His shirt is torn to pieces. Blood has dried in dark streaks down his arm, his side, across his jaw. His knuckles are raw. There’s a bruise forming under his left eye. Yet he sits perfectly still, as if none of it registers.
The silence stretches between us—not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things.
My magic still pulses irregularly, sending occasional sparks of pain through my limbs. Each time it happens, Dane’s eyes narrow slightly.
My eyelids grow heavier. The room blurs at the edges. Sleep pulls at me, insistent and dark.
I force my eyes open one more time.
He still hasn’t looked away.
Chapter 21
Dane
Istand up slowly. My body catalogs damage automatically: torn muscle in my left shoulder; three cracked ribs; deep laceration across my forearm, and one on my jaw. All of it healing already.
None of it matters.
What matters is her breathing—steady now. Even. The color returns to her face as she drifts into sleep. Her magic still sparks visibly under her skin, little flashes of violet that shouldn’t be visible to anyone but her.
I should leave her to rest. Let Lyanna finish what she started.
Instead, I find myself counting heartbeats. Hers, not mine. Tracking the rhythm until I’m sure it’s stable.
That should be enough. But it’s not.
I still see the moment she stopped fighting. Still smell what that place did to her. Still feel the weight of her body when I activated that slip coin—when her muscles went slack and I thought ...
Doesn’t matter what I thought. She’s here. She’s whole.
I force myself to turn away. Grabbing a clean shirt, I absently pull it over my head.
Each step toward the door feels wrong, like leaving a kill unfinished. But I can’t stay. The pack is waiting. Questions need answers. Posturing needs to be cut off at the neck.
Behind me, Nova shifts on the bed. A soft exhale that I shouldn’t register from this distance, but somehow cuts through everything else.
I pull the door open and step outside, leaving it cracked just enough to hear if she calls out.
The compound hits me like a wall of sound—heartbeats, breathing, whispers. All of it too loud after the silence of the cabin. The pack has gathered in loose formation, wolves positioned strategically around the clearing.
Blood scents the air. Mine. Nova’s. And something else—the sharp tang of challenge.
s steps forward, his stance rigid. “Need to talk.” Not a request. His eyes flick to the open door behind me, to the blood on my clothes. “What happened out there?”
The rest of the pack tenses. They’re waiting to see if I’ll bother to explain myself. If I’ll acknowledge their fear. Their doubt.
I should answer. Should pull rank, establish order. But my body isn’t cooperating. Instead of words, I feel my muscles coiling tight, instincts shifting from defense to offense.
My wolf rises close to the surface, wanting to meet challenge with dominance. With teeth.
I force him down. Hold Marcus’s gaze without speaking. Let the silence stretch until discomfort ripples through the gathered wolves.
This isn’t the time. Not with my hands still stained with her blood. Not with the feeling of her going limp in my arms still burned into my muscles.
The pack shifts uneasily. No one backs down. No one steps closer. They’re waiting—all of them—to see which way I’ll break.
I won’t break at all.
