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The moment he did, the radios crackled to life, the jamming suddenly broken. Security teams poured into the area, weapons ready, as they moved to secure Vance’s limp form.

I rushed to Logan’s side as he shifted back to human form.

My heart hammered so hard I barely heard the chaos around us.

One of his men draped a blanket over his naked body, but my focus was fixed on the savage gashes across his ribs and side.

Blood pulsed from the deepest wound in slow, steady waves.

The coppery scent of his blood triggered something primal, visceral panic that this man, this wolf who had fought for me, might be seriously hurt.

My hands trembled as I examined the wounds.

His blood flowed between my fingers, hot and sticky.

Each torn edge of flesh represented a moment he’d put himself between me and death.

With clinical precision that belied my turmoil, I cleaned away enough blood to see what I’d dreaded.

Vance’s claws had torn directly through Logan’s old scar tissue, reopening the chronic wound that never properly healed.

Something fierce and protective surged within me. I would make it my life’s goal to find an antidote. Not just for Logan, but for any shifter subjected to this barbaric torture.

“I’m going to fix this,” I whispered, the promise tasting like a blood oath. My fingertips traced the swollen line where old wound met new. “All of it.”

His hand covered mine, pressing it against his wounded side.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, my voice breaking as adrenaline ebbed, leaving fear. “These are deep, Logan.”

Logan winced as I applied pressure to the worst gashes, but he remained still, refusing to show weakness before his men. “Worth it,” he said, voice rough with emotion and pain.

I shook my head, tears threatening. For all my medical training, the sight of his blood shook me to the core. “You could’ve died.”

Logan’s hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek, leaving a faint blood smear. “I’d face worse for you,” he said softly, eyes holding mine with fierce intensity. “Every time.”

The environmental team arrived in white hazmat suits, looking like aliens against the gritty industrial backdrop. The sheriff approached with a folder, expression grimly satisfied.

“Found these in a hidden compartment in Vance’s desk,” he said, handing the documents to Logan. “Communications from Victoria Song, detailed instructions about the cover-up. Dates, amounts, even payoffs to keep workers quiet. She’s burned.”

Logan nodded. “Make sure those stay secure.”

As cleanup began, deputies loaded the still-unconscious Vance into a police vehicle, we stood together watching hazmat-suited figures document the contamination.

Yellow tape cordoned off the worst areas.

They would have to work through the night and even tomorrow, but it was the beginning of healing for the wounded land.

I took Logan’s hand, our skin rough with caked blood and dirt. The victory felt hollow, fragile, like holding precious glass.

“We stopped him,” I said, as the vehicle with Vance drove off. “But this isn’t over, is it?”

“Victoria doesn’t lose gracefully,” he said, voice low, vibrating through our joined hands. “She’ll regroup. Come at us sideways when we least expect it.”

I looked at him, hunched over as he guarded his wounds and still favoring his left side. Any other patient, I’d order bed rest and antibiotics. But Logan Song wasn’t any other patient.

“Let her come,” I said, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. Something had shifted between us during that fight. Watching Logan bleed had awakened something vicious and fierce inside of me. I wanted vengeance for the violence against my mate.

Logan’s eyes found mine, glowing in the harsh emergency lights. His thumb traced a gentle circle on my wrist, right over my racing pulse.

“I should get you somewhere safe,” he murmured, but made no move to leave. “Away from all this.”

The wind shifted, bringing the scent of pine and coming rain.

The storm building in the mountains hovered overhead, the dark clouds swallowing stars one by one.

I thought of Marshall, still fighting the sickness back at the clinic.

Of Juniper, brewing remedies for those not yet showing symptoms. Of the town that had somehow, without my noticing, become mine to protect.

Lightning pierced the sky, illuminating the scarred mountainside, a landscape wounded just as we were, but not beyond healing. The coming storm felt like nature’s response to the night’s violence, washing away old sins to make room for healing.

“I’m exactly where I need to be.” My free hand moved to Logan’s side, carefully assessing the wound hidden beneath the borrowed blanket. “And so are you, after I stitch these gashes.”

Logan’s arm tightened around me as thunder rolled across the valley. “Storm’s coming,” he said, eyes fixed on the horizon where lightning split the darkness. “In more ways than one.”

I leaned into his solid warmth, allowing myself this moment of connection before whatever came next. “Then we’d better be ready.”

Within moments, the skies opened, rain washing over us in sheets. Logan looked at me, rain streaming down his face, his eyes reflecting the bright emergency lights. “You still with me, Doc?”

My answer came without hesitation, rising from some place beyond thought. “All the way.”