Page 34

“Not often, but it can be. I won't push you into accepting the transition, but the bond? That’s already forming, even now.”

She exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and intrigue in her eyes. “So what, I’m supposed to just drop everything, move to a ranch, and play shifter’s girlfriend while trying not to die?”

“No,” I say, voice low and serious. “You’re supposed to survive. And right now, that means being where it’s safe. Where my team can protect you while we hunt the bastard who started this.”

There’s a beat of silence before Gideon clears his throat from behind me.

"Sorry to interrupt this very intense mating ritual," he says, voice dry, "but we’ve got bigger problems. I talked to Rush. The Reaper’s struck again. Confirmed. He's not going to let Sutton live."

Sutton straightens. "Here, like in Galveston?"

"Here as in watching this damn townhouse earlier last night," answers Gideon. "Deacon caught his scent. He’s not hiding anymore. He’s circling."

The protective instinct roars up so fast it almost takes my breath away—and not in a good way.

"Rush doesn’t want a confrontation here in the city," Gideon continues. "Too many eyes. Too many bodies. We need to draw him out instead—someplace we control."

“The ranch,” I say.

He nods. “Dalton’s already got your Range Rover there, Sutton."

"How?" asks Sutton. "I didn't give anyone my keys."

Gideon and I both laugh. "Dalton's been boosting vehicles since he was a kid." He turns back to me. "Gage and Dalton are setting up the outer perimeter. Rush wants everyone on-site sooner rather than later and wants you on the road with Sutton as soon as possible. I'll be picking up Maggie and Kari within the hour.”

I let out a slow breath. I don’t expect Sutton to recognize the names. She doesn’t know them—hasn’t met anyone beyond Gideon and me—but the question still hangs in the air between us.

"Maggie and Kari are?" she asks Gideon.

"Gideon's mate and his kid sister."

I answer her literal question, but her silence says more than words—she's not just asking about names. She's asking what kind of war this really is. How far the Reaper’s reach has already stretched—and how much farther it could go. The weight behind her eyes isn’t confusion. It’s dawning clarity, and the realization that she’s now part of something much larger than survival.

Glancing at her, I note the tight set of her jaw, the furrowed brow. She's worried, and not just for herself. Probably wondering what kind of war she’s just walked into. My chest tightens under the weight of it. She’s already carrying more than she should have to.

“All of us,” Gideon confirms. “Even the governor’s been briefed. We either end this there, or we set the trap for later. But we can’t do it with civilians standing in the crossfire.”

“I’ll take her now,” I say, already moving.

Gideon nods. “I’ll bring her gear and pick up Maggie and Kari. Be careful on the road.”

“I always am.”

Sutton follows me out to the garage, no argument, no hesitation. Just a nod and that quiet strength she wears like a second skin. The morning air is crisp as I hand her a helmet,the weight of it grounding us both. She takes it silently, fingers brushing mine for the briefest second—a shock of contact that jolts straight through me. I swing my leg over the Harley, the seat warming from the sun, and glance back at her once more before gripping the bars.

“You ready to ride?” I ask.

She grins. “I’ve done dumber things for worse men.”

I chuckle, liking the spark in her voice. “Good. Hold tight.”

She slides on behind me, arms wrapping snug around my waist, her palms flattening against my stomach like she's grounding both of us. The moment her body settles against mine, it’s not just connection—it’s ignition. Her warmth seeps through my shirt, a steady brand that anchors me to the present. My jaw relaxes, my lungs draw deeper. The chaos quiets. As if the storm of this night, this week, maybe even my whole damn life just... stills. Her breath brushes the back of my neck, soft and steady, and in that heartbeat, I know: this is the only peace that’s ever felt real.

We ride.

The road stretches ahead in ribbons of shadow and light, each mile unfolding beneath the tires like a silent vow. The rumble of the engine hums through my bones, steady and grounding, while the wind cuts sharp across my jaw and wraps around us in bursts of chilly morning air. Her body is a warm, unshifting line against my back, her silence not withdrawal but a testament of trust—solid, steady, and present.

Her arms tighten slightly as we crest a bend, her weight aligning with mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The scent of leather, faint shampoo, and adrenaline mixes with the crisp wind. Every mile we cover brings us closer to the only safe place left, but I’m not naïve enough to believe the danger is behind us. It’s out there. Watching. Hunting. Riding our tail like a ghost with unfinished business.