperation. "You know Naomi will make that my fault somehow."

I laughed, the sound catching me off guard. After everything we'd been through, the mundane concerns felt both absurd and precious. Alexis smirked and tilted her head toward the corridor. Her movement was purposeful, already shifting toward action. "You know they insure more than vehicles, right?” Jayne looked skeptical, so she added, “We'll explain it on the way.”

But even as we prepared to leave, I felt the weight of what waited for us at Mayfield. This wasn't just a damage assessment trip. It was the beginning of a transition that would change everything. Princess had been managing the crisis, making leadership decisions, proving herself in exactly the way I'd hoped she would. The question was whether she was ready to make it official, and whether I was ready to let her.

Jayne reached down and helped the girl up. Her manner was gruff but not unkind, the protective instincts of someone who understood the courage it took to run alone through dangerous territory. "You did good. Go get something to eat."

The runner nodded and hurried off, relief evident in every line of her body now that her message had been delivered.

Sara met us in the hall. Her expression was expectant, already reading the situation from our body language. "Well?"

"We're heading back," Alexis said. Her voice carried the authority of an Alpha making a decision. "Get a small team ready. No weapons out unless they're drawn on us first. We're not going to war. We're going home."

The phrasing hit me harder than expected. Home. Was Mayfield still home if I was leaving it? Or was home wherever Alexis was, wherever our bond led us?

Jayne nodded, already falling into step beside us. Her eagerness was obvious. "We bringing the whole crew?"

I looked at her. The question was practical but loaded with implications about who was coming back, who was staying, who belonged where in this new configuration. "If we don't, we'll never hear the end of it."

Sara snorted. Her amusement was tinged with genuine regret. "Ryan will be sad to miss this, but I don't think he's ready for the trip."

The reminder of his injuries brought back the weight of everything we'd survived, everyone we'd brought home, everyone we still needed to protect.

I glanced at Alexis, feeling silly for asking but… "You do have cars here somewhere, right? Ghost Pack doesn't just run everywhere?"

She grinned. The expression was pure mischief, reminding me of the woman I'd fallen in love with decades ago. "How do you think we stay in fighting shape?"

CHAPTER 26

Princess was already waiting in the driveway by the time we pulled in.

The makeshift lot outside the clinic was still scattered with signs of damage: splintered boards, cracked pavement, and a crooked solar panel someone had propped back into place with a cinder block. The destruction spoke of a community that had already begun the work of rebuilding, of healing, of moving forward. And that had done it all with me, but it didn't matter because the moment I saw her, standing in the morning sun with Luna cradled in her arms like a living secret, all of it faded into background noise, and I was sure I was making the right choice. Princess stood with the kind of natural authority that couldn't be taught but that she had picked up quickly, shoulders back, head high, completely at ease with the weight of responsibility she'd been carrying. She belonged here, to this place, and she had ensured it had stayed standing.

This was what leadership looked like. Not desperate scrambling to maintain control, but the quiet confidence of someone who had stepped into their destiny and found it fit perfectly.

The pup squirmed once, then settled, nose buried in Princess's neck. Luna seemed to have grown in the short time we'd been gone, her limbs longer, her face more defined, already showing hints of the strong wolf she would become. Her tail gave a lazy thump against Princess's shoulder, too tired or too content to bother with more. The image of them together, Alpha and future pack member, protector and protected, felt like a glimpse into the future of Mayfield.

"She's safe," Princess called out as we climbed from the car, her voice louder than necessary, but I didn't blame her. The words carried relief and pride in equal measure. She had kept them safe, all of them, and she needed us to know it. "Everyone's safe."

Jayne didn't hesitate. She was out of the car and across the distance in seconds, arms wrapping tight around her mate and the sleepy little bundle between them. The force of her relief was palpable. This was someone who had feared the worst and found the best instead. For a moment, Princess didn't move, then her arms came around Jayne like gravity had just remembered to pull her in. The way they fit together, natural and right, spoke to a bond that had been forged in crisis and tempered in love. Somehow, Luna stayed happily squished between them, chirping a greeting that was barely audible from the car.

