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CHAPTER 11

LUCAS

“ Y ou look like hell,” Ryder says as I drop into the seat across from him. His tone is flat, but his eyes are tracking everything—my torn shirt, the dried blood at my collar, the subtle tremor in my right knee. I can’t stop it, not yet. Not until I know what the hell is happening to me.

Sophia takes the seat beside me without asking, legs crossed, arms folded. She doesn’t say a word, but her presence is sharp as a blade at my back. Solid. Unflinching.

She came for Cain, but she stayed for me. Whether or not she admits it.

Isabella closes the lodge door behind her and locks it, a subtle click that silences the room. Only four of us are here now—Ryder, Isabella, Sophia, and me. The Nightshade inner circle doesn’t include anyone else tonight. Not with what we’re about to say.

“What the hell happened out there?” Ryder asks.

I meet his gaze. “You’re going to want to sit down for this.”

He’s already sitting. Doesn’t flinch. Just gestures for me to begin.

“We tracked Cain to the ruins near Ash Creek. He’s not just hiding—he’s building. Or experimenting. Possibly both. There was an underground facility beneath the estate, reinforced. Steel, not stone. Hidden chambers with suppressed energy signatures. The whole place was designed to stay off any known magical or elemental grid.”

Ryder leans forward, forearms braced on the table. “What was inside?”

Sophia clears her throat. “Cells. Three that we saw. Both of ours… and one holding Max Bennett.”

Ryder’s face tightens. “The Ironclaw warrior? That was him?”

I nod. “Barely. He’s not the same…”

“Is the pack safe with him?” asks Ryder.

“Absolutely,” responds Sophia. “He’ll be with Kylie, and that will soothe him. Besides, I saw improvement from when we took him out of there and got here.”

“Sophia’s right. We ran into some of the Crimson Claw. Max didn’t hesitate and he didn’t lose control, but they did something to him. Prolonged exposure to whatever energy Cain’s working with. Maybe something more.”

Sophia lifts the folder we took from the lab and places it on the table. “This was in Cain’s private cache. Genetic schematics. Biological notes. Not just hybrids but attempts to combine elemental bloodlines with synthetic augmentation. Half of its Windrider script, but corrupted. He’s trying to blend Windwoven power with something else.”

“Blood rites,” I add. “The ritualistic kind. The kind that disappeared after the War of Mists.

Ryder looks at me. “And the gate?”

I nod. “We found the threshold glyph. Etched into a control panel. Reinforced with fracture runes. He’s not just opening a door. He’s trying to tear the wall down.”

Ryder stiffens. His jaw ticks once. But he says nothing.

Sophia watches him, narrowing her eyes. “Max said something in the cell. Just before we got out.”

Ryder’s attention snaps to her. “What?”

She doesn’t flinch. “He said, ‘He sees you now.’”

Isabella goes still. Ryder looks between us like he’s calculating what to say, what to bury. The silence stretches.

I break it. “You know what he meant.”

A long beat. Then Ryder sits back, running a hand through his hair. “According to Sophia’s father, Cain worked with the regional council years ago. Quietly. Supposedly as a consultant on shifter bloodlines—tracking fertility issues, mapping behavioral patterns. But he went rogue. Started asking questions about shifter origins, about ancient rites. When the Windriders cast out one of their own, he followed her.”

Sophia’s voice is quiet, but it cuts. “What was her name?”

“Lina.”

The name lands like a fist to the chest. Sophia stiffens beside me.

“They exiled Lina before I was born,” she says slowly. “The stories say she tried to weaponize the Windwoven bond. That she wanted to bind the storm to blood, not spirit.”

“She succeeded,” Ryder says. “Briefly. Before they cast her out, she left fragments of her research behind. Cain found them. Maybe they found each other. But whatever he’s doing now… it’s not science anymore. It’s religion.”

“You should’ve told us,” I say. “Back in the beginning.”

Ryder’s gaze hardens. “You think I haven’t been fighting to keep this from spreading for years? I had nothing but rumors. Nothing actionable. Now I do, and it’s not like you Windriders were exactly forthcoming with information.”

I growl at him—he doesn’t get to speak to Sophia that way. Ryder starts to say something, but Isabella places a restraining hand on his leg. He reaches down, takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips. My brother adores his mate.

He turns back to me fully, voice sharper. “Effective immediately, you’re the lead on the Cain operation. But this isn’t just your mission, Lucas. The council’s watching. You’ve got two weeks. Bring them proof—real, undeniable evidence that Cain is behind the breach and the mutations.”

“And if I don’t?” I ask.

“Then the council takes it out of our hands. And you know what that means.”

Mass burn. Blanket sanctions. Regional lockdowns.

I nod once. “Understood.”

Sophia doesn’t look at me, but I feel her focus shift.

We leave the meeting with more questions than answers, but no time for anything soft between us. Not yet. Not with what’s coming.

