Page 28 of Forbidden Mischief

ZAYNE

I can feel him.

Even before we roll into the empty parking lot behind the old gas station-turned-market, I know this is so much worse than we thought. Asher's fear pulses through me, not new—but worse now. More urgent. My chest aches like it's being hollowed out from the inside.

The SUV lurches as Dad throws it into park.

I jump out before it stops completely, shoes hitting the cracked asphalt hard.

Alice’s car is there. Driver’s side door open.

Groceries scattered across the ground like someone dropped them mid-motion.

A bag of cherries has burst, red fruit rolling out in all directions like little witnesses.

“What the fuck,” I breathe, half to myself, half to whoever’s listening.

Alice’s face drains of color. She presses a trembling hand to her mouth.

“Asher,” I say. My voice breaks on his name. I swallow hard, push past the panic, and kneel beside a jar of broken pickles. No blood. No signs of struggle... but I feel it. Like a tether pulling at my ribs. He was here. Taken from here.

Dad watches me, his eyes dark. "Zayne?"

"We need to go south," I say, already turning back toward the truck. "Now."

He doesn't question me. He shouldn’t. Not when it comes to Asher.

Alice slides in the backseat this time, pale and silent.

Her hands twist the hem of her sweater. Dad starts the engine and peels out of the lot.

My fingers twitch with the need to do something more than ride shotgun.

I close my eyes, pull in a breath, and open myself to the bond.

Magic and instinct tangled up in something stronger than either of us ever expected.

"Left," I say.

Ten minutes later: "Another left."

The roads blur. Pine trees whip past the windows, dark and thick. I guide us like a damn GPS. Every flicker of connection, every faint tug, I follow.

An hour in, Alice gasps.

Dad glances back at her, then at me. "You sure, Zayne?"

I nod. My pulse is a drumbeat. "Yes. Why?"

Alice’s voice is barely a whisper. "This is Pack Canton territory."

My stomach flips. Cold spreads down my spine.

"This is where we lived," she adds. "His dad still does."

My mouth goes dry. "Shit."

Alice looks back at us, eyes wide and glassy. “He can’t be here. His dad…We thought we were far enough away. Laid low enough. But if they find out who he really is...they’ll hurt him.”

"We ran into some of the pack not long ago. They talked shit. About me. About him being with me."

A flicker of static cracks at Dad’s fingertips, the air around him humming with restrained magic.

"They probably ran back to Billy. Told him everything. He’d be furious," she says. Then louder, with sudden panic, "We have to get to my son. Now!"

We drive without words. The air inside the cab fills with unspoken dread.

We pull off the road near an abandoned service depot, swallowed by moss and vines. Dad kills the headlights. It’s too quiet. Not even crickets chirping can be heard. Alice clutches the door handle. I reach across and touch her arm. She jumps.

"He’s gotta be okay," I whisper. A shimmer builds under my skin.

"We need to go in discreetly," Dad says, voice low. "No one can know we're here."

I nod, watching the tension coil in his shoulders as he steps in front of us.

He closes his eyes, lifting a hand. "This might tingle."

Magic stirs. The air shifts around us. Dad murmurs the veil spell, each word sharp and sure.

“ Umbrix tenebrae, audi silentium, claude vestigia. ”

The shadows bend, wrap around us like a second skin. Scent, sound, presence—masked.

Even Asher wouldn’t be able to sense us like this.

Dad leads. I follow. Alice brings up the rear.

We move through the pack lands like ghosts.

The spell clings to us, hiding our presence as we pass houses with moss-covered roofs and porch swings swaying on their own.

Children play near a creek, splashing water at each other, giggling.

A pair of women hang linens on a line between trees, chatting softly as the moon filters through the branches.

I see a man repairing the steps to a cabin, a toddler perched beside him with a toy hammer. It's jarring—so much normalcy while Asher and Alice described this place to be a cage…a prison.

We pass an old cemetery tucked between two oaks. The stones are cracked, some leaning, others totally demolished. A raven watches us from the archway like it knows we're not supposed to be here.

The houses thin out as we near the edge of the pack homes.

The land changes slowly. Grass grows taller here, untended and patchy.

The road turns into more of a dirt path, with weeds pushing up between old tire ruts.

The trees crowd closer together the farther we go, branches hanging low like they're trying to block us from moving forward.

