My wolf surges forward, demanding I claim her completely. Mark her. Make her undeniably mine. The urge to sink my teeth into the soft juncture where her neck meets her shoulder becomes nearly overwhelming.
“Do it,” she whispers against my ear, her breath coming in short pants as I drive into her. Her scent changes, growing headier with arousal, honey and wildflowers mixed with the raw musk of sex. “Mark me. Make me yours.”
I growl, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest as I drive deeper, harder. Sweat slicks between our bodies, her skin glowing with that subtle fae luminescence that intensifies with her passion.
“Are you sure you know what you’re asking?” I manage to rasp out, even as my canines lengthen, my wolf pushing forward.
Her eyes flash, deep forest green meeting my gaze. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”
Through the bond, I feel her pleasure building, coiling tighter with each thrust. My own release builds in response, our shared sensation spiraling higher until we’re racing toward the same edge.
“Mine,” I growl, unable to hold back any longer. Her inner muscles clench around me as her climax begins, the sensation so intense it nearly pushes me over the edge.
I dip my head to her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent. My teeth graze her skin, testing, asking permission one final time.
“Yes,” she gasps, her entire body tensing beneath me as the wave of pleasure is almost crashing into her.
I feel it building between us—that perfect, shattering release. My wolf surges forward again, and this time I can’t hold him back. I feel my fangs descend, the primal need to mark her, to claim her as mine forever, rising to the surface as we hurtle toward ecstasy together.
Suddenly, the wards shatter with a deafening crack that shatters the perfect moment between us. A violent surge of corrupted magic rips through the protection layers, tearing apart Nyxiana’s impenetrable shields like they’re made of paper. The magical backlash hurls Lyanna and me apart, throwing us to opposite sides of the bed.
I recognize the magical signature instantly—Faelan. That distinctive corruption, that copper-tainted power I felt during the contamination crisis. It’s unmistakable.
The cabin door explodes inward in a shower of splinters before I can even reach for Lyanna. Four fae guards in the emerald and gold of Gleann na Sidhe burst through the opening, moving with military precision. Not a hasty grab—a planned extraction.
“Lyanna!” I roar, lunging across the bed toward her. My fingers almost brush her outstretched hand when something wraps around my body, yanking me backward with brutal force.
Spelled restraints slam me against the wall hard enough to crack the logs—silver-blue magical bonds that wrap around my wrists, ankles, and throat like living chains. The magic burns where it touches skin, specifically designed to hold shifters. I’ve seen these in Guardian archives: fae capture bonds, keyed to wolf physiology, tightening with every struggle. I strain against them anyway, muscles bulging, veins standing out on my neck.
“Callum!” Lyanna screams as another guard seizes her arm, dragging her naked body from the bed. The vulnerability in her voice tears through me worse than any blade.
The half-formed connection between us screams in agony—a raw, primal pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt. We were seconds away from completion, from being permanently bound. The timing isn’t coincidental.
My vision blurs with rage as I struggle against the restraints. Every instinct, every cell in my body demands I protect her, keep her safe. But the spelled bonds hold firm despite my desperate strength.
Through the shattered doorway, I catch a glimpse of Faelan’s face—Phil Dawson’s face, the glamour he wore when he infiltrated our pack. That satisfied smile burns into my memory before he vanishes. He wanted us broken at exactly this moment. Before we could complete what we started.
“No!” I roar as the guards drag Lyanna toward a shimmering portal forming in the center of my cabin. She fights with everything she has, twisting and clawing at her captors, but they’re too strong, too prepared.
“CALLUM!” Lyanna screams my name as they reach the threshold of the portal, her naked form struggling against their grip, our incomplete bond a physical agony between us.
My wolf surges forward with a roar that shreds through the man—and something else rises with him. That other part of my blood, the angel heritage I’ve spent years suppressing, floods through me in a blinding rush. The spelled restraints shatter. The bonds were designed for shifters—they didn’t account for what happens when wolf fury and angelic power combine in a mate’s defense.
I lunge for the portal in a desperate dive, but I’m too late. The guards are organized, methodical—they shove Lyanna throughthe shimmering vortex, her body disappearing with a final, terrified scream that cuts straight through my soul.
“LYANNA!” I roar, my fingers inches from the portal’s edge as it snaps closed with a final flare of corrupt magic. The collapse sends a shockwave through the cabin—furniture splinters, the door frame cracks, half the wall nearest the portal blows outward in a spray of wood and debris.
My momentum carries me through the destruction, body crashing into rubble where the portal stood seconds before.
The bond between us—that half-formed, raw connection—screams in agony. It’s like someone has taken a jagged blade and sliced through my very core, leaving the wound edges burning and exposed. My wolf howls in rage and despair.
“No! NO!” I claw at the wreckage, at the scorched floorboards where the portal seared through reality. The pain is blinding, unimaginable—worse than any injury I’ve ever experienced. My fingers dig into splintered wood, nails tearing, blood welling from a dozen cuts I don’t feel.
Dane and Ben burst through the shattered doorway with pack warriors close behind, weapons drawn and ready for a fight that’s already over. They’re mere seconds too late—there’s nothing left to fight, no enemy to engage.
“Where is she?” Dane demands, scanning the ruined cabin. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene—my naked, blood-streaked form, the fading magical residue, the complete absence of Lyanna.
I can’t answer him. Can’t form words. The severed connection is physical torture, raw magical nerves screaming across dimensions where she should be. My hands keep clawing at the scorched floorboards, tearing at splintered wood, digging for a portal that no longer exists. Blood pools beneath my fingers. I don’t stop.