Watching them together, I felt the last knot of doubt about my decision dissolve. This was a family, complete and strong, ready to take on whatever came next.

Alexis paused beside me, her hand brushing mine before slipping away. The contact was brief but grounding, a reminder that I wasn't losing a pack so much as gaining a future. "Come on," she said. "Let's see who else survived and give them a moment."

We didn't get far before Olivia appeared, sprinting barefoot across the gravel with a shriek that was half laughter, half sob. Her lab coat flapped behind her like wings, her usually pristine appearance completely abandoned in favor of pure joy. Daisy barreled in right behind her, the two healers moving as one unit, their relief infectious and immediate. Neither could contain their excitement at seeing us. Their embrace was fierce, desperate, and the scent of antiseptic and herbs clung to them, evidence of the work they'd been doing, the lives they'd been tending while we were gone.

Naomi emerged next, already pulling a notebook from her back pocket and flipping it open as she approached me. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun secured with what looked like a pencil, and there were smudges of dirt on her cheek that spoke to hands-on repair work. "We've stabilized the buildings nearest the ridge line, but I still want to do a deeper structural⁠—"

"Naomi," I said gently, stepping in and placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Her need to report, to fix, to solve problems was written in every line of her body, but some things were more important than structural assessments. "Later."

She blinked, mouth still half open around her next sentence, and then slowly closed it. The visible effort it took for her to set aside her concerns spoke to someone who showed love through action, through fixing things before they could break. "Right. Sorry. I just… we didn't know if you'd make it back."

"We did," I whispered. The words carried weight beyond their simplicity. We had made it back, but we were changed, transformed by everything we'd seen and done. "We're here."

A shadow moved to my right, and I turned just in time to see Maya.

She wasn't running. Wasn't smiling. Just walking straight for me and her mother with her hands tucked into her sleeves like she didn't trust them. Her approach was measured, careful, as if she was still processing what our return meant for her own future. Her eyes flicked to Alexis and then back to me. It was the first time I had really seen a hint of her wolf in them. It wasn’t yet the full golden glow of a shift, but the deeper awareness that both wolf and teen were seeing us as one.

The sight of her like this, poised between child and adult, human and wolf, past and future, made my chest tight with emotions I couldn't name.

"Hi," I said, feeling suddenly like I was the teenager again and didn't know how to talk to the person who mattered most.

"You're different," she said. Not accusing. Not afraid. Just observing. Her voice carried the kind of certainty that came from someone who saw clearly, who couldn't be fooled by surface appearances. She looked between us, her gaze running from heel to head as though she could pinpoint what it was. "Both of you."

The observation hit deeper than it should have. We were different, mated, bonded, no longer fighting against what we'd always been meant to be.

Alexis stepped beside me and took my hand. The gesture was simple but profound, a public claiming, a statement of intent, a choice made visible. "We have some things to figure out," she said softly. "But we'll figure them out together. As one family.”

Maya tilted her head, the gesture so reminiscent of her mother that my breath caught.

"This is my mate," Alexis said, voice low and sure. Each word was deliberate, weighted with the significance of the moment. "And I'd like to introduce her properly now. Not just as the Alpha of this pack. As mine. As ours."

The word hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath and filling my chest with warmth. It took my breath away, and I felt tears in my eyes.

Ours.

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear them. I was still the Alpha of this land for now and couldn't be seen sobbing the moment I stepped foot back on it. But the emotion was too big to contain, too powerful to deny.

I wasn't sure what Maya would say. Part of me feared rejection, the natural resistance of a child who had already lost so much. But she only nodded and said, "Good. It's about time you got that out of the way."

The casual acceptance, delivered with the kind of dry humor that was pure Maya, made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

I blinked and looked at Alexis, who looked equally shocked. We had prepared for arguments, for resistance, for the complicated negotiations that usually accompanied such announcements. We hadn't prepared for simple acceptance. Teens were resilient, surprising, emotional, creatures. More so when they were teen wolves.

That was when the back door to the car creaked open again, and Ryan stepped out.

