Page 29

We move as one unit down the hallway, every sense heightened, adrenaline burning away the lingering pain of silver burns. Two guards stand outside Maisie's room, rifles held casually, clearly not expecting trouble from within the lodge itself.

I signal to Fiona, three quick gestures we used years ago on pack runs.

She nods, remembering, and we separate. I approach from the left, she circles right.

The first guard doesn't even have time to raise his weapon before my forearm locks around his throat, cutting off sound and air in one smooth motion.

Across from me, Fiona moves with similar efficiency, her smaller frame belying her strength as she takes down her target.

No killing. We agreed on that. No unnecessary death for Maisie to witness.

The lock gives way beneath one powerful kick, the door flying open to reveal a nightmare I'll never forget.

Maisie huddles in the center of the cage, her small body wracked with violent tremors. Patchy brown fur sprouts along her arms, receding, then emerging again as her shift tries to complete itself without guidance. Her eyes flash amber in the dim light—my eyes—wide with terror and confusion.

"Mama?" Her voice breaks on the word, caught between a child's cry and a wolf's whimper.

Something fractures inside my chest. My daughter. My child. Trapped and afraid, her first shift happening under the worst possible circumstances. I can see myself in the pattern of emerging fur, in the distinctive coloring that marks my bloodline going back generations.

"I'm here, baby girl." Fiona rushes to the cage, fingers wrapping around the bars. "We're here."

I secure the door, dragging the unconscious guards inside and binding them with their own belts. Every second counts now. Maisie's condition is deteriorating rapidly, the shift progressing despite her fear.

The cage lock is heavy-duty, designed for security rather than convenience. I wrap my hands around it, ignoring the lingering burn from the silver as I wrench with all my strength. Metal groans, then gives with a satisfying snap.

Fiona has the door open before I can move, gathering Maisie into her arms. The child clings to her mother, small fingers digging into Fiona's shoulders.

"It hurts," she sobs. "Mama, something's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you," I say, kneeling beside them. "Your wolf is just waking up earlier than we expected."

Maisie's tear-streaked face turns toward me, her features caught in the flux of transformation. Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the confusion—I see a flash of recognition in her eyes.

"You're like me," she whispers. "You have a wolf too."

"Yes." My voice nearly breaks on the simple word. "Just like you."

Fiona meets my eyes over Maisie's head, her expression a complex mixture of fear and hope.

"Maisie," she says gently, "there's something important I need to tell you about Thomas."

Another violent tremor runs through Maisie's small frame, cutting off whatever Fiona planned to say. Her back arches, a cry of pain escaping her lips as the shift tries to progress.

"She can't control it," I say, recognizing the signs from the young shifters I've guided through their first transformations. "The stress is accelerating everything."

Fiona's face pales. "What do we do?"

"We help her through it." I move closer, instinct taking over. "Maisie, look at me. Focus on my voice."

Her amber eyes lock onto mine, wide and frightened.

"Your wolf is part of you," I tell her, keeping my voice steady despite the urgency pounding in my veins. "You don't need to fight it. Just breathe with me. In and out."

She tries to follow my exaggerated breathing, her tiny chest heaving with the effort. Another patch of fur emerges along her collarbone, then recedes.

"That's it," I encourage. "You're doing so well."

"It still hurts," she whimpers.

"I know, sweetheart." The endearment slips out naturally. "The first time is always the hardest. But your mama and I are right here."

The door crashes open behind us.

I spin, placing my body between the threat and my family in one fluid motion. Edward Wright stands in the doorway, rifle raised, his face a mask of cold fury as he takes in the scene—his granddaughter freed, his guards unconscious, his plans unraveling.

"Step away from them." The rifle barrel points directly at Fiona's heart.

"Not happening." I remain where I am, calculating distances, angles, and opportunities. Six feet to Edward. Three seconds to close the gap, maybe two. Can I reach him before he pulls the trigger?

"You've ruined everything." Edward's voice remains eerily calm despite the rage in his eyes. "The demonstration, the broadcast. Do you understand what was at stake here?"

Behind me, Maisie whimpers as another wave of transformation ripples through her. I can smell her fear, her pain, her confusion—scents that drive my protective instincts to near-madness.

"Your hatred?" I suggest, keeping him talking while I search for an opening. "Your obsession?"

