I scream back.
“LET HIM GO!”
And for one heartbeat—the darkness hesitates.
Because I’m not just human.
Not just psychic.
I’m an anchor.
And anchors don’t break.
I grab Albie’s shoulders.“You hear me?You’re not his.You’re YOURS.You’re not alone!”
His eyes flutter.A spark returns.
The ghost howls—then Owen hits him like a wrecking ball.
Claws first.
Fangs second.
A blur of fur and rage and love.
He rips through the spirit form, shattering the tether in a burst of light and unholy shrieks.
The sky screams.
The mansion cracks.
Ghosts scatter like dust in a hurricane.
Then—silence.
Albie collapses.
The fog clears.
The night breathes again.
Owen—still massive, still monstrous—staggers toward me, chest heaving.
Blood stains his claws.
One eye is swollen shut.
But he’s alive.Still standing.Still mine.
“You okay?”I rasp, my voice barely a whisper.
“Mate?”he growls.
I nod, trembling.“I’m okay.”
The sound of bones cracking fills the air, sharp and brutal.A moment later, he’s back in his human form—naked but for some tattered remnants of his clothes, golden eyes still glowing.
He pauses, watching me.Question in his gaze.Waiting.