He moved slow, one arm braced around Sara's shoulder, the other gripping the frame for support. Every movement spoke to someone still healing, still processing trauma, but determined to be present for this moment. We hadn’t been able to leave him behind, even though he had made it clear he wanted to go back to Ghost Pack when it was over. The bandages on his leg were fresh, his face pale and drawn, but he was upright. He was breathing. Most importantly, his eyes were clear, alert, fully present, and I was proud he had found his way back from the edge of darkness.

The sight of him like this, wounded but whole, traumatized but not broken, felt like a small miracle.

Tali and Emma, who I had seen peeking out from behind the curtains of the main house, came running. Their approach was chaotic and full of joy and laughter.

"Ryan!" Tali shrieked, tripping over her own boots as she ran. Her usually perfect composure was completely abandoned in favor of pure relief.

Emma didn't speak, just let out a sound that cracked like glass under pressure. The noise conveyed everything words couldn’t, fear transformed to joy, loss averted, family restored. They reached him together, throwing their arms around him with all the force of the world trying to put itself back together.

He winced but didn't pull away, just closed his eyes and let them hold him while tears soaked through the front of his shirt. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, but his arms were steady as he held them, all three of them clinging to each other like lifelines.

The reunion was raw, honest, beautiful in its simplicity. This was what we had fought for. Not glory or victory, but the simple right to hold the people we loved.

No one interrupted. No one rushed them.

We stood in the sunlight, dust on our boots, scars on our skin, and let the reunion anchor us. Wolf to wolf. Pack to pack. The moment felt sacred, weighted with the knowledge of how close we had all come to losing everything that mattered.

This was home.

But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't quite true anymore. This was where I had built something beautiful, where I had learned to lead, where I had gathered a family of choice. But home was wherever Alexis was, wherever our bond led us.

This was legacy.

Different but no less precious.

* * *

The noise settled eventually.

Wolves returned to their duties, the natural rhythm of pack life reasserting itself now that the crisis had passed. The veterinary duo filtered inside with patients to check dressings and distribute the latest round of antibiotics. Their professional efficiency was a comfort, healing was already in progress. Even Jayne and Princess disappeared for a moment, Luna carried in for a nap, or at least a cool drink and a quiet breath. The way they moved together, already functioning as a complete family unit, reinforced everything I'd been thinking about the future of this place.

It left just me standing in the patch of sun near the entrance, watching the wind tug gently at the broken awning over the porch. The damage was cosmetic, easily repaired, but it served as a reminder of how fragile safety could be, how precious the peace we'd fought to protect.

The quiet gave me space to think, to process what I was about to do. Twenty years of leadership, of building something from nothing, of pouring every piece of myself into this place… and now I was ready to let it go. The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like freedom.

The front door creaked.

Princess stepped out, her eyes finding mine with uncanny ease. She moved with the fluid grace of someone completely comfortable in her own skin, completely certain of her place in the world. Her hair was pulled up now, her shirt wrinkled and spattered with Luna's fur. She held a mug of something that smelled herbal and bitter, but she didn't sip. The steam rose between us like incense, marking this moment as something sacred. Just walked until she was beside me and leaned back against the same porch rail.

For a moment, we stood in comfortable silence, two Alphas sharing space without competition, without territorial tension. It felt like a glimpse of what leadership could be when it wasn't about power but about service.

"You're not staying," she said.

Not a question.

Her tone was matter-of-fact, carrying neither judgment nor surprise. She had seen what I was still learning to acknowledge.

I nodded. The admission should have felt like failure, but instead it felt like truth finally spoken aloud. "No. I think you knew that before I did."

Princess was quiet for a beat, then shrugged. The gesture was casual, but her eyes held depths of understanding that spoke to someone who had always seen clearly. "I saw it the second you stepped out of the car. You were still Lydia, but not Mayfield's Lydia anymore. Your bond with Alexis shines between you, even if you don't see it yet. Everyone else does."

The observation hit me with startling clarity. I had thought I was being subtle, maintaining proper Alpha composure, but the truth of what Alexis and I had reclaimed was written in every gesture, every glance, every moment when we unconsciously moved as one.

I let the words sit, afraid that adding anything would shatter the strange, fragile honesty between us. This conversation felt too important to rush, too precious to fill with unnecessary words.

