Page 19

FIFTEEN

KIERAN

K ieran's senses prickled before his conscious mind registered the threat. The wind shifted, carrying unfamiliar scents—five distinct markers, all Granite Ridge wolves. His hand shot out, grabbing Maya's wrist in mid-stride.

"Don't move," he commanded, his deep voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Maya froze, her green eyes questioning but trusting. The copper in her braid caught sunlight filtering through the canopy, creating a halo effect that made his chest tighten. His wolf howled inside him—protect mate.

"What is it?" she whispered, instinctively moving closer to him.

"Ambush." Kieran scanned the surrounding forest, mapping escape routes. They were still fifteen miles from the cave system—too far to outrun wolves. "Five of them. Granite Ridge."

The undergrowth rustled as five figures melted from the shadows, surrounding them in practiced formation. Kieran shifted Maya behind him, his body a shield between her and the approaching threat.

"Well, if it isn't the Silvercrest heir," drawled a tall, rawhide-tough shifter with a jagged scar across his nose. "Playing bodyguard to a human. Your father must be so proud."

Kieran recognized him—Torren, a Granite Ridge enforcer with a reputation for excessively violent takedowns. The other four spread out in flanking positions, cutting off escape routes.

"This doesn't concern Granite Ridge," Kieran growled, adjusting his stance for combat. He could feel the wolf inside him straining for release, clawing at his restraint.

"It does now." Torren's thin lips curled. "The High Council has taken special interest in your... companion. They've authorized us to capture her." His eyes slid to Maya, predatory and calculating. "You know, your failure to eliminate the human as ordered is quite the topic of discussion lately."

Kieran's hand moved imperceptibly toward the hunting knife strapped to his thigh. "You're not taking her anywhere."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Torren's face. "Going to fight all five of us, heir? Bold, even for you."

Maya's fingers pressed into Kieran's back, the warmth of her touch grounding him. Her scent—wildflowers and earth—filled his senses, strengthening his resolve.

"Leave while you can still walk," Kieran said, his voice deadly calm.

Torren laughed, a harsh sound. "I do enjoy a challenge."

They attacked simultaneously—a coordinated assault that spoke of practiced precision. Kieran moved with lethal efficiency, blocking the first strike from Torren and countering with a brutal uppercut that sent him staggering.

The second attacker received an elbow to the throat, dropping him momentarily. Kieran spun, catching the third with a roundhouse kick that connected with a satisfying crack of ribs.

"Kieran, behind you!" Maya's warning came just in time.

He ducked, narrowly avoiding a swinging branch aimed at his head. The odds were poor—even with his training, five against one left little room for error. Each second brought the wolves closer to Maya.

"You're outmatched, Silvercrest," Torren spat, blood trickling from his split lip. "Give us the human, and we might let you return to your father with some dignity intact."

Kieran bared his teeth, feeling his canines lengthen slightly as his wolf pushed closer to the surface. "You'll have to kill me first."

"Don't tempt me," Torren growled, circling closer.

In his peripheral vision, Kieran saw two wolves edging toward Maya.

Time slowed as calculations raced through his mind—if he shifted, he'd have the strength to match them, but Maya would be momentarily unprotected during the transformation.

If he stayed human, his combat skills might hold them for a few more minutes, but eventually the numbers would overwhelm him.

"Maya," he said without taking his eyes off Torren, "when I tell you to run, head southwest. Don't stop."

"I'm not leaving you," she hissed, the stubborn defiance that both infuriated and captivated him shining through.

"This isn't a debate," he growled back, blocking another attack and countering with a punch that sent one attacker crashing into a tree.

Four wolves remained standing, circling closer. Torren's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Your father wanted us to bring you back alive," he said, "but accidents happen in combat."

The challenge in Torren's voice ignited something primal in Kieran. He felt the shift coming—unstoppable now—as heat flooded his veins. His bones ached with the impending transformation, his muscles already rippling beneath his skin.

"RUN, MAYA!" he roared, his voice deepening as his vocal cords began to transform.

Through the haze of his transformation, Kieran saw a flash of red hair as Maya bolted between two trees. Good girl. Smart girl. His mate was running in exactly the direction he'd told her—toward the limestone caves where she might find shelter.

The shift overtook him in a violent rush.

Bones snapped and reformed, his spine elongated, and thick black fur burst from every pore.

