Page 24

Chapter

Twenty-One

P ain exploded in Jim's chest, yanking him from the hazy edges of healing sleep. The soul-link with Mia—the connection that had hummed between them like shared heartbeats since their first meeting—snapped with the force of a breaking bone.

"Mia," he gasped, bolting upright on the couch. The absence where her warm presence should be felt like someone had torn out half his soul and left him bleeding. The antidote Bertram had administered swirled in his system, leaving his senses simultaneously dulled and hyperaware.

The black veins on his arm had receded but still traced faint tendrils across his skin, a reminder of how close he'd come to death.

None of that mattered now. What mattered was the sudden, terrifying absence where Mia's presence should be.

His wolf howled internally, clawing at his chest— Mate gone. Find mate. Protect mate.

"She's in trouble." The words scraped against his dry throat as he swung his legs to the floor, ignoring the wave of dizziness that followed. Without the bond, he felt untethered, like a ship torn from its anchor in a storm.

Bertram looked up from the herb-laden table, his perfect features arranged in concern. Despite his modern detective appearance—dark jeans, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the hint of stubble along his jaw—the glow of angelic energy still lingered around him.

"Jim, you're not strong enough?—"

"I don't care." Jim grabbed the nearest shirt—one of Mia's that still carried her scent of wild honey—and yanked it over his head, ignoring the protest from his injured arm.

"The link is gone. That only happens when—" He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't voice the possibility that she might be?—

No. Not thinking it. Not possible.

Jasmine appeared from the kitchen, her dark hair swept back in a practical ponytail, eyes sharp with understanding. "Matthews," she said simply, the former supernatural FBI agent immediately grasping the situation.

"Where was she going?" Beatrice asked, hands already gathering potions from her bag, her sandy hair escaping its clip as she moved with restless energy.

"To confront him." Jim's voice hardened as he shoved his feet into boots, muscle memory completing the task while his mind raced ahead.

"She thinks she can outsmart him. Use her psychology background.

" My brave, brilliant, stubborn mate, he thought desperately. Always trying to protect everyone else.

"She's smart," Jasmine pointed out, already strapping on a weapons belt that hadn't been visible moments before. "And she knows how to handle alphas."

"Matthews isn't just an alpha." Jim lurched toward the door, steadying himself against the frame as another wave of dizziness hit. The physical weakness was nothing compared to the gnawing emptiness where their bond should be. "He's something else. Something worse."

The late afternoon air hit his face as they burst outside, the scent of pine and approaching rain filling his nostrils.

Jim inhaled deeply, trying to catch Mia's scent on the breeze—that unique combination of strength and sweetness that meant home—but the lingering effects of the venom dulled his senses.

"Which way to Matthews' quarters?" he demanded, already moving toward the main path.

"Eastern edge of the territory," Bertram answered, keeping pace easily. "Guest cabins by the old boundary stones."

Jim broke into a run, each footfall sending jolts of pain through his still-healing body. The others followed, forming a protective triangle around him—Bertram with his hidden wings, Jasmine with her tactical experience, and Beatrice with her unconventional magic.

The forest blurred around them, dappled sunlight flashing between trees. Jim's heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a desperate prayer: Not her. Please, not her. Take me instead. Take anything, but not her.

The first flash hit him without warning—a vision slicing through reality like a knife through silk.

Mia on the ground. Blood pooling beneath her—too much blood. Her eyes, those beautiful eyes that held entire storms, staring at nothing. Matthews standing over her, black veins visible beneath his skin, fangs extended where no werewolf should have fangs.

"No!" The word tore from Jim's throat as he stumbled, the vision fading as quickly as it had appeared. His wolf raged against his skin, desperate to break free, to reach their mate before?—

Bertram caught his arm, steadying him. "What is it?"

"I saw—" Jim shook his head, trying to clear the image that would haunt him forever. "I saw her death. Matthews kills her."

"A vision?" Jasmine asked sharply. "Or a possibility?"

"It's real," Jim insisted, pushing forward faster despite his body's protests. "The temporal anchors—they don't just let me slip through time. They show me what's coming."

Another flash, more detailed this time:

Matthews circling Mia, her back against a massive oak. Blood trickling from a cut on her forehead, matting her dark hair. The sky darkening with approaching storm clouds. Matthews saying: "You should have accepted me as your mate. Now you'll die as you lived—alone."