Night has faded to a gray dawn when I finally make my way to the infirmary wing where Max is recovering. Kylie dozes on another infirmary bed. He’s lucid enough now to walk, to drink water. Not enough for a debrief. Not yet. He’s wrapped in a blanket, bare-chested, cuts still scabbing over across his ribs. His eyes track me as I enter. Sharp. Wary. The wolf is still there.

He nods. “Stone.”

“Max.” I grab the chair, turn it backward, and sit. “I wish I could give you time, but I don’t think we have it.” Max nods. “I need you to tell me everything you remember.”

Max’s fingers twitch against the edge of the blanket. “They kept the lights on all the time. No windows. The gas… it eats at the wolf. Pushes it down. But not all the way. Just enough that you feel him screaming but can’t help him.”

My stomach knots. “And Cain?”

Max’s jaw clenches. “He doesn’t care about us. Not the wolves. Not the bloodlines. He cares about what’s beneath.”

I lean in. “The gate?”

“He’s not just trying to open it,” Max says, voice rough. “He’s trying to feed it.”

“Feed it what?”

Max’s eyes flick to mine. “Us.”

The words sit heavy in the air between us. I press a hand against my knee to stop it from shaking. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter how,” Max rasps. “He’s not opening a door to escape. He’s summoning what’s on the other side.”

“Hasn’t he already done that with the Crimson Claw?”

Shaking his head, Max says, “Only partly. There are things in the Deep Below far worse than the Crimson Claw and they are voracious.”

I stand, heart pounding. “Rest. We’ll talk again soon.”

Max grabs my wrist as I turn away. “Don’t let her go back there,” he says, nodding toward Sophia.

It’s not a request. It’s a warning.

After I ensure Sophie is back in her room—Kylie refuses to leave Max—I find myself pacing in my room. I decide to go for a run. I think about taking Sophie, but when I stick my head in her door, she’s curled up on the bed, sound asleep. I decide to let her rest—the incident at the Cain estate was far more taxing on her than it was on me.

The trails east of Nightshade territory cut through thickets of pine and moss-choked ravines. The air is colder here. Cleaner. More primal, less human. I strip out of my clothes at the tree line and crouch, digging my fingers into the earth before I let the storm take me.

The mist hits hard. Not like before. This time, it resists. It wraps around me in fits and starts—patches of blue and gray flickering like bad wiring. Thunder rumbles, but distant. Off-key. The energy snaps at my bones, but not cleanly. Still, I fall into the storm, and when the mist clears, I land on four legs.

For three seconds, I’m whole. Then the ground lurches beneath me, and pain rips through my side. Not physical. Not even magical. Just… wrong.

My wolf snarls, stumbles, then retreats into the darkest corner of my mind. I collapse, naked and shaking, barely able to breathe. Something’s breaking in me, and I’m not convinced I’ll survive it.

The training ring is lit only by moonlight and the flickering glow spilling from the lodge windows. The gravel crunches faintly under my boots as I step closer, but she doesn’t turn. She’s too focused. I watch her move—deliberate, fierce. Every slash of her blade is clean. Sharp. Controlled. It’s the fifth time I’ve seen her run this exact drill, and every pass through, she pushes harder. Like she’s fighting something only she can see.

I stay just inside the fence, arms crossed, jaw set. I could call out. I don’t. She knows I’m here. She felt me the moment I crossed onto the field. I’m not exactly subtle when I want to be seen.

She finishes the sequence, knife tucked against her thigh, her chest rising fast. She turns, and there it is—that fire in her eyes, bright as ever. The sweat slicking her skin catches the moonlight. Her shirt clings to her torso, and for a heartbeat, all I can think about is the way she looked under me in that cabin. Wild. Honest. Mine.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, dragging the back of her arm across her forehead.

“You’re bleeding.” I nod to the thin line of red along her forearm.

She glances down. Doesn’t even flinch. “It’s nothing.”

My jaw tightens. “You’re pushing too hard.”

“Funny. I was about to say the same to you.”

I step forward. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin. Her muscles are taut. She’s strung tight, vibrating like a wire about to snap.

“You think this is a game?” I ask.

She lets out a bitter little laugh. “No. I think it’s life. One we’re both barely holding together.”

Her words hit harder than I want them to. And I hate that she’s right.

“You almost died in that lab,” I say.

“So did you.”

“I wasn’t the one who ran off alone to begin with or invoked some supernatural force.”

She grabs a towel from the bench and wipes her hands, like we’re talking about the weather. “We already had this fight.”

“Apparently not loud enough.”

The towel slips from her fingers. She turns fast, her expression sharp. “Don’t talk to me about control, Lucas. You can’t even hold your wolf together right now. And I’m supposed to sit here and listen to lectures about recklessness?”

I bite back a snarl. “You think I don’t know something’s wrong? You think I don’t feel it every damn time I try to call him and either nothing happens… or something weird?”

She steps closer, toe to toe now. “Then stop trying to control me just because you can’t control yourself.”