The pain was searing but familiar—a baptism of fire he'd endured since puberty.

His heightened senses flared to life—scents exploded around him, sounds sharpened, and his vision adjusted to detect the slightest movement.

The other wolves had begun their shifts too—but Kieran had the advantage of starting first. His massive black wolf form stood taller than average, muscles bunched beneath his midnight coat. Silver-blue eyes—unchanged from his human form—locked onto his opponents.

Torren's wolf—a mottled gray with battle scars crisscrossing his muzzle—snarled a challenge. The others closed in, forming a deadly semicircle of teeth and claws.

A movement at the edge of his vision caught Kieran's attention.

His head whipped around just in time to see Maya stumble mid-stride, her body jerking unnaturally before she collapsed to the forest floor.

A tranquilizer dart protruded from her shoulder, its bright orange fletching obscenely vibrant against her olive jacket.

A figure emerged from the dense foliage—a sixth Granite Ridge operative. The bastards had a contingency plan. The shooter slung his rifle and sprinted toward Maya's crumpled form.

The sight tore through Kieran like lightning. A ferocious roar erupted from his chest—not the howl of a wolf but the primal scream of a mate seeing his other half threatened. His vision tunneled, the world narrowing to Maya's vulnerable form and the enemies between them.

MINE.

Torren lunged first, teeth aiming for Kieran's throat. But Kieran was beyond tactical thinking now. Pure instinct and fury drove him as he twisted, catching Torren's subordinate instead. Kieran's massive jaws closed around the smaller wolf's neck, crushing his windpipe with a single savage bite.

One down.

He pivoted, using momentum to slam into a second attacker.

Claws raked across Kieran's shoulder, drawing blood, but he barely felt it.

His own teeth found purchase on a foreleg, and he wrenched with such force that bone splintered.

The wolf's agonized yelp cut short as Kieran's jaws closed over his skull.

Two down.

The remaining wolves attacked simultaneously.

Kieran met their charge head-on, no longer fighting to win but to annihilate.

Every second they lived was another second someone was taking Maya from him.

He caught one wolf in mid-leap, using his superior weight to drive his opponent into the ground with crushing force.

His teeth tore through fur and flesh, ripping out the wolf's throat in a spray of crimson.

Three down.

The fourth wolf hesitated, seeing the carnage. Kieran gave him no chance to reconsider. He lunged, a black missile of muscle and fury. The wolf tried to dart away, but Kieran's teeth closed around his spine. A vicious shake, a sickening crack, and the wolf went limp.

Four down.

Only Torren remained. The gray wolf circled warily, recognizing the deadly berserker rage in Kieran's eyes. Torren was larger than his packmates, battle-hardened and cunning. He feinted left before attacking from the right, teeth sinking deep into Kieran's flank.

Pain lanced through Kieran's body as muscle tore. He twisted violently, dislodging Torren but leaving a gaping wound. They circled, blood dripping onto fallen leaves. Torren struck again, this time catching Kieran's hind leg, teeth grinding against bone.

Kieran stumbled but didn't fall. The image of Maya collapsing burned in his mind, fueling him beyond physical limitations. He didn't just need to win—he needed to end this now.

When Torren lunged again, Kieran was ready. Instead of dodging, he met the attack directly, absorbing the impact. Torren's momentum carried them both to the ground in a tangle of fur and fangs. They rolled, each seeking the killing bite, claws tearing flesh.

Kieran took more wounds—a slash across his chest, a bite on his ear—but he pressed forward relentlessly. When he finally found his opening, he struck with terrifying precision. His jaws closed around Torren's throat, his teeth sinking through fur, skin, and muscle until they met in the middle.

The light in Torren's eyes dimmed, then extinguished completely.

Five down.

Kieran staggered to his feet, blood matting his black fur. The copper scent of it filled his nostrils, but he forced himself to focus through the pain. His head swung toward where Maya had fallen.

She was gone. The shooter was gone.

The realization hit him with devastating certainty. He'd been too slow. Too focused on the immediate threat. They'd taken her—his mate, his future, the woman who'd turned his world upside down.

A sound escaped him—half snarl, half howl—as the magnitude of his failure crashed down upon him. He lurched forward, desperate to follow her scent, but his injured leg buckled beneath him. The forest spun sickeningly as blood loss took its grim toll.

Not now. Not when she needs me.