Page 26 of Ranger’s Honor (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #4)

My vision narrows—edges dimming, pulsing with every tortured heartbeat.

I blink hard, trying to focus. The Reaper moves like smoke through the haze, circling in and out of view, his form flickering like some nightmare born from the storm.

I snarl, dragging myself upright. Every muscle screams. My leg won’t hold my weight for long, but I plant it anyway, forcing the limb to lock.

Move, damn it. She’s here. She needs you.

Pain is a drumbeat now—constant, brutal, unrelenting—but I use it.

Let it fuel the rage clawing at my insides.

I bare my teeth, bracing for another hit.

The storm rages around us, wind screaming, rain slicing through the warehouse like shrapnel.

I see her silhouette at the edge of the room, bent over the laptop, still typing. Still fighting.

It’s that sight that hauls me back.

A growl builds in my chest, low and guttural, vibrating through my ribs.

I dig in, every nerve screaming, every movement a war between instinct and agony.

I shove off the floor and throw myself forward—not because I can, but because I must. For her.

For the mate who chose to stand her ground in the middle of hell.

My body’s failing, but my will hasn’t cracked.

Not yet.

The Reaper circles again. Smiling, almost. The coyote in him tastes victory.

Fuck that.

The Reaper charges, low and fast, aiming to finish it.

I twist at the last second, dragging my injured leg beneath me as I slam into him with everything I have left.

We crash into a stack of crates, wood splintering beneath our weight.

His claws rake across my flank, hot lines of fire scoring flesh, but I bite down on the pain and keep moving.

My jaws find his shoulder, teeth sinking deep until I taste blood and bone.

He howls, twisting to break free, but I clamp down harder, dragging him with me as we roll again—blood-slick, rain-soaked, locked in a fight that only ends one way.

We separate, coming apart with space between us.

I charge. We collide like storms—thunder crashing into thunder.

My teeth lock around his throat, fur and flesh between my jaws, but he drives us sideways, into the stacked crates near the wall.

Wood explodes in splinters. Steel groans under the weight of impact.

His hind legs slam into my wounded side and I go down hard, dazed.

Pain blooms, sharp and hot, an inferno ripping through my ribs. I push up—slow. Too slow. Vision doubling, limbs shaking.

He’s above me, teeth bared.

And then… snarling… another wolf… her… Kari.

She slams into him from the side—white-hot fury and lean muscle, a streak of silver slicing through the chaos.

Her snarl splits the air, savage and primal, as she drives her full weight into his ribs with unrelenting force.

Rain sheets off her back while her claws rake across his exposed flank.

I catch a glimpse of her eyes—wild, defiant, and blazing with something primal. Something terrifyingly beautiful.

The Reaper stumbles under the impact, claws scrabbling across the slick concrete. Her teeth snap inches from his jugular, and my heart lurches with a brutal mix of awe and dread. She’s in it now. All in. Grace and fury in motion, faster than I’ve ever seen her, more feral than I’ve ever imagined.

But she’s not strong enough.

With a snarl, he throws her off. She hits the wall with a sickening crack, the sound echoing through the warehouse like a death knell. Her body crumples mid-slide, momentum carrying her into a twisted heap against the wall. Limbs splayed. Fur matted with blood and rain. She doesn’t move.

The breath locks in my chest. For one gut-wrenching instant, I think she’s gone.

Lightning flashes, illuminating her in stark, gutting relief—still.

Too still. Her head lolls before her chin drops limp to her chest. Rain drums against her motionless body, pooling beneath her in a widening smear of blood and stormwater.

The sight rips through me like a blade. Everything inside me stalls—heartbeat, breath, thought—until rage surges in to fill the void.

No.

I lose all sense of strategy, all control. My control of my wolf is gone. Unleashed. Unforgiving. In my shifted state, the primitive, feral part of me only knows one thing—kill the enemy who harmed her.

I hurl myself at him with everything I have left—shoulders braced, fury boiling through every cell, a roar tearing from my chest as I slam into him like a goddamn wrecking ball. Our bodies collide, muscle to muscle, bone to bone, and I feel the shock of it down to my marrow.

He yelps, tries to twist away, but I’m already on him.

