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34

REYES

A s the full moon rises, the den hums with an energy unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

The usual restless anticipation of a night of rutting has shifted into something sharper, more focused. Tonight, we’re not just running under the stars for the thrill of it, partying at the community center and all around the den. Tonight, we’re hunting—not for prey, but for one of our own.

We’re going to get my mate.

Frankie spent the past six days scouting the settlement, moving like a ghost through Homestead’s outskirts, and she’s returned with a detailed plan. The tension in the room crackles as we gather around the den’s central table, lit by a low, flickering lantern. Frankie leans over the map spread out before us, her sharp eyes scanning the faces of our team, her jaw set with the determination that’s carried her through countless missions.

Her gaze locks on me. “Alright, listen up,” she says. “We’re not walking into this blind. Homestead’s defenses are sloppy—Patrick’s people have grown too comfortable. There’s a breach in the fence here.” She taps the map with a dirt-streaked finger. “It’s big enough for wolves in shifted form to slip through, and it’s unguarded for now. We’ll move under cover of the moon and go straight for the jail. That’s where they’re keeping Tilda.”

The room is silent except for the scratch of Frankie’s pen as she sketches out the routes. My chest tightens as I think about Tilda sitting in some dark cell, waiting for me. The thought of her alone and vulnerable makes me want to smash through every barrier between us, but I know that charging in recklessly will only get her—and all of us—killed.

“We’re not going in for a fight,” I remind her. “Minimal damage, minimal bloodshed. We’re there to get Tilda and leave. Nothing more.”

Frankie doesn’t argue, but her jaw tightens, and I make a mental note to keep her within arm’s reach. The others exchange glances, worried. They’ve all seen Frankie in battle—they know what she’s capable of.

After what happened, I don’t think she would hesitate to slaughter every person in Homestead.

“I’m coming with you,” Elijah says, breaking the silence. His voice is steady, calm, but there’s a fire in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

I meet his gaze, grateful but wary. “It’s not your fight, Elijah. You don’t have to?—”

“Don’t even try,” he cuts in, his tone firm. “Tilda’s part of the pack now. That makes it my fight too.”

“And mine,” Mateo adds, his voice quiet but resolute. “I know I’m just a beta and not a fighter…but I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Grant shifts beside him, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the table as he crosses his arms. “You’ll need someone to keep Frankie in line,” he says with a smirk, though there’s no mistaking the seriousness in his voice.

Frankie scowls, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. Her focus is locked on the map, her mind already on the mission.

“And I’m coming too,” Peaches announces, her voice lighter but no less determined. She steps forward, planting her hands on her hips as if daring anyone to object. “Tilda’s my friend. I don’t care if it’s a full moon or not—I’m not sitting this one out.”

“Peaches, you’re an omega,” Grant says, frowning. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”

“Exactly,” she shoots back without missing a beat. “Which means I know how to avoid trouble better than you do. Face it—you’ll need me.”

Grant opens his mouth to argue, but Frankie cuts him off with a sharp look. “She’s right,” Frankie says simply. “We’ll need her.”

No one argues further. They know better. Peaches stands her ground, her chin lifted, daring anyone to challenge her resolve.

Finally, Charlotte steps forward, her expression soft but determined. “I’ll go on horseback,” she says, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Tilda will need to get out of there fast, and you’re still healing. I can bring her horse.”

I shake my head, my protective instincts kicking in. “Charlotte, it’s dangerous?—”

“I don’t care,” she interrupts, her voice stronger now. “She’s one of us. She’s family. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring her home.”

The room falls silent, the weight of their words settling over us. These people—they’re more than my pack. They’re my family. And they’re willing to risk everything for Tilda, not just because she’s my mate, but because she’s become one of them.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “All of you.”

Charlotte puts a hand on my arm, her touch grounding me. “We’ll bring her home,” she says softly.

I nod, my resolve hardening. “We leave at sundown.”

