Nate grinned. Quick and bright, the kind of smile that suggested he knew exactly what they'd be doing. “Yes sir, Alpha sir.”
“Smart ass.” But I was smiling too, watching them leave, watching the way Evan's hand found Nate's as they walked out. The casual intimacy of it. The certainty. The way my son had found someone who made carrying weight feel less like drowning.
The door closed behind them, and I was alone with maps and responsibilities and the constant low-grade fear that I was making mistakes that would cost lives.
The forest pressed against my windows, patient and watchful. Always watching. Always waiting for us to slip.
I poured whiskey I wouldn't drink and tried to convince myself I was doing enough.
Michael's housesat at the edge of pack territory, close enough that I could feel it through the wards, far enough that getting there took longer than I liked. I'd been pacing my office for an hour after the attack, after I'd carried him back to his porch and made sure he could stand on his own, after I'd watched him disappear inside with blood still drying on his arm and stubborn independence in every line of his body.
The porch light was on. Good sign. The door was unlocked. Bad sign.
I knocked anyway, waited three seconds, then pushed it open because patience had never been my strong suit and I needed to see him with my own eyes.
“Michael?”
“Kitchen.”
His voice was rough. Tired in ways that had nothing to do with sleep. I followed the sound and found him sitting at the table. A cup of coffee sat in front of him, steam rising.
He looked up when I walked in, and something in his expression flickered. Surprise, maybe. Or the complicated relief that came from not wanting to be alone but not knowing how to ask for company.
“Thought you'd be asleep,” I said.
“Thought you'd be running the territory.” He gestured at the chair across from him. “Coffee's fresh if you want some.”
I didn't want coffee. I wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled for being stupid enough to go to the Moon Clearing alone at night. I wanted to wrap myself around him until I was surenothing else could touch him. I wanted things that didn't make sense and wouldn't help either of us.
I sat down instead. Tried to keep my voice level.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
Michael's jaw tightened. “I didn't ask you to come rescue me.”
“No. You just went to a sacred clearing in the middle of the night without telling anyone, got ambushed by five rogues, and almost died.” I felt my control slipping, felt the anger I'd been banking since the moment I'd sensed the wards breach rise up like bile. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I wanted to talk to my dead wife.” His voice came out sharp. Raw. “Is that a crime now? Do I need permission from the Alpha to grieve?”
“That's not what I'm saying.”
“Then what are you saying? Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you're pissed at me for having feelings in an inconvenient location.”
“I'm pissed at you for almost getting killed!” The words came out louder than I meant them. I saw Michael flinch, forced myself to pull back, to breathe. “Five rogues, Michael. Five. You took down two of them, which is pretty impressive, but if I'd been thirty seconds later...”
“You weren't.”
“But I could have been.” I leaned forward, hands flat on the table, needing him to understand. “I felt the wards breach. Felt it like someone had punched a hole through my chest. And I ran, Michael. Ran faster than I've run in years because I knew it was you, knew you were in danger, knew that if I didn't get there in time...”
I stopped. Couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't give voice to the terror that had driven me through the forest with my heart in my throat and my wolf howling for blood.
Michael was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “I didn't know you could feel that. Through the wards.”
“I can feel a lot of things through the wards.” I met his eyes, let him see the truth underneath the anger. “You could have died. In the same clearing where we burned Anna. And I would have been too late to save you.”
Something broke in Michael's expression. The stubbornness cracked, revealing the exhaustion and grief underneath.
“I just wanted to talk to her,” he said quietly. “Wanted to ask if it was okay. If moving forward meant leaving her behind.” He laughed, hollow and hurting. “Pretty stupid, right? Going to a haunted clearing to have a conversation with a ghost.”
