Page 11 of Ranger’s Honor (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #4)

DALTON

T he nightmare grabs hold before I know I’ve slipped under, dragging me down with the sound of my own ragged breath and the sharp, metallic tang of fear in my mouth.

Screams echo—familiar and torn, weaving into the low thrum of distant chopper blades and the dry staccato of rifle fire.

The sky is a swirling inferno of orange and ash, a palette of hell lit by the detonation of an IED too close to the compound.

Heat scorches my skin, blistering and choking, even as I force myself forward.

I'm back in Kandahar, where the stink of scorched blood, diesel, and burned canvas makes the back of my throat clench.

Ben’s broken body drags behind me, his boots leaving twin trails of red on sunbaked gravel. Bullets cut through the smoke like angry wasps, tearing past with sonic screams. My legs are lead. My arms are jelly. But I keep crawling, keep pulling, because to stop is to die.

Only now, I see a flash of something else in the haze—dark curls matted with blood.

A figure lying just beyond the reach of my hand.

She’s face down, unmoving, surrounded by the twisted wreckage of what used to be a shelter wall.

I drop the body I’m hauling and sprint toward her, lungs seizing. Not Ben. Not Marshall.

Kari.

My pulse spikes, chest tightening like I’ve taken a direct hit. The world stops, suspended in a single beat of terror and recognition.

Her mouth is slack. Her eyes wide. But it’s not fear in them—it’s finality.

The world contracts to a pinpoint of anguish as I roar her name, but the sound distorts, warping around me until it becomes someone else’s scream entirely.

The horizon splits apart. Blood pools under her.

A shadow falls across her body, and I lunge—but it’s too late.

The shadow swallows her whole, leaving nothing but fire in its wake.

I lunge forward, roaring her name, but the dream rips her away before I can reach her. Screams. Fire. Blood. Not hers, but it could’ve been. I lunge for a shadow that vanishes the second I reach it, and then...

I jolt upright, breath coming hard, body damp with sweat. My heart pounds like I haven’t left the fight behind. My wolf’s already awake, tense under my skin, restless and alert in the wake of a dream that still lingers like smoke.

But then—her scent. Warm and steady. It wraps around me, anchoring me in something real. The pressure in my chest eases. My pulse slows. My wolf stills, ears flicking forward, recognizing safety in her nearness.

The world shrinks to the scent still clinging to the pillow beside mine—soft heat, wild earth, a breath of citrus. Just that. Just her. And suddenly, I know where I am again. Not in the wreckage of memory, but here. Now. In her house. Guarding her bed from the shadows I can’t quite outrun.

A memory surfaces—Kari standing barefoot in the doorway that first night, face fierce and chin high, calling me on my bullshit before I could bury it.

That flash of defiance, that spark—I clung to it when I shouldn’t have.

I still do. Not because it soothed me, but because it cut through everything. She cut through everything.

It’s not the fight that defines me—it’s the woman who refuses to let me hide from it.

I breathe in her scent again. It permeates her home. Warm skin. Honeyed citrus. Earth and something more, something that only lives as a part of her. It’s enough to hold me steady. To keep the past from dragging me under.

Kari.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and scrub a hand down my face. The ache in my side reminds me I made it back in one piece. Barely. My ribs protest as I stand, but I don’t stop moving. I can’t. The house is too quiet. My nerves are still too frayed.

I pad through the hall barefoot, the floor cool beneath my feet. Every creak of the old wood makes my muscles coil tighter. I pass her room—door cracked open. She’s curled on her side, hand tucked under her cheek. Peaceful.

I don’t deserve that view. Not when all I can feel is the sting of how close I came to losing her. Guilt claws at my insides, sharp and relentless, dragging up memories I’d rather keep buried. That dream wasn’t just a warning—it was a reckoning.

Instead of lingering, I move down the stairs to the front door. Lock—secured. Deadbolt—clicked. I check the window latches next. Then the back door. Then the perimeter via the security panel I installed two days ago.

It still doesn’t feel like enough—not when every instinct screams that the threat isn’t over, that shadows don’t always wait for dawn. Not when the image of Kari bleeding out in my dream still clings to the edge of my vision.

By the time I make it to the kitchen, an encrypted text from Gage appears.

Target IDs clean. One potential ghost tag—warehouse cameras burned at 0321. Could be your guy. Working on trace. Sit tight.

Sit tight. Yeah, sure.

My jaw clenches. I respond with a quick tap and drop the phone face down on the counter.

He was there. I know it.

I should wake Gideon. Tell him. But it’s not time yet.

Movement catches the edge of my vision. Kari.

She steps into the kitchen, wrapped in a long T-shirt that skims her thighs, the faded cotton molded to her like a second skin—worn, thin, and criminally soft-looking.

It clings to her curves with every subtle change of her position, dragging my gaze lower than it should go.

One bare hip peeks out where the shirt has managed to work its way up, the sight of it leading my mind into dangerous territory.

Her legs are bare, long, toned, and tempting as sin.