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery streaks of red and orange, we gather at the perimeter fence. Shadows stretch long across the prairie, the soft hum of the full moon’s power beginning to buzz in my veins. The pack is subdued, focused, and tense. Tonight isn’t about celebration—it’s about war, albeit a quiet one.

I glance at Peaches, who stands confidently beside Charlotte. Her determination hasn’t wavered since she volunteered, but I can’t ignore the risk she’s taking. The full moon pulls harder at omegas than anyone else; their heightened senses and instincts make it difficult to resist the call of alphas. She catches me looking and flashes a defiant grin.

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice low but firm. “You’ve got enough to worry about.”

Grant, ever the skeptic, mutters under his breath. “You shouldn’t even be out here.”

Peaches whirls on him, her hands on her hips. “You’re not babysittin’ me, Grant Turner. I know how to handle myself. If anything, I’m the one keepin’ you in check.”

Grant raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a retort, but Mateo cuts in before he can say anything. “She’s right, you know,” Mateo says, his tone light but pointed. “She’s got better instincts than half of us out here. You’d do well to trust her.”

Peaches smirks, clearly pleased to have someone in her corner. “Damn straight,” she says, turning back toward the fence with a haughty tilt of her chin.

Charlotte steps up beside her, adjusting the reins of the horse she insisted on bringing. She’s quieter than usual, her determination etched into the set of her jaw and the tight line of her shoulders. She’s here for Tilda, for the pack, but I can see the weight of the decision hanging on her.

“You okay?” I ask her, keeping my voice low.

She nods without looking at me. “I’ll be fine,” she says. “Just…let’s bring her home.”

I can feel the effects of the moon pulling at me, stirring something primal in my chest. It takes all my focus to keep my instincts in check, to stay tethered to the mission when I want nothing more than to tear my way through Homestead until I find my mate. For Peaches, Grant, and Frankie–our unmated omega and alphas–it will be even harder to deny their instincts.

“We stay separated,” I remind the group. “Everyone keeps their head on straight, no matter what. If anyone feels the pull of the moon getting too strong, fall back. This isn’t the time to lose control.”

Not that I would judge. I’ve certainly done worse.

Frankie strides to the front of the group, her movements sharp and purposeful. She’s been quiet all evening, but her presence is a steadying force. She has no patience for hesitation or second-guessing; she’s already moving ahead, her focus fixed entirely on the mission.

“Positions,” Frankie says curtly, her voice cutting through the tension. “We’ll move in groups, stay low, and stay quiet. Remember, the goal is to get in and out without drawing attention. We can’t afford mistakes tonight.”

“Got it, boss,” Grant says.

The others murmur their agreement, and then all of us but Charlotte shift.

We’re doing this.

We’re bringing Tilda home tonight.

Homestead is a few hours northeast of us when we’re shifted, and I fall into the rhythm of my heartbeat as I feel Tilda getting closer. My chest still aches from my healing wound, but the recent bite on my neck apparently did most of the work of super-boosting my red blood cells.

If they hurt her, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from taking out my rage on anyone and everyone who took her from me.

I tell myself that I would be able to sense it if she was hurt, or worse, dead. I can’t let myself think that, even when my faith in our future has already been broken.

My senses heighten as the moon rises, a few wisps of cloud covering the silver disc in the purple sky. All around me, I hear my packmates, along with the steady pounding of hooves behind us as Charlotte rides at our flank. Frankie is up ahead, keeping pace with Grant, while Elijah stays close to his mate.

Now that I’m mated, I’m single-minded in my focus on Tilda. I’m sure she’s feeling the effects of the moon as well, probably sweating and writhing in the sheets. My blood heats at what we’ll do together once she’s in my arms once again, and I practically salivate at the prospect.

I’m going to bury my face between her thighs, make love to her under the moon. And once I get her home, we’re staying in my bed until the week is over.

I’m coming to get you, I think, hoping she can hear me. And once I have you, I’m never letting you go again.