Page 72

For right now, there’s only blood fury and the need to rescue Noah.

I fight like fire, wild and consuming. Wolves come at me in their efforts to cause Rowan to falter, but we are a well-oiled machine, and I don’t slow down. I tear through flank and spine and muscle, painting the forest in crimson. The bond between me and my Mate glitters like gold above all the scarlet, keeping us connected and synchronized as the others shred through the Blackburns in equal measure.

One Blackburn lunges at me from above, thinking I’m distracted when I spot a large white wolf diving for Cal’s exposed right flank. But Rowan’s Beta makes quick work of him, and I react faster than I realized I was capable of. I roll mid-stride, catch his throat in my jaws, and slam him to the ground. His ribs crack under the weight of me, and he doesn’t get back up.

I don’t wait to see who lives or dies.

I don’t care.

All I care about right now is Noah.

I tear through the tree line and catch his scent again, stronger now. My paws skid on loose dirt as I veer hard left, ignoring the battle behind me. I hear snarling, howling, and Rowan’s deep roar somewhere in the chaos, but I don’t stop even as that thread between us grows taut.

Breaking away from the heat of the action and avoiding the few straggling Blackburns at the edges of the fray, I barrel toward the scent of my terrified son with a singular purpose.

The scent trail leads me to a lopsided shack, if you could call it that. It’s a rotting structure at the edge of the makeshift battlefield, covered in twisted, thorny vines, like the forest itself wanted to forget it ever existed.

There are no guards. No movement at the perimeter at all. All the chaos is behind me.

Yet, my hackles rise, a flicker of warning brushing down my spine. I don’t pause, though. Not with Noah’s scent tickling my nostrils.

I shift back mid-stride, chucking on a long flannel that I secured around my neck before shifting that’s now covered in blood, but covers enough of my naked body to suit my needs. My exposed skin prickles in the cold air.

I crash through the door like a storm.

And, with a disturbing aura of convenience, there he is.

“Noah!”

My son is curled on the floor in the far corner, arms around his knees, wide eyes shining in the darkness. A gasp rips out of me as I drop to my knees beside him.

“M-mom?”

His voice is small and cracked, but it’s most definitely him.

“Oh, God, baby—” I pull him into my arms, fingers shaking as I check him over. His wrists are raw from rope that is no longer secured around his hands, and his arms are lightly bruised in what I imagine was the fight he tried to put up when he was snatched away from Whiterose territory. To my relief, however, nothing looks broken. There are no bleeding cuts or deep wounds.

He’s alive. He’s alive.

I kiss his forehead again and again as he clings to me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper to him, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I’ve got you, Noah. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“Mom, there’s blood on you.”

“I know, sweetie. I know.”

“Are you hurt?” Noah’s wide eyes, so brilliantly blue just like his father’s, gaze up at me with concern. My heart breaks a little at the thought that he’s gone through the scariest moment of his life and still has the capacity to worry about my well-being.

He really will be a good leader one day.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I assure him. “I’m not hurt at all. It’s not my blood.”

In truth, I’ll definitely be sore tomorrow, but the shifter powers that have kicked into overdrive since the mating bond snapped back into place will take care of most of the bruises quickly enough.

Noah shivers a little. I gather him into my arms, rising to my feet, heart pounding with relief…and then the door creaks open behind me. Moonlight washes into the tiny shack

I freeze.