A massive tail breaks the surface, thrashing violently. Then another.
The gators. The ancient, armored kings of the bayou. They’ve been waiting out the shelling, hungry and agitated by the vibrations. Now, dinner has jumped right into their living room.
"Help me!" a Hunter screams, disappearing under the black water with a splash.
"Oh God, something has my leg!"
The water turns frothy and red.
Gregor hears it. He goes pale, the fight draining out of him like oil from a cracked pan.
I look back down at him. I could kill him. I could snap his neck right here. It would be easy. It would be satisfying.
But the swamp is doing the work for me.
I step off him. I transform.
The shift is smoother this time, fueled by the residual magic of the bond. I stand over him, human, naked, and terrifying.
"Get up," I grate out.
Gregor scrambles backward, crab-walking in the mud. "You... you’re demons."
"We’re the landlords," I snarl. "And your lease is up."
I grab him by the collar of his tactical vest and drag him to the very edge of the levee. I point at the canal, where his men are being pulled under one by one.
"Look," I command. "Look at what you bought with Matilde’s money."
Gregor stares at the massacre. He starts to shake. "I... I was doing God’s work."
"God don't live here," I say, shoving him away. "Go. Run into the water. Take your chances with the reptiles."
He looks at me, then at the water, then back at the swamp. He realizes he has nowhere to go. He collapses to his knees, sobbing.
I turn my back on him. He’s broken. He’s done.
I walk down the levee toward Miranda.
The Pack is gathering around her. They are in human form now—naked, bloodied, exhausted—but they are forming a protective circle. Remy is there, clutching his shoulder, grinning through the pain. Alpha LeBlanc is wiping his machetes on his jeans, looking at Miranda with a calculating respect.
She stands in the center of them, unashamed of her nudity, unbothered by the blood drying on her skin. She looks at me as I approach.
The gold in her eyes flares. The connection between us pulls taut, a steel cable vibrating with triumph.
My Mate.
I reach her. I grab her at her waist and pull her against me. She feels solid. Real. She buries her face in my neck, inhaling deeply.
"We held the line," she whispers against my skin.
"You held the line," I correct, kissing the top of her blood-matted hair. "You saved us."
The fires are dying down. The screams in the water are fading. The silence of the swamp is returning, reclaiming its territory.
It’s over. We won.
I look over Miranda’s head at the cabin. It’s a wreck—door gone, walls perforated—but it’s still standing.
