Page 23 of Ranger’s Honor (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #4)

Time stalls, air turning viscous, dense with everything unspoken. Her words don’t just land—they explode, tearing through the room like shrapnel. The breath catches in my throat, sharp and punishing, and I feel my heart stutter before slamming hard into my ribs.

Her voice echoes in my ears, a haunting defiance that razors through fear and reason alike.

My chest goes tight, breath locking up like I’ve taken a punch to the ribs.

Instinct takes over—my stance readjusts subtly, muscles bunch, arms half-raising before my mind can catch up.

Around us, stillness collapses into chaos—and I can't tell if I’m bracing to hold her back or fighting the need to shield her with my own body, muscle memory screaming to act even as everything in me fractures around the reality of her choice.

My pulse spikes, jaw locking hard enough to ache. I feel it in my chest—sharp, immediate. Not fear. Something worse. The bone-deep knowledge that if we let her do this, there’s a chance we won’t get her back.

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t back down. Her spine’s straight, her jaw set, defiance burning in her eyes like wildfire.

And that terrifies me more than anything else in the room—because it means she’s already accepted the risk.

Already decided what she’s willing to sacrifice.

My heart lurches at the thought, dread unfurling sharp and fast in my gut.

Rush’s head cocks slightly, his expression unreadable, but I see the way his fingers tap once against his thigh—processing, calculating.

Gideon looks like he’s about to lunge. "No. Absolutely not."

I speak a half-second after, voice harsher than I intend. "Hell no, Kari. Don’t even..."

She raises a hand, not to silence us but to hold the space. To keep control of her own words. "You want to end this? Then let me do what you can’t. I’m the piece they didn’t plan for. That makes me the advantage."

A muscle twitches in my jaw. I see the edge of defiance in her eyes, but also resolve. Real, bone-deep resolve. She’s already made peace with the danger. That’s what guts me.

"I won’t let you be the one who dies for this," I say, quiet but hard.

She steps closer. Not a challenge. A plea. "Then help me make it worth the risk."

The plea lands with a precision I’m not ready for—a direct hit to the part of me still clinging to the belief that I can keep her safe by keeping her out.

It doesn’t sound like a dare. It sounds like faith.

Like she already knows I’ll follow her into whatever fire this becomes.

And God help me, I will. Because it’s not just bravery in her voice—it’s finality.

It’s a decision I wasn’t given a vote on.

One I understand anyway. One I’ll honor, even if it breaks something in me to do it.

The words leave her mouth with a quiet force that knocks the air right out of my lungs.

My chest constricts, my hands ball into fists at my sides.

There’s a ringing in my ears, the thud of my heartbeat louder than the silence that follows.

I see it in her—the unwavering line of her jaw, the determination burning in her eyes.

There’s no fear left. Only resolve. And it terrifies me more than anything we’ve faced so far.

I swallow against the thick knot in my throat. "You’re asking me to watch you walk into a fire and not pull you back."

She takes a slow step toward me. "No. I’m asking you to stand beside me and keep me alive."

Goddamn it. I can’t protect her from this—only stand between her and the fallout. And fuck if that’s not the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

Everyone freezes.

I feel the ground drop out beneath me. "No."

Gideon speaks over me. "Absolutely not."

She doesn’t flinch. Her voice drops to a razor's edge, calm and cutting. "You want the Reaper? You want the rest of them? I’m the best bait you’ve got… I’m the only bait still breathing."

Her spine remains straight, but there’s a storm behind her eyes now—one I’ve never seen in her before. Her hands don’t tremble. Her voice doesn’t crack. If anything, she looks more steady than the rest of us.

A long breath slips from her lips, like the words took something to give. "I’m the only unknown in their equation. The only one not trained to kill. That makes me the only one who can get close without raising alarms."

Her gaze sweeps the room, dares anyone to interrupt. My mouth opens, then closes. Because I can see it—feel it—etched into every part of her posture. She’s already decided. Already chosen the fire she’s willing to walk through.

And God help me, I can’t look away.

"You think this is a goddamn spy movie or one of your romantic suspense subplots?" Gideon snaps. "You’ll be dead before the ink dries."

I step in front of her. "We are not watching you die, Kari."

Her eyes lock on mine, and what I see there steals the breath from my lungs.

They’re not wide with fear or dulled by shock.

They’re clear—piercing—lit from within by something fierce and unshakable.

Purpose is etched into the lines around her mouth, her jaw tight with resolution.

A pulse hammers in her throat, but she doesn’t waver.

The weight of her stare hits like a punch to the chest, heavy with everything she’s already decided and all the danger she’s about to walk into.

I see the woman I’ve been trying to protect—and realize she’s the one stepping into the fire, fully aware of the burn.

Not recklessness. Not defiance. Purpose. Clarity.

"Then help me make it worth the risk," she repeats softly.

The silence that follows is sharp enough to bleed. No one speaks. Even Gideon looks rattled.

Rush nods slowly. "She’s not wrong. This might be the only move they don’t see coming."

I don’t look away from her. My fists clench so hard the bones strain against my skin, a low growl rattling in my chest as I fight the primal urge to haul her behind me and take this whole goddamn plan off the table.

Because I know now—I can’t stop her from being brave.

I can only make damn sure she doesn’t do it alone.

Even if it rips me in half to watch her step into hell with her chin high, her spine locked in defiant alignment, every inch of her radiating a quiet fury that dares the universe to try her.

Even if every cell in my body screams to drag her back.

Because if I fail her now—if I lose her—there’s no coming back from that. Not for me.

My job now isn’t to block the fire—it’s to walk through it beside her, claws out, ready to tear down the world if it means she gets to walk out the other side.