We pass a rusted-out swing set, the chains swaying though there's no wind. A plastic toy is tipped on its side in the dirt, half-buried like it’s been there a long time. No more kids laughing, no more laundry flapping on lines. Just stillness.

And then, just beyond the last crooked fence post, we see it.

The building is decrepit, skeletal beams poking through collapsed roofing. But there’s light flickering from inside, pale and orange, like firelight. We creep closer.

I narrow my eyes, heart pounding. "What is this place?" I whisper.

Alice answers on a broken sob, "The fight pit. It's where Billy sends wolves to fight to the death... or to just be beat on to teach them a lesson."

Something hot and sharp pierces through the bond—panic, pain, exhaustion. It punches the breath from my lungs. My knees almost buckle. I double over for a second, gripping the rotted fencepost beside me like it might hold me together.

Then I hear it—shouting. Not words, just rage. Frenzied, ugly. And somewhere underneath it, the brutal, sickening rhythm of fists on flesh.

Alice stumbles back, pressing both hands to her mouth. “Please no,” she cries, her voice cracking. “Anywhere but there.”

Dad pulls her against his side, holding her tight. “He’s gonna be okay, honey,” he murmurs. “We’re going to get him out.”

“Why couldn’t he just leave us alone?” she sobs. “Leave him alone? He was happy. He was thriving.”

“Shhhhhh, honey,” Dad soothes. “We’re going to fix it.”

Her cries mix with the chaos I feel pouring through the bond. But the fear—the fear that’s been clinging to me—it’s gone.

Now, I’m pissed.

My blood boils. My magic doesn’t simmer anymore. It’s a raging inferno clawing at my insides, demanding release. I’ve never felt power like this. It pools under my skin, hungry, furious, ready .

We slip in through a broken panel. The stench hits me first—sweat, blood, fear.

At the center is the arena. Crude ropes, dark with old stains, are strung between rusted posts, forming a ring. The dirt floor inside is splattered with blood, some fresh, some old and blackened. It’s not just a fight pit—it’s a fucking slaughterhouse.

Men circle it, jeering and barking like animals. Their eyes gleam with bloodlust. Every single one of them wears that same smug sneer, the kind of expression people wear when they believe no one will stop them.

And in the middle of it all—Asher.

He’s on his knees, swaying like he might collapse. A mess of bruises and blood covers his face, one eye swollen nearly shut, jaw hanging slack. His shirt hangs in tatters, soaked with sweat and crimson, clinging to the lines of a battered chest. Trembling fists stay clenched at his sides.

But he’s still alive.

Around him, six—no, seven—wolves in human form circle like jackals. They take turns lunging in, landing punches, kicks. One grabs him by the shoulder and slams him into the dirt. Another laughs and spits on him.

I clench my jaw so tight my teeth ache.

Beyond them, more bodies lie sprawled on the dirt floor. Eight? Nine? Unconscious or worse, already taken down by the same man they’re trying to break.

Asher’s still fighting.

My pulse roars. My vision narrows.

Something inside me uncoils.

How dare they touch my man…my fucking mate!

The fury doesn’t come in waves—it explodes. Heat tears through my chest. Magic lashes out before I even realize I’ve moved. The lights flicker. The air pops and crackles like a thunderstorm. My fingers twitch and the magic answers—rushing out in a surge so violent the floor trembles beneath us.

A pulse of force tears through the air, invisible but brutal. Two of the wolves go flying, their bodies slamming into the posts with bone-snapping impact.

The shockwave shatters, the invisibility cloaking me, ripping the magic apart.

“HEY!” someone shouts, but it’s too late.

I step into the pit like death itself.

“Get away from him!” I yell.

“Who the fuck are you?” someone asks.

Another flick of my wrist. Three more drop.

A man storms out of the shadows, holding a gun, his face twisted in rage.

He’s big—broad shoulders, thick arms, tall like Asher, but that’s where the resemblance ends.

His face is rough and hard, like he’s never smiled in his life.

His eyes burn with something dark and mean, and there's a kind of madness in the way he moves, like he's barely hanging on.

I don’t know him, but I know who he is.

He’s got none of Asher’s warmth. No kindness. Just anger. Control. Like hurting people is how he feels powerful.

"You!" he snarls.

