“The wolf first,” I said, pulling back. “He’s—”
“Unconscious. I know.” Rae was already looking past me.
Her gaze moved to the makeshift sled, to the pale form strapped there. Something flickered across her face—recognition, maybe. Understanding.
“How long?” she asked.
“Since the bond completed. Almost thirty hours.”
She shook her head once. “No. How long has he been feral?”
Even as she spoke, she was moving—kneeling beside him, pulling supplies from her bag with practiced efficiency.
I swallowed. “Years.”
Her mouth tightened, but her hands didn’t slow.
“Will he be okay?” I asked.
Rae didn’t look up.
“That,” she said calmly, “depends on how much of him is still willing to come back.”
She knelt beside the sled and started examining him—checking pulse, pupils, the rise and fall of his chest. Her hands moved with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before.
"He's stable," she said finally. "Vitals are weak but consistent. We need to get him to the center."
She met my eyes. "It's the best chance he has."
James stepped forward. "What about Twilson? He's not exactly going to welcome us back with open arms."
"Twilson can go to hell." Rae's voice was flat. Final. "The council is clear on mate rights. He doesn't get to interfere with a bonded pair."
"Trio," I said quietly.
Rae's eyebrows rose. "Trio?"
I held up my wrist, showing her the mark. Two arcs. "James too. When the feral attacked me, when I was touching them both—it completed. All three of us."
Rae stared at the mark. Then at James. Then back at me.
“Oh, Lumi,” she said softly. “Congratulations.”
“Does it change anything?”
“Not legally. A bonded group is a bonded group, regardless of size.” She turned back toward the helicopter, motioning for us to follow. “But Twilson’s going to have a field day. Three mates, one feral, two students at his academy? He’ll call you a liability.”
“Fuck him.”
Rae glanced at me, and something like pride flickered across her face.
“There’s my sister,” she said. “Come on. Let’s get your wolf loaded.”
Moving the feral into the helicopter was a production.
Kane helped immensely, along with James and the pilot—a grizzled man named Jim who apparently worked for Mason—while Rae directed the whole operation with calm efficiency.
They transferred the wolf onto a medical stretcher, securing his legs and muzzle with padded restraints.
