“Hey there,” Logan said to Jamie, voice impossibly casual for the situation. “You must be Jamie. I’m Logan. We’ll do brunch later and get to know each other. I’m the cool brother, by the way.”
William’s attention snapped to the new threat, giving Sloane the opening he needed. His claws erupted, four inches of curved death. He drove them deep into William’s back, feeling them punch through muscle and scrape against ribs.
The coyote’s scream became a gurgle. Blood bubbled from his lips as he tried to turn, to fight, but Sloane’s claws had found vital organs. He ripped out the bastard’s heart. William dropped to his knees then forward, his body twitching once before going still.
Silence descended, broken only by harsh breathing. Sloane’s claws retracted, hands returning to full human shape.
“Sloane?” Jamie’s voice, small and shaking.
He turned just as Jamie launched himself forward. His mate collided with Sloane’s body, arms wrapping tight around his neck. The impact would have staggered a smaller man, but Sloane caught him easily, pulling him close. Jamie’s whole frame shook, and wetness soaked through Sloane’s shirt where Jamie had buried his face against his shoulder.
“I've got you,” Sloane murmured, one hand cradling the back of Jamie’s head while the other rubbed circles on his back. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
A sob tore from Jamie’s throat, raw and broken. His fingers clutched at Sloane’s shirt like he was afraid to let go. Each shuddering breath made him wince—those ribs would need checking, along with his throat and the various cuts decorating his knuckles.
“Shh,” Sloane soothed, pressing his lips to Jamie’s temple. The scent of fear and pain and blood made his wolf pace restlessly, wanting to hunt down anyone else who might threaten their mate. But Jamie needed comfort now, not more violence. “Just breathe. I’m here.”
Logan cleared his throat. “I’ll call Owen. Get this cleaned up officially. Gotta call Zeppelin too.” His voice carried understanding. Pack business stayed pack business when possible, but a dead body required proper channels. “You should get him checked out. Those bruises look nasty.”
Jamie’s fingers twisted in Sloane’s shirt, holding on like Sloane might disappear. Each sob felt like it was being torn from somewhere deep, years of fear and pain finally finding release.
“Breathe with me,” Sloane coached, exaggerating his own breathing so Jamie could match it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly, the sobs quieted to hiccups then to shaky breaths.
Logan had already moved to deal with the body, speaking quietly into his phone. The sheriff would make this disappear. Interfering in a mating. Harming a mate. Pack law would protect them, but right now, Sloane only cared about the man shaking in his arms.
“Let me see,” Sloane said gently, easing Jamie back enough to examine the damage. The bruises on his throat looked worse up close, perfect finger marks in purple-black. His lip was split, already swelling. More bruises were forming on his ribs where William had punched him.
“I thought he was going to kill me,” Jamie whispered, his voice raw from crying and probably from being choked. “He said he’d kill us both.”
“Never.” The word came out as a growl. Sloane’s wolf pushed at his control, wanting to resurrect William just to kill him again. “No one will ever touch you again.”
Jamie’s laugh was watery, broken. “You can’t promise that.”
“Watch me.” Sloane cupped Jamie’s face gently, thumbs brushing away tear tracks. “You’re mine to protect now. Mine to keep safe. And I take that very seriously.”
Something shifted in Jamie’s expression—understanding dawning that this wasn’t just words. This was an oath, a promise, the absolute truth. His mate would never face violence alone again.
“Take me home?” Jamie asked, voice small. “I can’t…I can’t be here right now.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up first.” Sloane guided Jamie to the kitchen, wetting a dish towel with warm water. He cleaned the blood from Jamie’s face with careful touches, checking each injury. Nothing that wouldn’t heal, but the sight of them still made his wolf snarl.
Logan appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Cleanup crew’s on the way. You should go. I’ll handle things from here.”
“Thanks,” Sloane said, meaning it. Logan nodded and disappeared again, already making more calls.
“Is this normal for you?” Jamie asked, something almost hysterical in his voice. “Dead bodies and cleanup crews and just…making problems disappear?”
“No.” Sloane tossed the bloody towel in the sink. “But protecting pack is. And you’re pack now.”
Jamie stared at him for a long moment then nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said simply. “Okay.”
Sloane found Jamie’s shoes by the door. Helped him into them when his mate’s hands shook too badly to tie the laces. Grabbed a jacket from the hook, wrapping it around Jamie’s shoulders. Small acts of care that seemed to steady them both.
Outside, Sloane’s car still idled where he’d abandoned it. He guided Jamie into the passenger seat then rounded to the driver’s side. As they pulled away from the building, Jamie reached across the console, his fingers finding Sloane’s.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
