“I’ll keep her safe with my life,” Dominic swears, seemingly reassuring me too, before he kneels in front of Astrid and offers his hand. “Want to ride on Luke’s back?”
At that, Astrid hesitates, but the idea lights her eyes up a bit more, and she nods.
With ease, Dominic gives her a caring smile before scooping her up and placing her on Luke’s back, showing her where to hold on. Then, he keeps pacing, watching her closely as they walk towards the trees in the opposite direction.
My stomach is in knots as she’s taken away, but I silently remind myself that she’ll be far safer with the two of them than anywhere near this fight.
I force myself to stand tall and to give her a small wave of reassurance when Astrid glances back at me before the trees swallow them up.
The very second she’s out of sight, my whole body goes numb as the snarling and aggressive snapping yanks my attention towards it. Fear and panic swell inside me, along with the sickening awareness that this confrontation can go very wrong, very quickly.
Pulling apart, Caleb circles Dawson in his massive form, darker in places from blood wetting his fur. His posture is lethal yet protective, teeth bared as he growls.
Dawson stalks opposite him while they size each other up, looking bigger than I would’ve imagined with his sandy-coloured hair. The sight is enough to prove why we were alwaystold to never get too close to Wraith Peak when we were young. Monsters like him hid in the darkness.
Their strides are slow but deliberate, as they eye up the best places to attack, the sensitive spots that spill the most blood.
I hardly realise I’m shaking all the while I watch, bracing myself for the impending impact.
Caleb is strong and far more determined than most his age. He may be a bit smaller in his shifted form, but he’s fast. He always has been.
Still, Dawson is an Alpha of his own territory, left unchecked for years and years. He’s swollen with pride and desperate ambition, willing to wage war if it means getting the upper hand by taking Astrid and me. He sees us as prizes. Possessions.
But Caleb has something he doesn’t: a mate bond. A reason to fight that isn’t inherently self-serving.
I cling to that thought as Caleb launches forward again, going for Dawson’s right shoulder.
Their bodies slam together again, hoping to gain enough momentum to throw the other off balance, and I clench my teeth at every snarl and bite.
The scuffle is confusing, more like a blur of teeth and fur. Just as Caleb’s teeth find purchase in Dawson’s flank, the other twists, rolling them over and pinning him. They deal blow after blow, pushing through despite the obvious pain.
My pulse is so loud in my ears that it almost drowns out the savagery, but in all honesty, I wish it would just to give my heart a break.
Standing there with the others, barely recovered after being knocked out and forcibly taken, I hate how powerless I feel watching the only man I’ve ever wanted be forced into this position. To have to defend and attack not only to keep us, but to keep everything else he has worked for. Not to mention his own life.
This isn’t out of the ordinary for an Alpha. In fact, defending your pack is a requirement, but it doesn’t stop the thought from ramming against my skull.
This is my fault. All of it.
If I had told Caleb about Astrid sooner, if I had never tried to hide away, and if I had been brave enough to face every difficult thing head-on…
The weight of self-blame and doubt is far too heavy, and even worse, it’s distracting, splitting my attention between fear and regret. I know I can’t let it, even when it’s an easy trap to fall into.
Dawson throws Caleb again, and the sound of his body hitting the ground snaps me back to the present. I have to focus.
I may not be able to physically fight for the pack in the same way Caleb can, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak or useless. After what Astrid and I did earlier, I know I have something to offer.
After everything, I know what I’m capable of.
Caleb lunges again, momentum powered by his low snarls. He clamps onto Dawson’s throat, using as much force as he can to drive the other Alpha back. Dawson’s paws tear into the dirt as he digs for resistance, refusing to yield, yet finding himself slipping into it.
Then he twists, quick and deliberate as he slams Caleb against a tree trunk, cracking and splintering it as bark flings through the air.
Caleb buckles for a moment too long, and Dawson takes advantage of it, biting between his neck and shoulder.
My eyes widen as the air is stolen from my lungs, and panic floods my system so fast that I have to bite back the urge to scream.
I want to run to him and pull Dawson off him myself. But I know how this kind of thing works—physically injecting myself into the fight will get either one of us killed. Likely both.
