"You ain't an equation," I snarl.
I loom over her, pinning her to the mattress with my body weight. I trap her wrists—one hand still clutching the knife—against the pillow.
"You think you're saving me?" I demand, bringing my face down until I’m breathing her air. "You think walking into Matilde’s slaughterhouse is a kindness? If you die, Miranda, the Wolf goes mad. I will tear this parish apart until they put me down like a rabid dog. Is that the fix you want?"
She stares up at me, her violet eyes wide and swimming with tears. "You can't die for me, Jax. You're the Alpha. You have people who need you. I’m just... I’m just a spare part."
"You're my Mate!" I roar. The volume shakes the dust from the rafters. "You are the blood of Silver. You are the only thing in this world that matters."
She breaks. A sob tears out of her throat, raw and ugly. "I can't bear it. I can't watch you bleed for me. Please, Jax. Let me go."
"No."
"Please."
"Never," I vow. The word is a heavy iron lock snapping shut. "Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. You walk out that door, I walk with you. We fight together, or we die together. There is no Version B."
She cries then, her body shaking with the force of it. It kills me. It feels like someone is taking a serrated blade to my gut. I hate seeing her weak, but I’d rather have her crying in my arms than bleeding on Matilde’s altar.
I lie down, pulling her against my chest. I wrap my arms tightly around her, caging her in. I bury my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of rain and salt.
"I got you," I murmur into her ear. "I promise. I’ll be here when the sun comes up. Nobody touches you."
She clutches my shirt, her fingers digging into my skin. Eventually, the sobbing slows. Her breathing evens out. Her heart rate drops.
She sleeps.
I don't.
I wait until her weight is heavy and dead against me. Then, I carefully untangle myself. I slide out of the bed, silent as smoke.
I grab my boots. I grab the shotgun.
I check the door. I slide a third bolt home—one I installed months ago for hurricane season. Then I jam a chair under the knob.
She ain't leaving. And nothing is getting in.
I slip out the back window, dropping onto the muddy ground below the cabin.
The night is suffocating. The storm has passed, but it left behind a thick, cloying fog that clings to the water.
I move across the clearing.
"Remy," I say. I don't shout. I don't have to.
A shadow detaches itself from the cypress trees. My Beta steps into the moonlight. He looks like hell—mud-caked, eyes red-rimmed. He’s squinting, shielding his eyes against the distant glow coming from the levee.
"They turned the lights on," Remy spits. "UV floodlights. High wattage. It burns, Jax. The boys can't get within three hundred yards of the trucks without going blind."
I look toward the east. The fog is glowing a sickly, bruised purple.
"They’re blinding us before the push," I say.
"The Pack is restless," Remy warns. "They want to attack, but they can't see. And they’re still asking why. Why we’re dying for a stranger."
"She ain't a stranger," I say. "It’s time, Remy."
I turn to him. "Tell them."
