Page 15

Chapter

Fourteen

M orning dew soaked through Jim's boots as he approached the gathering place, the scent of wet earth and pine heavy in his nostrils. Nervous energy thrummed around the clearing like electricity before a storm.

Five alphas remained: Matthews looking like he'd stepped from a magazine cover, the twins Viktor and Nikolai in their eerie synchronization, Reyes with his practiced diplomacy, and Jim—the outsider, the turned wolf, the one who'd left his heart with the woman now walking into the clearing.

Jim caught her scent first—wild honey, uniquely Mia—and his entire body went on high alert.

When she stepped into view, professional in her alpha role but with her hair still slightly mussed from sleep, his heart didn't just do gymnastics.

It wrote her name in cursive, composed sonnets, and generally made a fool of itself.

Her eyes found his across the clearing, and for a moment, the rest of the world dimmed. A tiny smile tugged at her lips—there and gone, but he caught it. His wolf preened.

"Down, boy," he muttered to himself. "We're supposed to be competing, not mooning."

"Talking to yourself, Miracles?" Matthews appeared at his elbow, cologne overwhelming. "First sign of madness, they say."

"Second, actually," Jim replied cheerfully. "First sign is entering a competition for a woman who could destroy you with her pinky finger."

Matthews' perfect smile tightened. "Some of us don't need to compete. We simply... acquire."

The way he looked at Mia made Jim's hands itch to rearrange his face.

Mia cleared her throat, and silence fell instantly. Jim straightened, drinking in the authority she wore like armor. God, she was magnificent.

"Today tests your ability to lead," she announced, her voice carrying easily. "Each alpha will guide three pack members through the eastern territories to retrieve a hidden artifact. Navigate challenges, protect your team, return with the prize. First team back wins."

Her gaze swept the alphas, lingering on Jim long enough to make his pulse skip.

"One critical rule." She held up a finger, and Jim found himself fixating on the elegant gesture. "Lose a team member—for any reason—and you're immediately disqualified. The best leaders bring everyone home."

Everyone home.

Jim heard the message beneath—she valued every pack member, wouldn't respect anyone who didn't.

Gerald stepped forward with the selection box. Matthews went first, choosing muscle-bound warriors. Predictable. The twins selected trackers. Reyes picked diplomats.

When Jim's turn came, he felt Mia's attention like a physical touch.

"Keira," he called.

The young woman who stepped forward looked ready to faint. New to her wolf, nervous as a butterfly in a hurricane.

He sensed Mia's surprise, her curiosity. Good.

"Curtis."

The older wolf with the pronounced limp joined them, eyebrows climbing.

"And Morgan."

The pack historian clutched her notebook like a shield. Jim caught Mia biting back a smile—she knew exactly what he was doing.

Matthews snorted. "Surrendering already, Miracles?"

"Just giving you a fighting chance," Jim winked. "Wouldn't want you crying about unfair advantages when we win."

"Big words from someone who picked the retirement home brigade," Matthews shot back.

"Hey!" Curtis protested. "I'm only sixty-two!"

"In human years," Jim stage-whispered. "In wolf years, that's like... still sixty-two. We don't age like dogs, Curtis."

Scattered laughter rippled through the crowd. Jim caught Mia covering her mouth, eyes dancing with suppressed mirth. Worth it.

As teams prepared to depart, Jim gathered his unlikely crew. Their anxiety was palpable.

"No offense," Curtis began, "but what the hell? I can barely walk a mile without my knee giving out."

"And I get stuck mid-shift," Keira added. "Sometimes for hours. It's mortifying."

"Perfect," Jim grinned. "That's exactly why I chose you."

"Because we're broken?" Morgan asked dryly.

"Because you're underestimated," Jim corrected. "Matthews thinks with his muscles. I think with this." He tapped his temple. "Also, I may have a thing for underdogs. Ask anyone."

He glanced at Mia, who was definitely not looking at him while very obviously looking at him. Their eyes met, and she mouthed silently: "Be careful."

He winked back: "Always am."

She rolled her eyes, but that tiny smile returned. His wolf did a victory lap.

When their turn came to depart, Jim set a steady pace to accommodate Curtis. No point winning if someone got hurt—Mia would never forgive him. More importantly, he'd never forgive himself.

"Three possible locations," Jim explained as they walked. "Each guarded by different supernaturals. The old oak has fae, the cabin has spirits, the river has naiads."

"How do you know?" Morgan asked.

"Mia talks in her sleep," Jim said, then quickly added at their shocked expressions, "Kidding! I eavesdropped on the Elders. They're about as creative as a math textbook."

They reached a fork after twenty minutes. Jim crouched, examining tracks. Matthews had gone left, twins split up, but Reyes's trail...

His nose caught it first. Blood. Fresh. Wrong.

"What is it?" Keira asked, her young wolf reacting to his tension.

"Trouble," Jim said quietly. "Stay alert."

They encountered sprites first—three of them, translucent and irritated, with suspicious red stains on their leafy clothes.

"Pack wolves trespass," the leader hissed. "Pay the toll or turn back."

"Blood tribute?" Jim guessed. "Who paid before us?"

The smallest sprite giggled like breaking glass. "The cold-eyed one. His wolves bled so prettily."

Matthews. Of course. Jim's jaw clenched—Mia would hate that, using pack members as currency.

"Well, we're more of a 'frequent flyer miles' kind of group," Jim said cheerfully. "Morgan?"