"I'm not mad," she added, softer now. Her voice carried understanding, acceptance, and something that might have been relief. "You kept this place standing for so long. You helped build something here. A place of healing and safety. But this isn't your end. It's just… where you stopped to catch your breath."

That did me in.

My throat tightened, the ache blooming somewhere behind my ribs. The emotion was overwhelming. Grief for what I was leaving behind, gratitude for what I had built, and hope for what came next all tangled together in my chest. "It feels like I'm leaving a piece of myself here."

"You are," Princess said, finally sipping from her mug. The simple acknowledgment was both painful and healing, honest in a way that made space for all the complicated feelings between us. "But it's safe here. It'll grow without you."

The promise in her voice was absolute, unshakeable. She wasn't just offering to take over. She was vowing to nurture what I had built, to help it flourish in ways I might never have imagined.

I turned to look at her, studying her profile in the afternoon light: strong jaw, clear eyes, the kind of steady presence that made others feel safe. It made me wonder how I had gotten so lucky. How it had been so hard and yet so easy. The transition I had dreaded was happening naturally, organically, without the power struggles or political maneuvering that usually accompanied such changes. "Are you sure you want it?"

"I already took it," she said with a grin. The expression transformed her entire face, revealing the warmth and humor that lived beneath her Alpha authority. "The moment you rescued me from that facility, I took from this place a wolf pup who won't sleep unless she's tucked into my neck, and a mate who's trying to pretend she didn't cry during that reunion just now. It’s been my home since you offered me shelter and compassion.” She grinned then, adding, “Even if you did lock me in a room for a few days.”

The casual way she claimed them, the easy confidence with which she spoke of her new family, made my heart sing. This was what I had always hoped for, not just survival, but thriving. Not just safety, but joy.

“Jayne? Did she?" I tried not to grin.

"Like a baby," Princess confirmed. Her tone was fond, teasing, speaking to someone who had found her home and her family and was ready to protect both with everything she had. "But don't worry. I told everyone it was just seasonal allergies."

I laughed, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand, and found it wet. The tears were coming freely now, but they didn't feel like weakness. They felt like release, like the final letting go of something I had been holding too tightly for too long. “Look… those fucking same allergies got me too.”

Princess set her mug down and pulled me into a hug, the kind that didn't need to be fierce to be strong. Her arms were steady, certain, offering comfort without demanding anything in return. This was what Alpha leadership should feel like: strength offered freely, support given without conditions. "We'll be alright," she whispered. Her voice carried absolute conviction, the kind of certainty that came from someone who had already faced the worst and emerged stronger. "And so will you."

In her embrace, I felt the last pieces of my old identity settling into place. I would always be the Alpha who had built Mayfield, but I was no longer the Alpha who needed to protect it. That responsibility, that honor, belonged to someone else now. Someone who would love it as fiercely as I had, but in her own way, for her own reasons.

We stood like that until the sun shifted, and the porch finally dipped into shadow. The changing light felt symbolic, marking the end of one era and the beginning of another.

Then she pulled back and smiled. Her expression was gentle but firm, carrying both blessing and dismissal. "Go home, Lydia."

The words weren't a rejection. They were a gift. Permission to choose love over duty, to trust that what I had built was strong enough to survive without me, to believe that my legacy was secure in capable hands.

And in that moment, I understood that this wasn't an ending at all. It was a beginning. For Princess.

For Mayfield.

And for me.

We were all stepping into the futures we were meant to have, the ones we had fought so hard to make possible.

The formal transfer of power would come later, documents signed, rituals observed, authority officially passed from one Alpha to another. But the real transition had already happened in the space between heartbeats, in the quiet understanding between two leaders who recognized each other's strength.

Princess had already taken control, had already proven herself worthy of the trust I was placing in her. All that remained was for me to let go, to trust in what I had built and who I had chosen to continue building it.

And for the first time in twenty years, that felt like freedom rather than failure.

* * *

The drive away from Mayfield was quiet. Not the strained silence of goodbye, but the still kind that settles after something important is said and heard. The weight of decision had lifted from my shoulders, replaced by the lighter feeling of possibility, of futures unwritten and paths unchosen.

