He sinks to his knees on the mat like his legs can’t hold him anymore.
“Jason’s not a dog,” he says quietly. “He’s a wolf. A shifter. My brother. And he’s out there right now, with scouts from the biggest pack on the continent breathing down his neck, ’cause he gave himself up so they wouldn’t come for you.”
My heart stops, then starts again, too fast, painful.
“You’re lying,” I say, but my voice doesn’t have any teeth. Because somewhere deep in my bones, I already know he’s not. Dog-Jason’s size, the way he moved. Human-Jason knowing my house better than he should have. The scent. It all clicked too easily, like two halves of a puzzle that were never meant to be separate.
“I wish I was,” Beau whispers. “But I’ve already lost too much. I’m not losin’ him, too. Not when he finally found someone who makes him wanna be better.”
“Why me?” I breathe. “Why my house? Why my dog? Why any of this?”
“Because you smelled like somethin’ we never had,” he says simply. “Safety. Home. Like… hope.” His voice cracks on the last word.
It hits me square in the chest.
“Violet,” he says, and the plea in my name almost hurts. “You’re smart. You’re brave. You survived hell and still make jokes. You’re the only one he’ll run toward instead of away from. If we move you now, we break the trail. We buy him time to get free. We give him a reason not to just… stand there and let ’em kill him.”
My legs wobble.
“He turned himself in?” I whisper. “For me?”
“Yeah.” Beau’s voice splinters. “’Cause he thought if he ran, they’d come here and grab you instead. So he gave them a better target.”
My stomach flips inside out.
“I need to see you,” I say.
He hesitates, then his knees scuff on the floor as he shuffles closer.
“’Course,” he murmurs. “Do your worst.”
I reach out, hands shaking, and find his face. Stubble scratches my fingertips. His skin is hot and damp with sweat and tears. His jaw trembles under my palm. I trace the line of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the tiny scar on his forehead.
He holds perfectly still.
“Tell me everything,” I say.
And he does.
It comes out in choked, broken bursts—twin alphas, exile, the botched deal, Froggy’s betrayal, the bounty on Jason’s head, last night when Jason slipped out of my bed to run straight toward the wolves who want him dead.
By the time he gets to the part where Jason handed Beau the collar and told him to look after me, my stomach is in full knots.
At some point, Beau’s words drift toward the kitchen. Fridge hinges squeak. A yogurt lid peels back.
“Are you eating?” I demand.
He freezes mid-mouthful.
“Cryin’ makes me hungry,” he says miserably.
“Oh my god.” I lunge toward the sound of the spoon scraping against the plastic of the yogurt tub and snatch it away. “Put the food down.”
He whimpers.
“Shift,” I say.
He swallows. “What?”