My jaws clamp down on the ragged fur at his neck, teeth tearing, the taste of blood and rain thick on my tongue.

The reek of his fear and fury twists through my nostrils like smoke from a battlefield.

I dig deeper, jaw locking in a final, brutal grip, my paws digging into the slick concrete for leverage.

My muscles tremble with effort, every fiber stretched to the edge. With a feral snarl, I bear down and twist hard, driving through the resistance until I feel the sickening give of his body breaking under mine.

Something gives.

Cartilage pops. Bone shatters.

A hot rush floods my mouth—metallic, scalding, final.

His body seizes beneath me, then goes slack. Lifeless. Done.

For a split second, the world holds its breath.

Rain hammers the roof like gunfire. My chest heaves. My limbs shake. And all I can hear is the echo of my own heartbeat, pounding in my ears like the tail end of a war drum.

Then I see her.

Still crumpled. Still too quiet.

I stagger off the Reaper’s corpse, half-running, half-dragging my injured leg as I cross the flooded concrete to reach her. Every step is agony. Not from the wounds. Not from the blood loss.

From the hollow, soul-deep dread that I’m too late.

I drop beside her, shifting as I fall, human again in a second—bare skin meeting cold concrete, slick with rain and blood. “Kari,” I choke out, voice rough and ruined. My hands are shaking as I reach for her, brushing back the blood-soaked fur. Her skin is cold. Too cold.

“No, no, baby. C’mon. Breathe. You hear me?” I cup her cheek, thumb trembling. “Breathe, dammit.”

Nothing.

Then—gods, finally—her chest jerks. A shallow breath. Another. Her eyes flutter open, then close again.

I pull her into my arms like I can protect her from everything that’s already happened. I press my forehead to hers, whispering nonsense—her name, my promises, the word mine—over and over like a prayer to whatever force didn’t let her die.

Relief crashes into me so hard it nearly knocks me flat.

Not just because she’s alive, but because something deep inside me locks into place with that realization.

This isn’t just instinct or adrenaline—it’s the bond.

Real. Immediate. Irrevocable. I haven’t fought it since the moment I marked her, and there’s no guilt in me now.

Only certainty. Bone-deep. Soul-marked. She’s mine.

And I’ll never let her face another threat alone again.

She’s alive. Bruised, bleeding, battered—but breathing, and I’m not letting her go.

She shifts as I hold her, the mist curling off her skin, revealing blood and bruises and eyes too wide.

"Dalton," she whispers.

"I’m here."

We collapse together, tangled in blood and breath, our bodies slick with rain and exhaustion. My arms wrap around her instinctively, the human in me clawing his way back through pain and adrenaline. Her skin is warm beneath the storm-chilled air, her heartbeat thundering in time with mine.

The storm howls above, a wild and furious witness to our survival, but all I hear is her breath stuttering back into rhythm and the low sound I don't realize I'm making until it shudders out of me—half growl, half prayer. We made it. Barely. But we made it.

Alive.

But only just.

Our bodies are slick with rain and exhaustion, every muscle trembling from the aftermath.

My arms wrap around her without thought, instinct taking over as my humanity in me claws his way back through the pain and the flood of adrenaline.

Her skin is warm beneath the storm-chilled air, her heartbeat thundering against mine—weak but steady.

I cradle her close, burying my face in her damp hair, breathing her in. Salt and copper. Rain and blood. Her. The scent of her—alive, fierce, mine—grounds me more than anything else ever could. But beneath the relief, guilt begins to tighten in my chest like a vise.

I failed to stop him before she got hurt.

I hesitated, miscalculated, and she paid the price.

She stepped in when I should’ve ended it—and nearly lost everything.

The thought guts me. I was supposed to protect her, and she still ended up broken in my arms. I clutch her tighter, promising myself this is the last time I ever let her bleed for me.

The storm rages on above us, a wild, furious witness to our survival, but it’s distant now. Faded. All I hear is her breath, stuttering its way back into rhythm, and the low, fractured sound that escapes my chest before I even realize it’s there—part growl, part prayer, all desperation.

We made it. Barely, but we’re still breathing. We're alive, and for now, that’s enough.