Alexis kept one hand on the wheel and the other in mine, our fingers loosely threaded. Her touch was constant, grounding, a reminder that I wasn't leaving something behind so much as moving toward something new.

The landscape rolled past the windows like scenes from a life I was remembering rather than living, familiar but somehow distant. Important, but no longer immediate.

I didn't look back. I didn't need to. What lay behind us was secure, safe in capable hands. What lay ahead was unknown, but no longer frightening.

We weren't fleeing.

We were moving forward.

And that made all the difference.

In the back seat, Maya watched out the window, her expression still reserved but more relaxed than the girl who had followed her mother to my doorstep, not knowing what that meant. Now she knew, and the knowledge seemed to sit well with her. Another piece of her complicated history falling into place, another connection made sense of.

The three of us in this car represented something new. Not a traditional pack structure, but a family choosing each other, building something that had never existed before but felt completely right.

When the tree line thickened and the road narrowed to the carved path that led to Ghost Ridge, I felt my pulse shift in rhythm. Not fast. Just… aware. As if my wolf had already scented the stone walls and secret paths that marked Alexis's territory as something we now shared.

Home. Our home.

The recognition was cellular, deeper than thought. This was where I belonged, where our bond would flourish, where the future we had fought for could finally begin.

Alexis downshifted, glancing at me. Her eyes held warmth and just a hint of uncertainty, as if she was still processing the reality of what we had chosen. "You okay?"

I smiled. The expression felt easy, natural, uncomplicated for the first time in years. "Yeah. Just realizing I have no idea where I'm going to put all my books." They were a secret, prized possession, and one of the few things I wasn't going to leave at Mayfield for Princess. If I was going to retire as an Alpha, I was going to take the time to read.

Her grin curled slowly. The expression was pure mischief, reminding me why I had fallen in love with her in the first place. "You're assuming you'll have shelf space?”

"I'm assuming I'll take over an entire wing of your tactical archive. Balance, remember? You get war maps. I get romance novels."

The playful negotiation felt like a glimpse into our future. Two strong personalities learning to share space, to compromise, to build something together that was stronger than either could create alone.

"Mm." She nodded solemnly. But I could see the laughter dancing in her eyes. "Seems fair. Maybe I'll even let you paint a moon-wolf on the wall," she glanced at me from the corner of her eye, "or a bowl of fruit."

I laughed and leaned over to kiss her cheek. The gesture was natural and easy. "Don't tempt me. I already picked out a new bed. We go pick it up next week."

The casual mention of shared purchases, of plans made together, sent warmth through my chest. This was what normal looked like. Shopping for furniture, arguing about decorating, building a life one small decision at a time.

“How did you pay for that?” She asked, a playful growl under the words.

“Oh, I figured as comptroller, you could put it on my tab.”

From behind us, Maya asked, “What’s a comptroller?”

Alexis laughed, a real, warm sound, and it made my heart sing.

The gates came into view up ahead, and like the first time, the sentries stepped aside without a word. But this time, they didn't just nod at Alexis. They nodded at all of us.

Recognition. Acceptance. Welcome.

I was no longer a simple visitor or ally or even temporary guest.

I was pack.

We pulled up near the front entrance, the sky now streaked with rose and lavender. The mountain air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and stone and the indefinable something that meant safety. I opened my door and stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath my boots. The sound was ordinary, mundane, but it felt like the first step into a new life.

Ghost Ridge didn't feel completely like home yet, but it didn't feel foreign anymore either.

It felt like reunion. Like a place I had always been meant to find, even when I hadn't known I was looking for it.

The mountain walls rose around us like a protective embrace, ancient stone that had weathered countless storms and would weather countless more. We would build our future here, in this place of strength and security, surrounded by wolves who had chosen to form a guild here. Warriors who would protect those that needed it at all costs.

Alexis rounded the car and took my hand again. Her fingers intertwined with mine perfectly, as if we had been designed to fit together. "Ready?"

The question held layers. Ready for what came next? Ready to be happy? Ready to trust in love rather than duty? Ready to build something new from the ashes of what we had been?