Mia's response, even facing death: "Wrong. I lived loved. I die loved. Jim taught me that."

The vision shattered Jim completely. She was thinking of him, even at the end. His mate, his love, using their connection as strength even as she died.

"We have to hurry!" The words came out raw, broken.

The path narrowed as they approached the eastern boundary. Jim's wolf clawed beneath his skin, desperate to break free, to run faster than human legs could carry him. He felt the shift beginning—bones lengthening, muscles reconfiguring.

"No!" Bertram tackled him with supernatural speed, pinning him to the ground. The angel's eyes glowed with otherworldly light as he held Jim down. "You can't shift now. The venom is still in your system—it could kill you."

"I don't care!" Jim struggled against Bertram's grip, the panic rising in his chest. "I need to get to her! She's my mate, my everything—I can't exist in a world where she doesn't!"

"And what good will you be to her dead?" Bertram's voice carried that angelic resonance that cut through chaos. "She needs you alive, Jim. Think. Use what you have."

I'm already dead without her, Jim thought, but Bertram's words penetrated the panic. The temporal anchors. His curse. His gift.

"I need to slip back," he whispered, the realization crystallizing. "Just far enough to stop this before it happens."

Jasmine crouched beside them, concern etched across her features. "Time travel has rules, Jim. You know this. The paradoxes?—"

"I don't care about paradoxes!" Jim's voice cracked with desperation. "Not anymore. Not when it's Mia. I've watched her die across timelines. I won't let it happen here. Not in our timeline. Not when I just got her back."

Beatrice joined them, her hands already weaving a pattern in the air. "It's dangerous, but I can help stabilize the slip. Create an anchor point for your return."

Bertram released his hold on Jim, helping him to his feet. "You understand what you're risking? Temporal displacement, memory fragmentation?—"

"Being erased from existence," Jasmine added grimly. "If you change too much."

Jim looked at each of them—the angel, the former agent, the aspiring witch. His friends. His pack. "I've been living on borrowed time for years," he said quietly. "If I can use that time to save her, it's worth being erased."

Understanding passed between them, unspoken but profound. They had all loved, all lost. They knew the choice wasn't really a choice at all.

"How far back?" Bertram asked, practicality taking over.

Jim closed his eyes, focusing on the visions, on the soul-link that had broken. "Twenty minutes. Just before she confronted Matthews."

Beatrice began drawing symbols on the ground with a pouch of herbs from her bag, the spicy-sweet scent rising in the cool air. "I'll create a temporal loop—like a rubber band. It'll pull you back, but only for a short time."

"How short?" Jim asked, already rolling up his sleeve to expose the markings that had appeared beneath his skin when the truth potion had activated them days ago.

"Minutes. Maybe less." Beatrice looked up, her expression grave. "And Jim? You can't be seen. Not by your past self, not by Mia. The paradox would?—"

"I know." Jim nodded, the ancient tattoos beginning to glow faintly as he traced them with his fingertip. The markings burned, like embers pressed to skin. "Keep trying to reach her. If this doesn't work..."

He left the sentence unfinished. Failure wasn't an option.

Jasmine squeezed his shoulder. "Be careful. Matthews is more dangerous than we realized."

"I know that too." Jim stepped into the center of Beatrice's makeshift circle. The symbols glowed with pale blue light, responding to the energy of his temporal anchors.

Jim closed his eyes, focusing on the markings, on the time twenty minutes past. I'm coming, mo stór.

Across time itself if I have to. The world began to blur around him, reality splitting into layers of what was, what is, and what could be.

His skin burned as if being peeled away, molecule by molecule, the pain so intense his vision went white.

Then came the sickening pull, the sense of being yanked backward through reality. Time slipped around him like water, moments flowing in reverse. Fragments of conversation echoed in his ears, distorted and strange:

"...amateur move, Mia..." "...fatal mistake, Matthews..." "...son of a bitch..."

But underneath it all, he heard her—Mia's voice across time, calling his name in moments of joy, of passion, of quiet morning contentment. The sound anchored him as reality threatened to tear apart.

The world spun, gravity shifting in impossible ways as the slip pulled him through the fabric of time itself. His lungs burned, unable to draw breath in the void between moments.