Morgan straightened, slipping into lecture mode. "Treaty of Willow Creek, 1879. Southern sprites cannot demand blood tribute from were-creatures in unclaimed territory?—"

"Short version," Jim interrupted gently. "We pass freely, no bleeding required."

The sprite bristled. "Ancient papers mean nothing."

"They do to her," Jim said simply, thinking of Mia's dedication to pack law. "And what matters to her, matters to me. We pass without tribute."

Something in his tone—the absolute certainty when he spoke of Mia—made the sprite step back.

"Pass then," it conceded. "Others left... permanent offerings ahead."

As they continued, Keira bounced beside him. "That was amazing! You just... told them no!"

"Revolutionary concept," Jim agreed. "Matthews would rather bleed his team than risk confrontation. Shows what he thinks they're worth."

"That's awful," Keira said.

"That's why he'll never deserve her," Jim said quietly, then louder, "Come on, let's move."

The smell hit them at the next junction—death, unmistakable and wrong.

In a clearing ahead lay one of Reyes's team members, throat torn out with surgical precision.

"Holy shit," Keira breathed.

"Stay back," Jim ordered, approaching carefully. The wound pattern was familiar, making his temporal anchors itch with recognition. "This was a werewolf kill."

"One of the teams?" Curtis asked, horrified.

"Maybe." Jim stood, pieces clicking together. This felt bigger than competition. This felt like the future he'd glimpsed—the one where Mia died.

His wolf snarled. Not happening.

"River path," he decided after Keira confirmed it smelled safest. "Move quickly."

At the river, three naiads perched on the boundary stone, beautiful and dangerous.

"A wolf with manners," the leader observed when Jim greeted them properly. "The last ones demanded rather than asked."

"I had an excellent teacher," Jim said, thinking of Mia drilling pack protocols into him. "She values respect over force."

"She?" The naiad tilted her head. "You speak of the young alpha. The one who smells of honey and storms."

Jim's expression must have given him away because the naiads laughed like babbling brooks.

"Besotted wolf," they teased. "Very well. Answer our riddle for guidance."

Jim suppressed a groan. Fucking riddles.

"What fills with voice yet never speaks, holds the past though never weak, guards the future never seen, yet breaks when truth comes between?"

Jim thought of Mia, of their past, their potential future. "A promise."

The naiads smiled. "Well answered, lovesick wolf. The oak holds what you seek. But beware—death stalks with purpose beyond your games."

They found Matthews at the oak, artifact already in hand, conspicuously alone.

"The misfit squad," he called out. "Too late, I'm afraid."

"Where's your team?" Jim asked, though he suspected the answer.

"Efficient division of labor," Matthews replied smoothly.

Bullshit. But Jim kept his expression neutral. "Race you back?"

As Matthews took off, Jim turned to his team. "Shortcut through the fae crossing. Trust me."

The fae who appeared after their ritual demanded payment—a memory, something precious.

Jim thought of Mia, of all his precious firsts with her. Those he'd never trade. Instead: "My first successful hunt."

A simpler memory, from centuries ago. The fae accepted eagerly.

They emerged near the finish just as Matthews approached from the main trail. In the final stretch, Curtis stumbled.

Without hesitation, Jim caught him, supporting his weight as they crossed together—the same moment Matthews arrived.

Mia stood at the finish, and the pride in her eyes when she saw Jim helping Curtis made every hardship worth it.

"Both teams completed the challenge," she announced. "Matthews retrieved the artifact. However?—"

Her gaze found Jim's, warm with approval. "Jim's team demonstrated exceptional leadership and unity. All members returned safely."

She turned to Matthews, steel entering her voice. "Where is your team, Alpha Matthews?"

"Securing territory," Matthews lied smoothly.

"Interesting. We've had reports of injured wolves abandoned on the trail." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "This challenge tested leadership. True leaders bring everyone home."

Everyone home. Jim heard the echo of her earlier words, felt the conviction behind them.

"After consultation with the Elders, we declare this round a tie."

As the crowd dispersed in excited chatter, Jim's team surrounded him with grateful smiles.

"Thank you," Morgan said simply. "For seeing our worth."

"Thank Mia," Jim replied. "She taught me that everyone matters."

After they left, he found himself alone with Mia for a precious moment. She approached, trying to look official but failing to hide her smile.

"The retirement home brigade?" she murmured. "Really?"

"I prefer 'experienced professionals with unique skill sets,'" Jim replied innocently. "Besides, you love underdogs."

"Do I?" She stepped closer, voice dropping. "What else do I love?"

"Terrible jokes, midnight coffee, and wolves who choose brains over brawn?" he suggested hopefully.

"Mm. What else?"

"Infuriating Irishmen who talk too much?"

"Getting warmer," she admitted, close enough now that he could feel her breath.

"Jim!" Beatrice's voice shattered the moment. "Jasmine needs you!"

Mia stepped back, professional mask sliding into place, but not before he caught her whispered, "Later."

"Promise?" he called after her.

She glanced back, eyes full of heat. "What fills with voice yet never speaks?"

A promise. His wolf howled approval.

He watched Matthews approaching her, predatory intent clear, and his good mood evaporated.

"Not while I'm breathing," he muttered.

Because Matthews might have the artifact, but Jim had something worth more: Mia's respect. Her trust. And her heart.

The dead wolf in the forest suggested darker games ahead, but Jim would face them all.

For her. Always for her.