I nodded. The answer came from somewhere deeper than thought, from the place where certainty lived. "Let's go home."

And with those words, the last chapter of my old life closed and the first chapter of my new life began.

Together, we crossed the threshold.

Into Ghost Ridge.

Into our future.

Into the happiness we had fought so hard to claim.

The story was far from over. There would be challenges ahead, adjustments to make, futures to build and outside a feral wolf howled. But for the first time in twenty years, I wasn't facing any of it alone.

I had my mate. I had my family. I had my home.

And that was enough. More than enough.

It was everything.

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JUST ANOTHER TUESDAY AT THE OFFICE

The window exploded.

Wren Sullivan hit the floor as glass showered her desk, the quarterly reports she'd been hunched over for the past six hours scattering like confetti. Her first thought was an earthquake, not uncommon in LA. Her second was a gas explosion, also disturbingly possible given the building's age. Her third, as something large and dark tumbled through the shattered opening with impossible grace, was that Helen was going to absolutely murder her for the property damage.

The something rolled across the industrial carpet and came up in a predator's crouch, scanning the dimly lit insurance office with the kind of lethal focus that made every survival instinct Wren possessed scream that she should be running. Like… right now.

Instead, she stayed frozen behind her overturned chair because apparently years of telling herself she wasn't cut out for anything important had broken her fight-or-flight response along with her confidence.

The intruder was a woman.

Tall, lean, wrapped in black leather that probably cost more than Wren's monthly rent. Dark hair, cropped short and messy in an effortlessly punk way that looked like she'd either just rolled out of bed or stepped off a magazine cover, chin-length strands catching the harsh fluorescent light as she moved. Her face belonged in movies, not insurance offices. It was all sharp angles and dangerous beauty that made Wren's breath catch despite the circumstances. When she moved, it was with the fluid precision of someone who'd never doubted their place in the world.

Beautiful.

Confident.

Very likely dangerous.

Everything Wren wasn't.

"Where is it?" The woman's voice was whiskey and smoke, urgent with barely contained fury. Her eyes swept the office, storm grey that seemed to shimmer in the artificial light. "Where's the fucking fairy?"

Wren blinked from her hiding spot, brain struggling to process the question. Fairy? Like… fairy tale fairy? Was this some kind of code? A drug thing? She'd been working insurance claims for three years, and the weirdest things she dealt with were usually staged slip-and-falls, not… whatever this was.

"I'm sorry," Wren said, then immediately regretted speaking when those predatory eyes locked onto her location. The grey seemed to brighten, almost luminous now, with something that looked disturbingly like relief flickering through them. "Did you just say fairy?"

That's when the nightmare followed.

The thing that slipped through the window behind the leather-clad woman was beautiful in the way that made Wren's brain reject what she was seeing. Too perfect, too symmetrical, with skin that seemed to shimmer under the harsh fluorescent lights and features so flawless they circled back to unsettling. It moved like liquid grace, and when it smiled, Wren caught a glimpse of teeth that were just slightly too sharp.

Beautiful uncanny valley.

"Well, well," it purred, voice like honey poured over broken glass. "What have we here? A little mortal who's stumbled into our game of catch.”

Mortal.

Right.

Because that was a normal thing to call people.

Wren's mind spun through possibilities: hallucination, mental break, elaborate prank, but kept hitting the same wall. If this was a product of stress and too much takeout, then why was there warm Los Angeles air rushing through the broken window, very real glass cutting into her palms, and most importantly, why was her heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape?

The leather-clad woman spun around, and Wren's carefully ordered world tilted sideways. Gossamer wings, midnight black shot through with silver veins, spread briefly behind the stranger's shoulders before folding tight against her back. They were membraned like a bat's, but larger, more elegant. They reminded her of dark leather stretched between delicate bone structures, silver veins pulsing with their own inner light like captured lightning. They caught the fluorescent glow like oil on water, iridescent and impossible.

Wings.

Actual fucking wings.