Silence stretches between us like a live wire. I could walk away. Should walk away. I don’t. Instead, I grab her. My hands close around her arms, firm, grounding, and I pull her closer before she can blink. Her eyes flare, but she doesn’t shove me off. She never does.

“You think I want control?” I say, voice low. “I want you safe. That’s not the same thing.”

She presses into me, chest to chest. “And you think the only way I’m safe is if I do what you say?”

“I think you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

“I do. I just don’t let it break me.”

“You’re breaking,” I bite out. “You’re just too damn proud to admit it.”

Her hands grip my shirt with a fierce intensity, yanking me toward her with an unrelenting, almost brutal force. "You don't get to tell me who I am," she spits, her voice crackling with defiance and raw challenge.

I respond with a low, dangerous growl that vibrates with barely contained fury. "Oh, really? Then maybe I'll show you."

In one swift, savage motion, I shove her back against the coarse, splintered wood of the ring's wall—not enough to hurt, but sufficient to remind her of the electric, burning power surging between us. Her breath catches, but the fire in her eyes isn’t one of fear—it’s a blazing storm of passion and barely suppressed rage. Her grip on my shirt tightens, pulling me toward her with an urgency equally fierce. I claim her mouth with a relentless intensity, and she meets me with a ferocity that suggests she’s been waiting for this collision of souls all night.

Her taste explodes on my tongue—a potent mix of sweat, salt, and raw, unrefined fury. I kiss her with an all-consuming passion, desperate to draw out the tempest that lives within her, and she responds in kind, our exchange igniting in a furious blaze, sharp and explosive, like a wildfire tearing through dry fields.

Without a moment’s hesitation, her legs coil around my waist, her ankles locking securely behind me as I lift her with determined ease. Her panting grows ragged, punctuated by fierce nips at my neck as she begs me to plunge even deeper into this maelstrom of desire. One hand anchors her weight against my body, while the other wrestles with her pants, tearing them down with a single-minded intensity, heedless of anything but the raw need pulsing between us.

"Say it," I command, my voice a guttural declaration against her flushed skin—a demand that is both a plea and a command. "Say you want me."

"I've never stopped," she gasps, her confession a wild blend of challenge and surrender.

That is all the fire I need. I yank my jeans down just enough to unleash my fully engorged cock. She’s already slick with anticipation—ripe and ready. She’s perfectly primed as I drive into her with a brutal, unyielding force—a mutual groan erupting from us, loud, unrestrained, primal.

She is exquisite in her tightness, burning hot, the sense of belonging we’ve both craved so desperately. I thrust hard, pinning her against the fence with a possessiveness that brooks no denial. She takes every inch, her nails raking into my shoulders, her lips trailing incendiary kisses along my jaw and throat, biting down in rhythm with her moans. Her voice resounds in the enclosed space, a raw, unfiltered cry that fills me with a savage satisfaction.

There is no tenderness here—only pure, unadulterated need. It is a forceful claim, an overwhelming declaration of possession, the culmination of an obsession we’ve both circled for far too long.

"Mine," I roar into the sensitive curve of her throat, each word a command laced with desperate desire.

"Always," she gasps, her voice a trembling promise of surrender and affirmation.

Her body convulses around mine in a shuddering climax, her back arching as her nails leave blazing trails down my skin. Moments later, with one final, explosive thrust, I surge over the edge, spilling deep within her as a guttural groan escapes us both.

We remain entwined in the charged silence that follows, our breaths intermingling in the heavy aftermath. I press my forehead against hers, my body trembling with the echoes of our ferocity, holding her close—unyielding, unwilling to let go. And for once, she remains wrapped in the intensity of our shared storm.

Later, I wake in her bed. The room is warm, quiet. She’s curled beside me, hair scattered across the pillow like silver thread. I could stay here. Pretend, for a few hours, that none of the rest exists.

But I can’t. The dream comes for me like fire. I bolt upright, lungs burning, sweat slicking my chest. The image still scorches behind my eyes—Sophia screaming on the other side of a gate of blinding light. Smoke, fire, the scent of death.

I climb out of bed and pull on my pants, pad barefoot down the hall to my room and out onto the balcony.

The night is chilly. Still. But it doesn’t clear my head.

“You saw it too,” Ryder says, coming to stand behind me.

I turn. He’s holding something—an old book, cracked leather, edges worn with age. He steps forward and offers it.

“Found this in the archives after Cain disappeared the first time,” he says. “Didn’t understand the markings until Sophia described what you saw.”

I open the book. There, on the inside page, is the glyph from the lab. The one carved into Cain’s walls. Etched in black ink, surrounded by Windrider runes and something older.

“The glyph,” I say, voice tight.

Ryder nods grimly. “We believed the door—the rift to the Deep Below—was sealed. We were wrong.”

I glance toward Sophia’s window. The dream slams back into me like a punch to the ribs. I don’t say it out loud. But I know. The gate Cain’s trying to open isn’t just a door. It’s a summons, and whatever he’s after, it’s answered.