“Me.” I smirk.

A crack of light splits the room. The gun flies from Billy’s hand before he can even blink. Dad steps forward, eyes glowing, voice like thunder.

"Don’t ever point a weapon at my child."

Alice is already at Asher’s side, sobbing. Her hands flutter over his battered body. “Billy, you fucking monster ! What did you do to my son?”

Billy snarls. "He’s mine. I was fixing him. You let him get soft. He thinks he’s into men."

“He is !” she screams. "He always has been!"

Billy shakes his head, frothing at the mouth. “He can’t be. He’s in this pack. No son of mine is a dude fucker.”

Dad steps between Billy and Alice. “Well, he’s mated to my son, and you won’t ever speak of him like that. He’s my son now. Not. Yours," he roars.

Billy shifts. Fur explodes from his skin, bones cracking, body twisting into a massive black wolf. He lunges.

Alice screams.

Magic and muscle collide. My dad meets the wolf mid-air, and it’s like watching a spell go off inside a tornado.

They crash with a deafening thud, fur and magic clashing in a blur.

Spells crack and whip through the room, lighting up the shadows like lightning flashes.

Howls echo off the walls. Snarls and roars and the sharp snap of bone hit my ears like cannon blasts.

My hands are sore from casting, my magic flaring wildly as I knock down anyone stupid enough to try getting close to Asher.

Alice is crouched low over him, shielding him with her body like a lioness.

And then— CRACK.

Everything stops.

No more howling. No more spells. Just breathing. Heavy and uneven.

Dad stands tall over the huge black wolf crumpled on the ground. His chest rises and falls in harsh gulps, his shirt torn open and smeared with blood and dirt. One of his hands still glows faintly with leftover magic, flickering at the edges like an old flame.

The wolf doesn’t move.

Alice doesn’t take her eyes off Asher. Her hands are still on him, trembling.

I move across the blood-soaked floor, falling to my knees beside him. He looks at me with one swollen eye, the other hidden beneath a bruise that spreads across half his face. His gaze is raw and tired—but still him.

Still my Asher.

Dad steps over slowly and kneels beside us. He ruffles Asher’s hair gently, and Asher winces, trying to hold in a hiss of pain.

"You're safe, son," Dad says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.

"Thanks," Asher rasps, voice barely there.

Dad looks at him for a moment longer, then his eyes shift toward the lifeless body of the wolf on the ground. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I know he was your father."

Asher turns his head, just enough to see. He blinks slowly, face unreadable.

"Don’t be," he says. “He might have helped bring me into this world, but he was never anything more than that.”

I slide my arm around him, careful of his ribs. He leans into me like his body can't fight anymore.

“Let’s get you home, baby,” I whisper.

He tries to smile. It twitches at the corner of his mouth, then fades.

Alice helps me lift him. We move slow, steady.

Dad glances back toward the pit and the still-standing wolves, then lowers his voice. "We need to get out of here. Fast ."

I glance around. The wolves are tense, shoulders squared, faces hard. They’re watching us with clenched jaws and fists, like they’re one breath away from coming after us.

My chest tightens. I adjust my hold on Asher, keeping him close. My hand—my free one—starts to glow as magic flares. Fire flickers at my fingertips, small and angry.

“If even one of you takes a step toward us,” I say, loud and clear, “I’ll bring this whole place down. Then your pack. I’ll burn it to the ground—with your families inside.”

They freeze. Nobody speaks. The fire crackles like it’s daring them.

Then a voice cuts through the quiet. "Leave them."

I turn, and there’s a guy standing near the entrance. He’s built like a wall, big and solid, probably around our age. His face is calm, but his eyes say he’s seen too much. He doesn’t look angry. He just looks... tired.

He glances at Asher, something soft in his expression—regret, guilt, or maybe just understanding.

He nods once.

We move past him. He doesn’t try to stop us. His eyes stay on Asher as we leave.

I don’t know who he is, and I don’t have the energy to wonder. I’ll ask Asher later—after he’s safe. After he’s healed.

Dad leads the way, keeping the path clear.

None of us look back.

The ride home is quiet. Asher is curled up in my lap, wrapped in my jacket, warm and breathing steadily. I keep my hand on his chest, feeling each breath rise and fall like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded

They took him from me once.

They won’t again.

We’re going home.