His lip curls. "Necessary control of a threat. These creatures—" he gestures toward Maisie with a jerk of his chin, "—cannot be allowed to live among us. They're animals. Dangerous animals masquerading as people."

"She's a child," Fiona says, her voice steady despite the weapon aimed at her. "Your granddaughter."

"That thing is not my blood." Edward's mask slips, revealing the disgust beneath. "Just like your mother was never truly human. I tried to save you, Fiona. I tried to burn the animal out of you. But you chose this. You chose to perpetuate the disease."

Through the doorway behind him, I glimpse the broadcast equipment set up in the hallway—cameras, lights, a makeshift backdrop. He planned to film this. To use Maisie's painful first shift as propaganda for his crusade.

"You're sick," I say, meaning it literally. No sane person could do this to their own family.

"I'm the only one seeing clearly." Edward's finger tightens on the trigger. "Your kind has infected humanity long enough. Starting with my wife."

Fiona makes a slight sound behind me.

"You couldn't stand that she was stronger than you," she says, understanding dawning in her voice. "That she was special in ways you could never be."

Something flashes across Edward's face—a twisted mixture of rage and what might be pain. "She was corrupted. I tried to save her. To purify her."

"By poisoning her." Fiona's voice cracks. "By killing her slowly while pretending to love her. People loved her, Dad. That’s what destroyed you, wasn’t it? People loved her, but they’d never love you.”

"Love?" Edward laughs, a hollow sound. "She didn't deserve love. She deserved cleansing. Just like that—" his eyes fix on Maisie, "—abomination behind you."

Maisie cries out again, another surge of her shift bringing more fur rippling across her skin. Edward's attention flickers toward her, disgust contorting his features.

It's all the opening I need.

I lunge forward, covering the distance between us in two powerful strides. My hand closes around the rifle barrel, forcing it upward as it discharges. The shot deafens in the confined space, plaster raining from the ceiling where the bullet embeds itself.

Edward's training shows in his reaction speed, but he's still human facing a shifter's strength. I wrench the rifle from his grasp, tossing it aside as we grapple. His elbow catches my jaw, a glancing blow that barely registers through the adrenaline.

"Thomas!" Fiona's warning comes as Edward produces a hunting knife from his belt, the blade slashing toward my throat.

I dodge backward, the knife cutting the air where I stood a heartbeat before. Edward presses forward, surprisingly agile for his age, the blade weaving patterns designed to keep me defensive.

"You're an animal," he spits, feinting left before slashing right. "Rutting with my daughter. You’re nothing more than a dog—”

The words are calculated to enrage, to make me sloppy. And they almost work. My wolf claws beneath my skin, demanding blood for this insult to my mate, my child. But Maisie's frightened cries anchor me to control.

I catch Edward's wrist on his next thrust, applying pressure to the tendons until the knife clatters to the floor. His other fist connects with my ribs, a solid blow that might have damaged a human opponent. I barely feel it.

One quick movement puts Edward on the ground, my knee in the center of his chest, my hand at his throat. His eyes widen as he feels the press of claws—not fully shifted, but enough to draw pinpricks of blood where they touch his skin.

"Do it," he rasps, hatred burning in eyes so similar to Fiona's. "Prove what you are. Show your daughter what a monster her father is."

My wolf howls for his blood, for retribution, for the years he stole from us. One quick slice. Justice for Fiona's mother. For Maisie's lost childhood. For the fear and pain he's caused.

"Daddy?"

The word—so small, so frightened—cuts through my rage like nothing else could. I look back to see Maisie watching me, her transformation momentarily paused, her tear-streaked face a mixture of confusion and terror.

Not at her grandfather. At me. At what I might become if I cross this line.

"It's okay, Maisie," I say, easing the pressure on Edward's throat. "He can't hurt you anymore."

Edward's face contorts with rage. "Weak," he hisses. "All of you. Pretending to be civilized when you're nothing but—"

The sound of vehicles approaching cuts him off. Heavy engines, multiple ATVs, and beneath them, the unmistakable chorus of pack howls. Reinforcements.

"Sounds like your demonstration is canceled," I tell Edward, hauling him to his feet and restraining his arms behind his back.

Nic appears in the doorway first, shifted to his massive wolf form. Behind him come James and three other pack members, all in defensive positions. Nic takes in the scene with one sweeping glance, then shifts back to human, straightening, eyes dark.