A lina

We cross Onto Whiterose land a few hours before midnight, and I’m already halfway to losing control.

I had to physically restrain myself by holding on tight to Rowan’s hand in order to avoid shifting and running to Blackburn territory myself.

Every second that Noah has been in their clutches feels like torture, and the primal instincts within me have made it difficult for me to sort between logic and vengeance.

But I had to wait. I couldn’t go after Samson on my own. Not even a wolf mother’s urge to destroy anyone who threatens her young can defeat one of the most vicious shifters in the region.

Luckily, the Greenbriars assembled quickly.

Very few questions were asked once Rowan and his father took control of the situation.

Which was shocking, actually, considering that I just dropped several bombs of information on these people.

Not just the fact that I’m his Mate, but also that we have a child together, who will become the next heir to the pack if he chooses to.

I’m still adamant that it has to be Noah’s choice. If he doesn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps, I will defend that decision just as fiercely as anything else .

For now, though, I need to make sure that my son lives long enough to be able to decide such a thing.

The world is a blur of movement with Greenbriar wolves at my flanks, Rowan running beside me, and the earth underfoot shifting from mossy woodland to damp scrub.

This shortcut through Whiterose land shaves hours off the route, and is free of sentinels thanks to the civil war brewing among them, but every minute still feels like a knife to the chest.

Noah is out there. Alone and in enemy hands.

And I swear can scent his fear even from miles away.

His scent burns like sliver in the back of my throat. Sun-warmed pine boughs, like the tree sap that clings to his hair when he climbs too high. It’s fresh, which means that he’s close.

The moment we hit the borderlands, I loosen my grip on the human side of myself. It’s the part of me that seeks reason above violence, patience above impulse, and I have no need for it right now.

I launch forward across the border, claws tearing into the earth as the world goes red.

The Blackburns are waiting for us, just like we knew they would be. They are reckless beasts, but Samson doesn’t do anything without a plan. They knew we’d come. They counted on it, in fact.

Rowan lets out a savage snarl as the dense, metallic scent of the Blackburn pack rushes toward us.

It’s the kind of sound that might make my blood run cold if I heard it in my human form and hadn’t yet repaired the Mating bond.

Now, however, it is a siren song to me, and I echo the growl with one of my own.

There are about fifty of us. Almost half the pack. The Blackburns have smaller numbers, but they fight dirtier. It’s all right, though, because we’ve prepared for that.

The first Blackburn wolf comes out of the underbrush with teeth bared, and I don’t give him a chance to make a sound. I slam into him, rip through his throat, and keep running.

There’s no time for mercy. No time for honor. No time for me to stop and process the fact that I’ve never killed before, and that I just did it for the first time without hesitation in less than ten seconds.

For right now, there’s only blood fury and the need to rescue Noah .

I fight like fire, wild and consuming. Wolves come at me in their efforts to cause Rowan to falter, but we are a well-oiled machine, and I don’t slow down.

I tear through flank and spine and muscle, painting the forest in crimson.

The bond between me and my Mate glitters like gold above all the scarlet, keeping us connected and synchronized as the others shred through the Blackburns in equal measure.

One Blackburn lunges at me from above, thinking I’m distracted when I spot a large white wolf diving for Cal’s exposed right flank.

But Rowan’s Beta makes quick work of him, and I react faster than I realized I was capable of.

I roll mid-stride, catch his throat in my jaws, and slam him to the ground.

His ribs crack under the weight of me, and he doesn’t get back up.

I don’t wait to see who lives or dies.

I don’t care.

All I care about right now is Noah.

I tear through the tree line and catch his scent again, stronger now. My paws skid on loose dirt as I veer hard left, ignoring the battle behind me. I hear snarling, howling, and Rowan’s deep roar somewhere in the chaos, but I don’t stop even as that thread between us grows taut.

Breaking away from the heat of the action and avoiding the few straggling Blackburns at the edges of the fray, I barrel toward the scent of my terrified son with a singular purpose.

The scent trail leads me to a lopsided shack, if you could call it that. It’s a rotting structure at the edge of the makeshift battlefield, covered in twisted, thorny vines, like the forest itself wanted to forget it ever existed.

There are no guards. No movement at the perimeter at all. All the chaos is behind me.

Yet, my hackles rise, a flicker of warning brushing down my spine. I don’t pause, though. Not with Noah’s scent tickling my nostrils.

I shift back mid-stride, chucking on a long flannel that I secured around my neck before shifting that’s now covered in blood, but covers enough of my naked body to suit my needs. My exposed skin prickles in the cold air.

I crash through the door like a storm .

And, with a disturbing aura of convenience, there he is.

“Noah!”

My son is curled on the floor in the far corner, arms around his knees, wide eyes shining in the darkness. A gasp rips out of me as I drop to my knees beside him.

“M-mom?”

His voice is small and cracked, but it’s most definitely him.

“Oh, God, baby—” I pull him into my arms, fingers shaking as I check him over.