With a violent jolt, Jim slammed back into reality, falling to his knees on damp earth. The forest materialized around him, familiar yet different. The light was brighter, the shadows not yet lengthened by the approaching evening. Time had rewound.

He gasped, drawing air into starved lungs, the world spinning around him as his body adjusted to the displacement.

The temporal anchors burned beneath his skin, a constant reminder that this state was temporary.

Minutes, Beatrice had said. Only minutes to change fate and save the woman who held his heart across centuries.

Through the trees ahead, two figures came into view—Mia walking away from Matthews' cabin, phone in hand, and Matthews following silently behind her, his movement unnaturally fluid.

Jim's heart slammed against his ribs. There she is. Alive. Still mine to save. This was the moment. Just before everything went wrong.

He had to move carefully. Couldn't be seen. Couldn't create a paradox.

But he could change what happened next.

He watched, muscles tensed to spring, as Matthews closed in behind Mia. Her scent reached him on the breeze—honey and storms and home—and his wolf nearly broke free. But how could he intervene without being seen? Without destroying the timeline?

The realization hit him like a physical blow—he couldn't.

Any direct intervention would create a paradox. If Matthews saw him here while the other version of himself lay recovering at Mia's cabin... the consequences would ripple beyond his control.

"Dammit," he hissed under his breath, the temporal anchors burning hotter beneath his skin as time continued to slip away. Think. She needs you to be smart, not just desperate.

He needed a different approach. He needed help.

Closing his eyes, Jim focused on the burning tattoos, on the moment fifteen minutes earlier. Another slip, further back. Hold on, mo ghrá. I'm not giving up. The world dissolved around him once more, reality fragmenting into painful shards as he tore through the fabric of time itself.

The displacement hit harder this time, his body rebelling against the second jump so close to the first. He stumbled against a tree, the rough bark scraping his palm as he fought to stay upright.

Blood trickled from his nose, the metallic taste filling his mouth—the same taste from their first kiss after his first shift, when everything had been possible.

The forest had shifted around him. Different trees, different position. The light brighter still.

And ahead, walking alone on a patrol path, was Reyes.

The third alpha candidate—tall, powerful, with deep brown skin and the natural confidence of a born leader—moved with purpose, likely checking the territory boundaries after the hybrid attack.

Jim didn't have time for subtlety. The temporal anchors burned like fire beneath his skin, warning him that his minutes were dwindling. Beatrice's rubber band was stretching to its limit.

"Reyes!" he called, stepping into the open.

The alpha whirled, instantly alert, surprise evident on his face. "Jim? How did you—" His eyes narrowed, taking in Jim's disheveled appearance, the blood trickling from his nose. "You should be recovering. What's happened?"

"No time to explain." The words came out ragged, Jim's lungs still struggling from the displacement. "Mia needs your help. Now."

"What? Where is she?"

"Matthews' cabin." Jim glanced at the sky, judging the time. "She's confronting him alone. He's going to kill her."

Skepticism flashed across Reyes' face. "How could you possibly know?—"

"Please." Jim grabbed Reyes' arm, desperation overriding protocol. "I know how this sounds. But I'm asking you—wolf to wolf—believe me. She'll be walking away from his cabin in seven minutes. He'll follow her. He'll kill her unless someone intervenes."

Something in Jim's voice, in the raw truth of his desperation, reached Reyes. The alpha studied him for a long moment, then nodded once, sharply.

"Where exactly?"

"The path east of his cabin. The one with the old oak."

Reyes turned immediately, moving with the fluid speed of an alpha wolf. "Get back to safety," he called over his shoulder. "You look like hell."

Jim watched him go, hope and fear warring in his chest. Would it be enough? Would Reyes arrive in time? The thought of trusting another alpha—another male—with Mia's safety made his wolf snarl, but there was no choice.

The temporal anchors flared with sudden, searing pain. His time was up. The rubber band was snapping back.

"Save her," Jim whispered as the world began to dissolve around him once more. "Save my heart. Save my mate. Please."

The forest, the path, everything blurred into streaks of color and light as time reclaimed him, pulling him back to his proper place. But even as reality reformed around him, one thought echoed across the temporal streams:

Mia. Always Mia. In every timeline, in every reality, always and only Mia.