"Shit." The winged woman really looked at Wren for the first time, something between regret and calculation flickering across her sharp features. Those storm-grey eyes seemed to flicker with an inner light that was almost pink at the edges, like dawn breaking through storm clouds. "Civilian witness. You weren't supposed to be here this late."

"I work late," Wren said automatically because apparently her mouth had decided to keep functioning even though her brain had blue-screened. "I always work late. It's kind of my thing."

Which was true, and also pathetic. While other people were probably out living actual lives and doing things like dating, socializing, other things that mattered, Wren was here at nine PM on a Tuesday, cross-referencing insurance claims and spreadsheets because that's what you got when you were too convinced you'd screw up anything more important.

The beautiful nightmare took a step closer, and Wren caught a scent that made her stomach clench: copper and roses. Like a lot of blood in a garden. "Tell me, sweet little thing, do you know what happens to humans who see too much?"

"They… file incident reports?" Wren suggested weakly before she could stop herself.

The fairy, because what else could it be, laughed.

The sound was like crystal breaking in slow motion. "Oh, I like this one. She has such delicious fear threading through her aura. It'll make the feeding so much more… satisfying."

Feeding.

Right.

Of course.

Wren's hand fumbled across her desk until it found the heavy glass paperweight shaped like a sailing ship, the one that matched Anchors Up Insurance Associates' aggressively nautical theme. Her fingers closed around its familiar weight as the winged woman pulled what looked like a shard of crystallized starlight from her jacket.

"Don't touch her," the woman said quickly, and there was something desperate threading through her voice. Those grey eyes were definitely brighter now, touched with rose-gold at the iris that seemed to pulse with each word. "You let me bring you in, I make her forget. Just a small memory adjustment. She won't remember any of this, and you don't get another human murder charge."

Memory adjustment. Like she was a computer file that could just be edited.

The winged woman pressed her free hand to her temple for just a moment, and Wren caught a flash of pain across those sharp features before the professional mask slammed back into place. Even from across the room, she could see the slight tremor in the woman's hands, the way her jaw clenched like she was fighting something other than the creature in front of her.

The fairy tilted its perfect head with predatory interest. "Memory magic? How… quaint. But I have a better idea." Its smile widened, revealing more teeth than any mouth should contain. "Why don't we just⁠—"

Wren didn't let it finish.

The glass ship sailed through the air and shattered against the fairy's temple, sending crystalline fragments scattering across the carpet.

Both supernatural beings stared at her in shock.

"Did you just—" the winged woman started, her eyes flaring bright pink for a split second.

"Throw office supplies at something with fangs?" Wren finished, already reaching for her stapler. "Seemed like the thing to do, and I'll do it again if you take one more step near me with your memory… whatever."

It wasn't bravery. It was panic and three years of feeling useless, finally finding a target. It was also the sudden, desperate need to prove, to herself if no one else, that maybe she wasn't completely worthless in a crisis. Maybe, for once, she could actually help instead of just getting in the way.

The fairy snarled, all pretense of beauty dropping away. Its face elongated, skin taking on a waxy sheen, and those perfect features twisted into something that belonged in nightmares. "You little⁠—"

It lunged with inhuman speed.

The winged woman moved faster, intercepting the fairy with a blast of silver light that turned the office into a temporary supernova. The magic hit the air with a sound like breaking glass and ozone, and those storm-grey eyes blazed with pink fire and for a moment Wren was mesmerized by actual pink highlights bleeding through the grey like watercolors in rain, beautiful and absolutely terrifying.

Both creatures hit the wall where Helen kept her motivational posters, sending fake-framed inspiration about "Persistence" and "Teamwork" crashing to the industrial carpet.

Wren found herself thinking, with the kind of detached hysteria that came with complete mental overload, that the "Hang in There" kitten poster probably wasn't going to survive this encounter.

"Stay down!" the winged woman shouted, grappling with the fairy as they rolled across the carpet. Her short hair was wild now. Every movement seemed to cost her something, and Wren could see the way she kept blinking hard, like she was fighting a headache.

Wren should have stayed down. Should have hidden behind her desk and waited for it to be over. Should have done what she always did—kept her head down, stayed out of the way, let other people handle the important stuff.

Instead, she grabbed her phone and speed-dialed Harper.

