Page 20

Kieran forced himself forward on three legs, his determination overriding the pain signals bombarding his brain. Maya's scent trail led northeast—away from the caves, away from the cabin, away from safety.

Blood dripped from his matted fur, leaving a crimson trail behind him as he staggered through the underbrush.

Each step sent fire through his torn muscles, but he pushed on, her scent driving him forward.

Her scent lingered on the forest floor—wildflowers and vanilla mixed with the chemical tang of the tranquilizer and the bitter trace of fear.

The combination made his wolf whimper with rage and desperation.

Five more steps. Just five more.

He collapsed after three, his massive frame crumpling beneath him. His consciousness wavered, the forest dimming around the edges. Kieran fought the encroaching darkness with everything he had, clawing at awareness.

Find her. Get up. FIND HER.

His wolf's strength was fading, the natural healing abilities of his kind overwhelmed by the severity of his wounds.

The shift back to human form began involuntarily—his body's last-ditch attempt at survival.

Bones cracked and realigned, fur receded, and vulnerable human skin replaced his protective coat.

The transformation, usually fluid and controlled, came in agonizing spasms.

Blood smeared across his bare skin as Kieran tried one last time to rise, his human arms trembling beneath him. The face of his mate—her green eyes flashing with that stubborn independence and her copper-red hair catching sunlight—floated before his fading vision.

"Maya," he whispered, the word barely audible as darkness claimed him.

Hours passed in a blur of pain and fragmented consciousness.

"Kieran! Fuck—KIERAN!"

Malcolm's voice cut through the haze. His brother's scent—pine and leather—reached him before the sound of rushing footsteps.

"What happened?" Malcolm's hands were on him, assessing the damage with quick, practiced movements. "Where's Maya?"

Kieran forced his eyes open, finding his brother's face swimming above him. "Granite Ridge... ambush." Each word felt like gravel in his throat. "They took her. Tranquilizer."

Malcolm cursed, the vulgarity creative and extensive. "You're bleeding out. I need to get you somewhere safe."

"No." Kieran grabbed his brother's wrist with surprising strength. "Find her first."

"No. You're no good to her like this or dead," Malcolm's voice was iron beneath the concern.

With efficient movements, Malcolm stripped off his jacket and shirt, tearing the latter into makeshift bandages for the worst wounds. The pressure sent fresh agony shooting through Kieran's body.

"The High Council," Kieran managed through gritted teeth. "They know about her dormant shifter genes."

Malcolm's hands stilled momentarily. "How?"

"Don't know. But that's why they want her." Darkness threatened again, and Kieran fought it back. "Northeast. They went northeast."

With practiced ease, Malcolm hoisted Kieran over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Despite being the younger sibling, Malcolm had always been nearly as strong.

"There's a safehouse twenty minutes from here," Malcolm said, already moving through the forest with determined strides. "Lena will meet us there."

The journey passed in painful jolts and half-consciousness. Kieran's thoughts circled endlessly around Maya—her smile, her scent, her stubborn refusal to be intimidated by him. The memory of her body against his, that electric moment when everything had changed between them in the forest.

They're not taking her from me.

The safehouse was a low, ramshackle cabin cleverly disguised to look abandoned. Malcolm kicked the door open rather than put Kieran down.

"Goddess above," Lena gasped, rushing forward. Her small hands guided Malcolm to lay Kieran on a table covered with clean sheets. "What attacked him?"

"Granite Ridge wolves," Malcolm explained tersely. "Five of them, from the look of the blood on him."

"Six," Kieran corrected, his voice a rasp. "Sniper got Maya. Tranquilized her."

Lena's violet eyes widened, but her hands remained steady as she began cleaning his wounds. The sting of antiseptic barely registered compared to the burning in his chest at the thought of Maya in enemy hands.

"You killed five Granite Ridge wolves?" Malcolm whistled low. "Father would be impressed."

"I don't give a fuck what father thinks right now." Kieran's words came with sudden clarity, his eyes flashing. "Maya is all that matters."

Lena worked methodically, stitching the deepest gashes across his chest, shoulder, and leg with practiced precision. Her fingers, cool against his feverish skin, pressed healing salve into the wounds.

"Lena." Kieran caught her wrist, his grip firm despite his weakened state. "Send runners. I need eyes in Granite Ridge territory now. Every rebel sympathizer, every informant we have."

She nodded, understanding the urgency without needing explanation. "They'll want to know why."

"Because I fucking said so." His voice dropped lower, the timbre vibrating with authority that made both Malcolm and Lena straighten instinctively. "Because they've taken what's mine."

"She's your fated mate." It wasn't a question. Lena's intuition had always been uncanny.

"Yes." The admission cost him nothing but filled him with renewed purpose. "And if they harm her, I will tear the entire Granite Ridge pack apart with my bare hands."

Malcolm moved to the window, scanning the forest beyond. "The High Council must want her dormant genes for something specific. This isn't just about silencing a human witness anymore."

"We're in a race now." Kieran pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring Lena's protests. "They know what she is, maybe even what she could become."