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The safehouse was a low, ramshackle cabin cleverly disguised to look abandoned. Malcolm kicked the door open rather than put Kieran down.

"Goddess above," Lena gasped, rushing forward. Her small hands guided Malcolm to lay Kieran on a table covered with clean sheets. "What attacked him?"

"Granite Ridge wolves," Malcolm explained tersely. "Five of them, from the look of the blood on him."

"Six," Kieran corrected, his voice a rasp. "Sniper got Maya. Tranquilized her."

Lena's violet eyes widened, but her hands remained steady as she began cleaning his wounds. The sting of antiseptic barely registered compared to the burning in his chest at the thought of Maya in enemy hands.

"You killed five Granite Ridge wolves?" Malcolm whistled low. "Father would be impressed."

"I don't give a fuck what father thinks right now." Kieran's words came with sudden clarity, his eyes flashing. "Maya is all that matters."

Lena worked methodically, stitching the deepest gashes across his chest, shoulder, and leg with practiced precision. Herfingers, cool against his feverish skin, pressed healing salve into the wounds.

"Lena." Kieran caught her wrist, his grip firm despite his weakened state. "Send runners. I need eyes in Granite Ridge territory now. Every rebel sympathizer, every informant we have."

She nodded, understanding the urgency without needing explanation. "They'll want to know why."

"Because I fucking said so." His voice dropped lower, the timbre vibrating with authority that made both Malcolm and Lena straighten instinctively. "Because they've taken what's mine."

"She's your fated mate." It wasn't a question. Lena's intuition had always been uncanny.

"Yes." The admission cost him nothing but filled him with renewed purpose. "And if they harm her, I will tear the entire Granite Ridge pack apart with my bare hands."

Malcolm moved to the window, scanning the forest beyond. "The High Council must want her dormant genes for something specific. This isn't just about silencing a human witness anymore."

"We're in a race now." Kieran pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring Lena's protests. "They know what she is, maybe even what she could become."

SIXTEEN

MAYA

Maya woke to clinical brightness that assaulted her senses. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, she found herself in a sterile room where everything—walls, floor, ceiling—gleamed with an unnatural white intensity. No windows broke the seamless surface, only a single metal door disrupted the pristine enclosure.

She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt weighted and uncooperative. The hospital gown rustled against her skin, thin and paper-like, reminding her of her vulnerability. A strange tingling sensation radiated from the small mark on her neck—the place where Kieran's teeth had partially sunk into her during their heated encounter in his cabin. It burned with an intensity that seemed disproportionate to its size.

"What the hell?" she whispered, her fingertips exploring the tender area.

The sensation wasn't just physical though. Something deeper pulsed within her chest—a strong tether pulling taut toward some distant point. Along that invisible connection flowed emotions that weren't entirely her own. Rage, pain, and determination. Kieran. Somehow, she felt him.

"He's alive," she breathed, relief washing through her. The last image before the tranquilizer took her down had been Kieran mid-transformation, facing impossible odds. Five massive wolves against one.

Maya closed her eyes, focusing on the strange connection. He was hurt—badly—but alive and burning with fury. His anger wasn't cold or distant, it blazed hot and personal.

"He's coming for me," she realized, the certainty settling into her bones.

She glanced around the room again, assessing her prison with a scientist's methodical attention. The folding chair beside her bed looked deliberately uncomfortable, designed for brief visits rather than extended stays. The IV stand beside her bed remained empty, but the presence of medical equipment suggested they weren't finished with her yet.

Granite Ridge territory. It had to be. The wolf shifters who ambushed them had mentioned the High Council—the mysterious governing body Kieran had explained with such conflicted respect.

"They know about my dormant shifter genes," she murmured, touching her neck again. The burning had intensified, spreading tendrils of warmth throughout her body.

The scientific side of her brain inventoried her symptoms clinically: increased body temperature, heightened sensory awareness, and strange phantom emotions. The more intuitive part—the part she'd suppressed beneath years of academic rigor and human ignorance—recognized something transformative stirring beneath her skin.

What would a group of tradition-bound wolf shifter elders want with a human who carried dormant shifter genes? The possibilities made her stomach clench. Test subject. Breeding experiment. Genetic research.

"Not exactly the type of field study I signed up for," she muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.