"Please pick up, please pick up," she whispered, watching the supernatural wrestling match happening three feet from the water cooler.

"Wren? Jesus, it's nine-thirty at night, what⁠—"

"Harper, I need help," Wren said quietly, eyes tracking the way the winged woman's movements were getting slower, less coordinated. "Something's happening at the office and I think I might need someone to call 911."

"What kind of something? Are you hurt?"

The fairy flattened its palms against the winged woman's stomach and pushed her back with a burst of corrupted energy that sent them both flying in opposite directions. The impact rattled Wren's teeth and sent papers flying like snow.

"The kind where there might be some property damage," Wren said before adding, “And a boatload of paperwork.”

“A nautical joke at work? Really, Wren?” She could hear her friend’s eye-roll over the phone.

The fairy spun toward her, eyes blazing with inhuman fury. "Government worker. I should have smelled the stench of bureaucracy on you from the start."

"Rude," Wren said, dropping the phone and backing toward the emergency exit. "I just process insurance claims. It's not my fault if you don't like the scent of… of existential dread and imposter syndrome. Welcome to my generation.”

The winged woman tackled the fairy again, sending them both crashing into Brad's cubicle. His collection of sports memorabilia went flying, and Wren found herself oddly satisfied watching his autographed baseball bat snap in half. At least something good was coming out of this disaster.

"Just hold still," the winged woman growled, pressing the crystal shard to the fairy's forehead. Her voice carried an accent Wren couldn't place, like something ancient threading through modern words. But her hands were shaking badly now, and there was a pinched quality around her eyes that spoke of serious pain. "This'll only hurt for a second."

"Hmm… no." The fairy dissolved into smoke and shadow, reforming behind the winged woman with predatory grace. "My turn."

Claws that definitely hadn't been there before raked across the woman's shoulder, tearing through leather and drawing dark blood that seemed to sparkle under the fluorescent lights. The winged woman stumbled, and those impossible wings flared for balance, midnight membranes catching the light like dark silk, silver veins running through them like lightning frozen in time.

They were beautiful.

Not just pretty, but the kind of beautiful that made Wren's chest tight and her hands shake. Like looking at the northern lights or the first star at twilight, something vast and impossible and utterly beyond anything she'd ever imagined she might be lucky enough to witness. Gothic and dangerous, all wrapped in black.

The fairy followed her gaze and smiled that too-wide smile. "Admiring the supernatural? How sweet. Don't worry, little bureaucrat. You'll see her up close when I feed her to you piece by piece."

That's when Wren stopped thinking and started moving.

The fire extinguisher came off the wall with a satisfying crunch, the emergency brackets pulling loose. The fairy turned just in time to catch a face full of flame retardant foam. It screamed, the sound like nails on a chalkboard mixed with dying wind, and clawed at its eyes.

"Nice shot," the winged woman gasped, pressing a hand to her bleeding shoulder. Those grey eyes were still touched with pink at the edges, magic lingering like sunset, but the pain lines around them were deeper now. "Though, that was incredibly stupid."

"Story of my life," Wren said, hefting the extinguisher like a club. "At least this time it might actually matter. Either that, or I'll wake up in a mental ward and this will all have been a very creative breakdown."

The winged woman's eyes met hers, and something shifted in Wren's chest. Something that felt dangerously close to purpose.

"You're not what I expected," the woman said softly, her dark hair falling across one eye.

"You don't say," Wren replied, trying to ignore the way her pulse jumped at the genuine surprise in those words. "I wasn't expecting any of this either."

The fairy shook off the foam and turned toward them with murder in its crystalline gaze. The winged woman's mouth curved in what might have been a smile. Sharp and dangerous and absolutely devastating.

"Hold on to something," she said.

The blast of silver fire that erupted from her hands turned the office once more into a temporary star. Pink highlights blazed through those grey eyes like molten metal as magic poured through her, and Wren caught the scent of lilac and wild things and something else, something that made her think of midnight flights and dangerous freedom. When her vision cleared, the fairy was gone, leaving only the scent of burning roses and a scorch mark on the carpet that Helen was definitely going to notice.