The second Ghostwind soldier came in low, trying to hamstring him. Caidrik leapt, landed over it, spun, and drove his teeth into its spine. The wolf screamed once in a high and sharp octave, and then went limp.
Blood steamed in the cold air.
The forest erupted around them.
More Ghostwind fighters poured in, five at least, maybe more, their movements tight and practiced. The Slate soldiers met them head-on. Caidrik felt the vibration of impact through the ground as bodies collided. Teeth snapped. Claws raked. Someone howled in pain, then cut off abruptly.
Solomon fought over near the tree line, surprisingly agile. The guy had taken out two Ravencalls by himself, and Caidrik had stopped watching over him. The librarian would make a good enforcer if he ever wanted to ditch the three-piece suits.
Caidrik surged forward, took the center, exactly where an Alpha belonged. A Ghostwind soldier slammed into his chest, trying to drag him down. He braced, shoved back, and ripped the wolf’s throat open in one brutal motion. Another came from behind. Caidrik felt teeth scrape fur and skin along his flank. Pain ignited inside him, sharp but controlled. He pivoted and crushed the attacker beneath his weight, locking his jaw down until the struggle stopped.
The Slate Pack held the line.
He saw one of his fighters go down under two Ghostwind wolves and didn’t think, just moved. He barreled into them, knocked one aside, and clamped onto the other’s skull, crushing until it collapsed. The remaining Ghostwind wolf fled. Caidrik let the animal go. Fear spread faster than death.
The last two Ghostwind soldiers stayed.
They circled him together, eyes flat, bodies coiled. They knew who he was. They could smell it on him, could feel the pressure of him even in wolf form. One feinted left. The other lunged right.
Caidrik took them both.
He surged forward into the feint, took the hit on his shoulder, then snapped around and caught the second wolf mid-air. They crashed together into the snow. The Ghostwind wolf clawed at his chest, teeth scraping, trying to get leverage. Caidrik dug in, his muscles burning. Then he forced the animal’s head back. He bit down hard until he felt the throat collapse. Finally, he shoved the body aside.
The last one didn’t hesitate.
It came at him full force, teeth bared, eyes wild. Caidrik met it head-on. They collided hard enough to shake the ground. They rolled, snapping and tearing, blood slick between them. The Ghostwind wolf got a bite into his shoulder. Pain cascaded through him again, deeper this time. Caidrik growled low and relentless. Then he drove forward and pinned the attacker.
He ended it fast.
Silence fell in a rush, broken only by heavy breathing and the distant sounds of fighting further down the line. The Slate Pack regrouped around him. Everyone was bloody but still standing. They were good. He let the pride settle for half a second, then pushed it aside.
The fight, at least for tonight, was finished. He lifted his head and scent-checked the air. Ravencall had retreated. Ghostwind was broken. The rest would pull back. They weren’t stupid enough to stay.
He gave a sharp signal. His pack peeled away, moving to reinforce other lines. Good. He needed to check on Nadia and make sure Bulwark hadn’t made a move. The beast hadn’t been involved with either fight.
Caidrik turned west. Where the hell was his brother?
Was Nadia safe?
The pull hit him hard the second he broke from the fight. It cut through the adrenaline, through the pain, through everything else. He ran.
The forest blurred past and he didn’t slow. Snow flew all around him. The world narrowed to distance and direction and the steady pull in his chest that told him exactly where she was.
He crossed the territory fast, leapt fallen logs, tore through brush, and ignored the sting of reopened wounds. Enforcers would have the house locked down. He knew that. He still needed to see her. To scent her. To know she was safe.
The trees thinned and the house came into view.
He slowed only when he hit the edge of the clearing, clocked the location of the enforcers, and stayed out of their way. Nearing the house, he shifted mid-stride. Then he climbed the trellis and swung into her bedroom.
She looked up from the bed, where she had both the grimoire and the notebooks spread out. “Caidrik.” Relief swept over her pretty face, and then she took in his nude body. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he said automatically, even as his shoulder throbbed.
“Is everyone okay?”
He moved into the bathroom. “Yeah. We’re all good.” Grabbing a towel, he rubbed off the blood and re-entered the room. “Whoa. How did you get your hands on the grimoire?” He gestured to the books.
Should she feel guilty? “Solomon left it here for safekeeping since he was on a mission. I think he ordered me not to touch it, but I’m a little fuzzy on that order. I’m only about halfway through it. So far, he has been pretty on point.” She tapped her bottom lip. “Though I think the whole ‘death to all’ is up to interpretation.”