Her hair’s a tousled halo, wild from sleep, catching faint strands of gold in the low light.

There’s a pillow-crease on one cheek, her mouth still kiss bruised from the night before.

But it’s her eyes—stormy and sharp beneath those heavy lashes—that cut straight through me. She doesn’t look confused or groggy.

She looks like a woman who’s just caught her mate trying to bury a secret in silence in the backyard.

And I feel it—the way my chest tightens, the way heat coils low and hot just from the sight of her like that. Wild and soft. Sleep-mussed and barefoot, she watches me with laser precision—rumpled but sharp-eyed and alert.

She doesn’t have to say a word. My pulse is already tripping.

It shouldn’t hit me this hard, but it does.

A visceral punch straight to the chest. Everything about her, from that sleepy blink to the quiet challenge in her posture, rattles the steel cage I’ve welded around myself and threatens to blow it wide open.

"You check the locks or patrol the entire coastline?"

I don’t answer. Her gaze sharpens.

"You’re not just spooked," she says quietly. "You’re hiding something."

I sigh and brace both hands on the counter. "Not now, Kari."

"If not now, when? You almost didn’t come back. Don’t think I didn’t feel it. You were on the edge."

My control frays. "Drop it."

She takes a step closer. "You’re not just checking locks. You’re hunting ghosts."

Another step.

"I know about the mark."

My head jerks toward her. "What mark?"

"The one Gideon told me about. The Reaper’s signature. That’s what was left behind at Sookie’s place, right? A message. A challenge."

I slam my hand against the wall, the impact jarring up through my arm like a bolt of electricity.

The drywall shudders, coughing up a puff of white dust as if the house itself flinches from the blow.

The sound echoes, too loud in the quiet, a crack like bone under pressure.

The air between us turns electric, charged and humming, as if every molecule in the room braces for what might come next.

My knuckles sting, but it's nothing compared to the ache in my chest. a hollow echo cracking through the silence as a fine spray of white dust floats down. My chest heaves. The tension doesn’t bleed off—it tightens, coils inside me like barbed wire. "He was there, Kari."

Silence detonates between us, like the air itself holds its breath. The hum of the fridge seems louder now, the tick of the kitchen clock deafening. My ears ring with it—like gunfire still echoing through bone. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until my lungs scream.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back down. She just looks at me, eyes wide but steady.

"Then say it," she breathes. "Say it out loud."

"It wasn’t random," I grind out. "The warehouse, the timing—it was him. His scent was there. I didn’t see his face, but I know. My wolf knows."

Kari exhales slowly. "You were going to tell me when? After he left another message in blood?"

"How do you know about that?" I shake my head. "No. Wait. Let me guess, it was in Sookie's notes."

Kari nods.

I drag both hands through my hair, pacing the kitchen like I’m too big for the space. Like I can outpace the truth that’s been tailing me since the warehouse attack.

"I can’t protect you if you’re flinching at shadows," I snap.

"I’m not the one flinching, Dalton."

The words hit harder than they should. Because they’re true.

"You think you’re protecting me by keeping me in the dark?" she demands. "That’s not how this works—not with us."

The tension simmers, tight and hot, and I stop pretending I can stand still.

I close the distance in two strides, catch her face in my hands, and kiss her hard. It’s not tender—it’s a brand, sealing something between us neither of us is ready to name. When I break away, my mouth still a breath from hers, my voice is low and steady.

“I won’t be far. Just checking the perimeter.”

Her eyes stay on me, and I can feel the pull to stay, but the need to protect her is louder. I turn for the back door, knowing she’s still watching.

Outside, I strip off the sweatsuit. The Gulf air is thick, heavy, clinging to my skin and carrying the ghost of her scent. My chest tightens, not with doubt but with purpose. Every step I take out here is one more layer of safety between her and whatever’s circling us.

I close my eyes and let the shift hit like a controlled detonation—mist rising from the ground, curling around me, catching moonlight in violet and steel. Thunder rumbles in my gut, the charge building until the human edges burn away and instinct takes over.

I drop to all fours. The world sharpens—trees stretch higher, the air splits into layers of scent and sound. Her scent is the anchor, sweet and sharp, threaded through the night air like a living brand.

I run the perimeter in a hard, fast loop, muscles driving, paws pounding into the earth.

Every breath pulls in intel—wildlife scattered, no human scent fresh enough to worry me.

But I keep moving, widening my circles. I rake my claws through tree bark at the property edge, marking it, making sure anything with a pulse knows this ground is claimed. Mine.

The night echoes me—each growl I loose is answered by the wind shoving through the trees.

Overhead, the storm builds, lightning cracking open the dark clouds, spilling brief flashes of silver and shadow.

Thunder rolls through the night, syncing with the low rumble in my chest, amplifying the warning that carries across the land. Stay back.

Only when I’ve pushed the perimeter far enough that no threat could slip close without crossing my scent do I ease back toward the house. The glow from the kitchen window cuts through the dark, pulling me in.

She’s still there. Still safe. And every mark I’ve laid down tonight makes damn sure it stays that way.