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His deep voice guided her through the transformation, his hands steady and sure on her changing body. The shift rippled through her muscles, less painful and chaotic this time—bones reshaping and fur retracting. She collapsed against his chest, naked and trembling from the energy expenditure and fatigue of battle.

"That was..." Maya gasped, finding her voice again. "More incredible than the first time. I could feel everything—smelleverything. Their fear, your anger. It was like experiencing the world in high definition."

Kieran's eyes flashed with heat as they swept over her bare form. "You were magnificent," he murmured, his voice lowering to a rumble that sent shivers across her skin. "A natural leader."

One of the young wolf shifters tossed her clothes—black leggings and an oversized t-shirt. Maya dressed quickly, her mind racing between scientific fascination with her second full transformation and the more pressing reality of dead bodies and a safe house that needed destroying.

As they dragged the hunters' bodies inside, Maya noticed Kieran's increasingly labored movements. The silver was taking its toll.

"Your body temperature's rising," she noted, her scientist's mind cataloging symptoms even as worry clutched at her heart. She pressed a palm against his forehead. "The silver's spreading further."

Kieran grabbed her hand, kissing her knuckles with unexpected tenderness. "I've had worse."

"Doubtful," she countered, unwilling to let him minimize the danger. "Silver poisoning is progressive, and you've had it in your system for nearly twenty-four hours."

He flashed her a grin that was equal parts arrogance and charm. "Worried about me, Dr. Collins?"

"Desperately," she admitted without hesitation, surprising herself with the raw honesty. His expression softened at her words.

They worked methodically, preparing the cabin for destruction. Maya soaked curtains in cooking oil while Kieran arranged the bodies. When they finally stepped outside, Kieran struck a match and tossed it through the doorway. Flames erupted with satisfying ferocity.

As fire consumed the evidence of the attack, Kieran borrowed a phone from a young rebel sympathizer with dark hair. "Need to call Lena," he explained to Maya. "She can neutralize this silver."

The trek through the forest toward the second safe house was grueling. Kieran insisted on helping carry one of the unconscious shifters despite his worsening condition. His face had paled alarmingly, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow.

Maya refused to let fear overtake her.Not after everything we've survived.

"You know," she said conversationally, supporting his increasingly unsteady frame, "for someone who's spent his whole life planning to lead a pack, you're remarkably good at being a revolutionary."

His laugh was strained but genuine. "Turns out I have a talent for treason."

"It's not treason to choose what's right over what's traditional," Maya countered.

Kieran's silver-blue eyes fixed on her, intensity burning through his pain. "No," he agreed softly. "It's not."

Maya staggered alongside Kieran as they finally reached the second safe house—a weathered two-story cabin nestled deep within the woods. His normally commanding presence had diminished with each step, the silver poisoning visibly ravaging his powerful body. The tight black t-shirt that had earlier showcased his muscular physique now clung to him damply, his jeans dragging in the dirt as his gait faltered.

"Just a few more steps," she encouraged, her arm braced firmly around his waist.

His eyes flashed with stubborn determination despite his pallor. "I'm fine," he growled unconvincingly, adjusting the unconscious young shifter in his arms.

The wooden front door opened before they even reached it. Young faces—some wary, some hopeful—peered out attheir battered group. Recognition dawned instantly when they spotted Kieran.

"The Alpha heir!" someone gasped.

"Former heir," Kieran corrected through gritted teeth. "Get these wounded inside. Now."

His commanding tone brooked no argument. The young rebels jumped to action, taking the injured from their companions. Maya watched the efficiency with which they moved—these were children of traditionalists who'd chosen a different path, just like Kieran had.

"You need to lie down," Maya insisted, pulling him toward a small cot in the corner as the others tended to the wounded.

Kieran resisted. "I need to make sure?—"

"You need to not die from silver poisoning," she snapped, her scientific brain assessing his worsening symptoms with growing alarm. His temperature had spiked dangerously, and the veins around his wound had taken on a sickening grayish tint.

When he finally relented and sank onto the cot, a ripple of whispers spread through the room.

"That's her—the hybrid."