The hyena took that all in and seemed to weigh it against whatever orders he’d been given. “You’re making a mistake,” he said, but there was a catch in his voice now, an audible note of retreat. “You want a war over a couple of crippled mutts and a bunny? Fine. We know how to fight dirty. You know where to find us.” He started to back away, slow and deliberate so no one would think he was running, but Reese’s bear catalogued the tension in his shoulders, the faint shake in his hands, the way his eyes never left Colton or Grayson for more than a second.
“If you ever come near my mate again,” Reese said, stepping forward so the hyena could see the full promise of violence in his face, “I will end you. Your alpha won’t even find the body.”
The hyena’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second—just enough to show the panic skittering underneath. But he masked it quickly, managing a brittle laugh as he retreated down the length of the fence. “We’ll be in touch,” he called over his shoulder. “You can count on it.”
He vanished around the corner of the property. The predatory tension didn’t leave with him. If anything, it thickened—hunger and anger burning in the air above the manicured grass.
Reese didn’t wait for a debrief. He stalked straight for the house, pulse hammering, barely registering the collective exhale behind him as the others relaxed their stances. The moment the back door shut behind him, he swept the kitchen with his eyes, found Sonny squatting by the window, clutching Delilah to his chest like a talisman.
“Are they gone?” Sonny’s voice was quiet but not quite steady. His grip on Delilah was so tight the dog almost squirmed, confusion and loyalty at war in her dark eyes. Sonny’s own gaze stayed locked on Reese, as if the sight of him alone kept Sonny kneeling in the kitchen. His hands shook, visible in the short fur of the pit bull in his arms. He wasn’t crying, but he looked like he’d just been punched in the chest—his breath coming fast, his shoulders trembling with adrenaline and the aftermath of fear.
He asked, “Is he gone?” The words had all the steadiness of a shivering leaf in wind. Sonny’s gaze flicked from Reese to the window, to where the hyena’s silhouette had just disappeared, then snapped back to Reese’s face as if daring the answer to be anything but yes. His body was positioned between the dogs and the window, a useless physical barrier, but Reese read it for what it was—a rabbit’s instinct, but also a human’s, a mate’s, the unthinking drive to put himself between his loved ones and harm.
Reese’s bear wanted to crush Sonny to his chest, to wrap massive arms around all of them and snarl away the world. But he forced himself to approach slow, open-palmed, every line of his body shouting he wasn’t a threat.
I’m safe, I’m here for you. He’d never seen Sonny so rattled, never heard his voice so small. Maybe that was what made it so much worse than the hyena’s bluff or threat.
He took in the kitchen at a glance: every window latch locked, every door secure, the heavy scent of pack dominance still clinging to the threshold.
Outside, the yard was empty, nothing but the trampled grass and a faint echo of hyena stink.
But Reese knew the real threat wasn’t so easily banished. The hyena had planted a seed, and now they’d have to prepare for it to sprout.
Meeting Sonny’s eyes, his voice gentled. “Yeah. He’s gone. For now.” He said it quietly, as if afraid the words themselves could bring the hyenas back, or maybe he just didn’t want to shatter the fragile shell of calm holding Sonny together. He watched as his mate’s shoulders dropped a fraction, the relief as brief and insubstantial as a wisp of breath.
The house was filled with a silence so thick it seemed to physically push against the windows and walls, as if the whole structure had to brace itself for the next wave of violence.
He reached out, not to snatch Sonny away from the dogs but to rest his hand lightly on his mate’s forearm, just enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone.
Sonny’s skin was cold and clammy beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, his pulse skipping like a jackrabbit’s, and Reese tightened his grip ever so slightly, wishing he could warm the guy by will alone.
He searched Sonny’s face for signs of real injury—bleeding, bruising, even the telltale gray cast that sometimes hit when adrenaline dropped out and left nothing behind—but Sonny looked physically unhurt, just shell-shocked, his whole body vibrating with that chemical aftermath. Reese’s bear hated it. It wanted to draw all of Sonny’s panic out and swallow it whole, wanted to barricade the kitchen with his own bulk and make promises that nothing would ever get this close again.
But he knew better. Knew the hyenas would be back, and next time, they probably wouldn’t bother with warnings.
“It’s okay,” he said, gentler now, dropping his voice to a register reserved only for Sonny and the dogs. “It’s just us.”
His mate blinked, as if surfacing from underwater. He looked not at Reese but at the trembling hands clutching Delilah then at Hercules. “They’ll come back.” His tone wasn’t scared, just factual. “They found us. They know I’m here.”
With a nod, he pulled his bunny into his arms like it was the only logical thing to do. The dogs pressed in around their legs, a tangle of warm fur and anxious hearts.
They stood there in the kitchen, bear, rabbit, and two battered pit bulls, breathing in sync, waiting for the next threat, and in the quiet, finding a moment’s peace before the storm.
Chapter Eight
Sonny’s body draped across Reese’s torso like a living blanket. He’d woken up before his mate, his internal clock still calibrated to the survival schedule of the past days. But instead of getting up, he’d stayed there, listening to Reese breathe, feeling the solid warmth underneath him.
The follow-up appointment was scheduled for ten. Sonny had been counting down the hours since yesterday, his anxiety about the dogs’ condition making sleep difficult despite the exhaustion still pulling at his body. What if Delilah’s infection had gotten worse overnight? What if Hercules’s ribs had shifted, punctured something vital?
Reese’s hand had found Sonny’s hair at some point, his fingers threading through the blond strands in slow, soothing motions. “Stop thinking so loud.”
“I’m not thinking loud. I’m thinking a perfectly reasonable volume.” Sonny pressed his face against Reese’s shoulder, breathing in that clean cold scent that made his bunny settle. “What if the dogs aren’t doing better? What if Dr. Sullivan can’t fix Hercules ribs?”
“Then we deal with it.” Reese’s voice was still rough with sleep, the sound vibrating through his chest into Sonny’s ear. “Together.”
Together. The word made Sonny’s stomach clench. He’d been alone for so long that having someone else in the equation felt strange. But good. Really good, actually, even if his brain kept insisting it was too soon to trust this much.
They got ready slowly, Reese moving around the bedroom while Sonny pulled on some clothes he’d borrowed from Ryan The pants were loose, but nowhere near as loose as Reese’s sweats had been. He pulled on a clean shirt that was only one size too large instead of three.