His wrists are raw from rope that is no longer secured around his hands, and his arms are lightly bruised in what I imagine was the fight he tried to put up when he was snatched away from Whiterose territory.

To my relief, however, nothing looks broken.

There are no bleeding cuts or deep wounds.

He’s alive. He’s alive.

I kiss his forehead again and again as he clings to me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper to him, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I’ve got you, Noah. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“Mom, there’s blood on you.”

“I know, sweetie. I know.”

“Are you hurt?” Noah’s wide eyes, so brilliantly blue just like his father’s, gaze up at me with concern. My heart breaks a little at the thought that he’s gone through the scariest moment of his life and still has the capacity to worry about my well-being.

He really will be a good leader one day.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I assure him. “I’m not hurt at all. It’s not my blood.”

In truth, I’ll definitely be sore tomorrow, but the shifter powers that have kicked into overdrive since the mating bond snapped back into place will take care of most of the bruises quickly enough.

Noah shivers a little. I gather him into my arms, rising to my feet, heart pounding with relief…and then the door creaks open behind me. Moonlight washes into the tiny shack

I freeze.

Noah goes rigid in my arms, and a voice slithers in from the shadows .

“I was wondering how long it would take before you came tearing through the forest like a rabid bitch.”

My blood turns to ice.

I turn slowly, laying eyes upon a man who has ended so many lives with all the careless flippancy of a beast who relishes blood sport purely for the agony it causes. The man who killed my parents.

And he’s smiling.

Samson Blackburn fills the doorway like a nightmare made flesh.

He is tall, lean, and entirely too calm. Far too settled into his own bones for someone who has risen to power through chaos.

Clearly, the Blackburn Alpha hasn’t bothered to shift into his wolf form for tonight’s battle.

His black coat is spotless despite the battle raging outside, and his dark eyes are gleaming with the kind of cruelty that doesn’t need fangs to be lethal.

He looks older than his years, a result of scarring and countless healed wounds from fights he’s started over the years, but he certainly does not look weak.

No, this is a man who has only grown more dangerous with time.

He lifts a sleek, black gun and levels it straight at Noah.

“No!” I twist, clutching my son to my chest, twisting just enough to shield him with my body.

Samson tilts his head, amused. “Motherly instinct. Yours had it, too.”

“Fuck you,” I spit.

He shifts the barrel slightly. “Let’s not be hasty, gorgeous. I haven’t quite decided what to do yet. Who shall I end first? The princeling…or the unwanted queen? What will hurt the young Alpha more?”

I don't move. My breath is shallow, every muscle locked, ready to shift if I have to, but I know I won’t be fast enough. Not with a gun. Certainly not at this range.

Noah’s heartbeat pounds against my chest, rapid with terror. I can feel the slightly tremble in his shoulders, the soft whimper that he’s trying so hard to hold in. My hand cups the back of his head.

“You don’t need to hurt him,” I say. “He’s a child.”

Samson grins. “Oh, Alina Sinclair…he’s not just a child. He’s a tool. A threat. As are you.”

I inch backward, slowly putting myself between him and my son, forcing him to track me with the barrel. Unfortunately, there isn’t anywhere else for me to go in here. He’s blocking the only exit with his towering form.

“Let him go,” I grit out, voice steady despite the panic surging in my veins. “You want me and Rowan. Here I am, and I’m sure he’ll soon follow. But just let Noah go. Let him go somewhere far away where he’ll never bother you.”

Noah’s sharp intake of breath is the only protest he offers. He’s too afraid to truly understand what I’m suggesting to Samson.

The Blackburn Alpha seems to consider it.

Then, just as fast as flipping a switch, the gun snaps back to my chest.

“Fine,” he says. “You first.”

His finger tightens on the trigger, taking two steps inside the shack.

And the door explodes behind him.

A blur of dark fur and curdled fury bursts through the shattered frame, slamming into Samson like a freight train. The gun clatters across the floor. Samson hits the wall hard, cracking wood underneath. A snarl of rage rips from his throat as claws tear into his shoulder.

Rowan.

His eyes blaze like blue flame in the darkness as he pins Samson to the floor with one paw locked against his throat. Blood stains his mouth. His claws gleam. He looks absolutely feral. Beautiful and terrifying, a storm given form.

Samson looks up at the wolf on top of him and lets out a raspy, mocking laugh.

Rowan doesn’t hesitate. He slams Samson’s head into the floor hard enough to crack the boards.

But it doesn’t stop the notoriously unstoppable Alpha.

Clothing tears as Samson lets out a menacing roar and shifts beneath Rowan into his monstrous, pitch-black wolf form, giving Rowan no choice but to leap off him.

My heart seizes in my chest, and I know it’s more than just the Mating bond straining with concern over Rowan. It’s fear and adrenaline, and all my worst nightmares come to life.

I can’t lose him. I only just got him back .

I cry out wordlessly, and I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a shout of warning or a pathetic human-howl of worry, but the noise is swallowed up by the violent cacophony of the two Alphas snarling and snapping at each other.

Then, before I can get my breathing under control, Rowan pounces.